by Karole Cozzo
For whatever reason, my reassurance angers him. “Bullshit. So maybe this one thing doesn’t seem like a big deal, but what about the rest of it? It’s stuff you don’t want to hear about, stuff you don’t want to think about. You don’t want to deal with UTIs, and kidney stones, and pressure sores, all the stuff that’s just part of the package.”
Pax exhales a long, trembling breath and struggles to meet my eyes again. “And Christ. God knows you’re ridiculously hot, and trust me, in my head I think about things, but I don’t even know if I can…” He winces in embarrassment and gives up on the topic.
It makes me blush, too, thinking about Pax thinking about me in that way. But it’s not a bad feeling, not at all.
He turns his whole body away from mine, crossing his arms on the edge of the pool and resting his chin atop them. “I’ve accepted it,” he whispers, “and it’s fine for me. There’s nothing I can’t live with, because at least I get to live.” Pax finally looks at me again a long moment later, sounding sad and defeated. “It’s different, wrong, to ask someone else to come to terms with it, one hundred and ten percent. Especially someone so…” His eyes flash back and forth between mine, blazing and intent. “You probably have no idea what you look like onstage. But you’re so damn vibrant and beautiful and … whole.”
Suddenly, tears prick my eyes. “This is ridiculous. You seem hell-bent on seeing only the good in me, yet you expect it to work some other way for you. I can’t accept that.” I sound like a stubborn child. “I don’t want to.”
Approaching him again, I press my forehead against his bicep and wrap my arm around his arm. “You are funny, and positive, and capable. You are strong, in every sense of the word.”
He swallows hard and turns his face away from me, but I press on.
“You’re beautiful, too,” I tell him. I find his hand with mine and lace our fingers together again. “It’s not just the parts of you that you’ll show me. It’s all of you.”
Finally, he turns back toward me, his face right above mine. “I don’t—”
I press all the way against him. I twist his body so he has to face me. Then squeezing my eyes shut, I beg him, “Please don’t make a fool of me again.”
The gentle rhythm of the water presses my torso flush against his. And this time, my lips make contact with his. Softly, I kiss his lips, one time. “Please.”
His body trembles against mine, and I know it’s from fear and not the cold. I squeeze his hand tightly.
“I want to, Nikki.” His eyes are filled with torment. “God, I want to, but…”
Then, with a shaky sigh, his mouth crashes against mine as in a single instant he pushes his fears out of the way and grabs for my hips with his free hand. Our lips part at once, and I wrap my arms around his neck, fingers inching upward, getting lost in his damp hair at the base of his head. I pull him toward me, holding on for dear life just in case he tries to pull away again.
But he doesn’t. He holds on to me just as tightly as I hold on to him, shifting back against the wall so my body floats on top of his. Our kiss deepens as Pax finally lets me in, the way I know he’s been wanting to.
We kiss and we kiss, and every now and again, my legs bob forward, grazing his, or float out behind me, useless and unimportant. Legs don’t matter anymore. Pax’s arms are enough to keep me afloat.
Chapter 10
The car’s heater is going full blast, and I’m wrapped in Pax’s arms, damp and warm. He parked the car at the end of my block, but I haven’t even thought about opening the door.
“Last time,” Pax has said twice now before kissing me good night. But it hasn’t turned out to be the last time, and I end up with my back pressed against the seat, the weight of his torso on mine, as he takes my face in his hands and kisses me.
His lips are soft and teasing, and I can feel him smiling as he moves his kisses to my jaw. “I’m sorry. You started it.…” His mouth is on my earlobe, and chills are rocketing down my spine. “Now I kinda don’t want to stop.”
Well, me neither.
I eagerly pull his face back to mine and find his mouth while my hands grasp the open collar of his shirt, my fingers twisting in the soft material, clutching him to me. Pax’s hand is grasping my knee … and soon his fingers are pressing into the soft skin of my inner thigh … and I’m pretty sure the windows are starting to steam up … and I really need to get out of this car.
“I gotta go,” I whisper, planting my mouth against his a final time and smiling up at him. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
His eyes are soft and sparkling as he tells me good night, and I reluctantly straighten my dress, leaving the warmth inside the car and stepping into the chilly early-October night.
The cold air, and reality, hit me like a bucket of water over my head. Looking toward my house, I see a curtain flicker against the front window, and the dread I’ve been pushing away fully consumes me. With Pax, in the city, in the pool, it was easy enough to pretend I was in the midst of some kind of dream. There’s no more pretending now, though, and it’s time to face the consequences. With shaking hands, I pull my phone out of my purse, feeling my heart hammering as I look at its face. Two missed calls. And it’s eleven thirty-seven. Shit.
Shit.
My feet drag through the crushed shells of the driveway as I approach the front door, even though it would definitely be in my best interest to hurry. On the other hand, what’s the point? What’s done is done. So am I, probably.
I slowly open the door, and as I step through, both of my parents rise from the couch in unison. My mom’s hand is like a claw around her cell phone. “Where the hell were you?” Her eyes fall to my festive pink shoes, which are dangling from my hand, and then take in my bare, dirty feet.
I’m quiet for a minute. “Philadelphia,” I say meekly.
My mom steps closer, her palm pressed against her forehead as if she’s trying to keep her brain from exploding right out the front of her head. “Philadelphia?”
“Yes.”
“You show up way past your curfew, in a tiny dress, carrying your shoes. Your hair is wet, and makeup is smeared all over your face. You left us with no idea where you were, and then an unfamiliar car drops you halfway down the block an hour past your curfew, and you really think an acceptable answer is ‘Philadelphia’?”
She’s right in my face now, and I say a silent thank you that I popped a piece of Big Red gum pre-good-night make-out session with Pax and that she hasn’t added “and I think I smell beer” to her litany of crimes.
I take a step back and away. “I went to dinner in Philadelphia with Pax,” I elaborate.
My dad’s voice is as hard and emotionless as steel. “We gave you a chance. This is what you did with it?” He looks utterly baffled, as though he’s come to realize that in addition to being awful, I’m also pretty damn stupid.
“Can I please just explain?”
Pax’s intentions for the night had been so good and pure, and I’m devastated that my memory of it is being tainted by their perceptions of what I may have been up to. I wish they could have been there, on the corner of the city block, when Pax told me why he took me out in the first place. But they weren’t, and now I stand here scrambling to formulate something that will even come close to passing as an acceptable explanation.
“No, I don’t really think you can,” my dad says as if he’s biting back something bitter. “This is not the type of person it’s going to be okay for you to associate with going forward, Nicole. Not if you care anything about reinstating any sort of good faith or trust around here. We’re not going to allow a social life, not like this, again. With people who seem to support and encourage bad decisions.” His eyes flicker to my neck, and I’m suddenly pretty certain there’s a red mark or two from when Pax got a bit carried away saying good night.
I feel incredulous, inappropriate laughter bubbling up in my throat. Bad decisions? He was hoping to motivate me, for Christ’s sake. Although I’ve tried to keep
an even keel with my parents, suddenly, I just can’t. “You don’t even know him! You’re just looking for a reason to come down on him, come down on me.”
“Watch your tone.” My mom is seething. Her lips are a thin white line, and she shakes her head. “This kid? Absolutely not.”
“No!” I scream right back at her. “This is not okay. Just no.”
The cruel reality sinks in. They’re trying to take Pax away. They’re trying to take away the one thing that is good. The one person who doesn’t look at me the way they are looking right now.
Emotion crashes over me, and my voice breaks “No.” Suddenly, I’m sobbing. “Just no. You can’t.”
My parents seem stunned into silence by my loud, passionate outburst, which I can’t manage to tame. “You can’t just write him off, remove him from my life, without even knowing him!” I shriek. My rant is almost indecipherable, garbled by tears and fury. “My God, these weren’t his bad choices tonight!”
“So you acknowledge that you continue to make bad choices?” my dad interjects drily.
“That’s not what I meant! You want to know the specifics, fine.” I shake my head furiously. “Pax didn’t have some shady plan, and he wasn’t trying to get me in trouble. He was trying to get me to care about my future again. He was trying to get me to think about it and get motivated to make plans for myself. That’s all! I wasn’t paying attention to the time, and I didn’t leave with enough time to get home, but that wasn’t something he did.” My shoulders shake as my chin hits my chest, sobs racking my body. “You can think I’m a terrible person all you want, but it’s not fair to think that of him.”
“You’re being unnecessarily dramatic.” My mom tilts her head and studies me, eyes narrowed and confused. “How can you care so much about a boy you just met?”
“This boy is one of the only people in the world who still see me as a person.” I can’t stop crying, and my words come out broken and raw. “He’s one of the few people who will still look me in the eye. He forgave me instantly.” I manage to lift my chin, batting tears away with the back of my hand. “You’ve had months. I don’t think anyone around here is ever going to forgive me. All you guys want to do is just keep condemning people for making mistakes.”
“Nicole—”
The overwhelming sadness of it all cripples me. “I don’t want it to feel like this,” I admit. I find myself collapsing in a pile in the entranceway, hands coming up to cover my eyes. “I don’t want him to be the only person who cares about me, but that’s how you make me feel. And something’s gotta change,” I whimper, then repeat, “Something’s gotta change.”
All I can see is their feet. My parents don’t seem to be moving, still and dumbfounded.
After several minutes, my mom gives me an instruction: “Get yourself together, Nicole. Go upstairs and wash your face. We’ll discuss this in the morning.”
Exhausted and spent, I wrap my fingers around my shoes and pull myself to my feet, refusing to look at their faces. I move toward the stairwell and then drag my body to the second floor. I do as my mom says, my shoulders still quaking as I wash my puffy, red face with cold water and stare forlornly into my watery eyes.
When I curl up on my bed, I scan my text messages until I find the picture Pax sent me the night we went to the boardwalk—the one of him smiling. I stare and stare, wanting that image to erase the past fifteen minutes, wanting it to transport me back to the swimming pool. I picture his eyes when we said good night, how peaceful and happy they were.
I told my parents I refuse to lose him, but what if they have the power to make it happen anyway? What if they destroy the only peace and happiness I have anymore?
* * *
On Saturday morning, I hide in my room. I’m exhausted from the fight and the lack of sleep that followed. I lie in my bed like a lump, stomach growling more persistently as the hours pass. But there’s no way in hell I’m going down to the kitchen.
I keep hearing my mom’s voice in my head. “Absolutely not. Absolutely not.”
The words make me tear up. Fate couldn’t possibly be so cruel, could it? To play the horrid joke of pulling Pax away only hours after he finally let himself get close?
I couldn’t have just one night when he felt like … mine. I just couldn’t. My crying becomes audible, and I bury my face in my pillow to mute it.
On the bed beside me, my phone vibrates. Pax’s name lights up the screen. Wiping my face on the pillow cover, I grab the phone and manage to say hello.
“Hey.”
“What’s up?”
“I just woke up.” His voice is low and husky, making me miss him in a new, more intimate way. “Still in bed. But I started thinking about you right away.”
Pain constricts my chest, and I feel my throat tighten with a new crop of tears. I say nothing.
“Nik?”
I still can’t speak, closing my eyes and shaking my head back and forth.
“Nikki. What’s wrong?”
“I missed my curfew,” I manage to whisper, trying to keep my voice from wobbling. But I’m unsuccessful, and the tears are evident in my voice as I continue. “They’re going to take everything away again. And they’re trying to act like you … They’re trying to say…”
I can’t replay the exchange from last night. Instead, I end up crying in his ear for about two minutes straight. “I’m so sad. I’m just so, so sad today, and I’m tired of feeling—”
“Nikki, I gotta go,” Pax interrupts me, his voice firm. “I’m sorry, but … I really need to go.”
The screen goes blank in my hand, and I stare down at it, confused and forlorn. I lie there, half-stunned, for ten minutes, thinking he’s going to call me back any second. But he doesn’t, and as time creeps by I start feeling worse, even though I didn’t think such a thing was possible.
But Pax is a guy, after all, and guys don’t really do emotional overload all that well. He’s always been incredibly patient with mine, but maybe enough was enough. Maybe he’s decided it isn’t worth it.
Maybe he regrets last night.
I roll back onto my stomach, pressing my face back into the pillow and hiding the phone underneath it. I don’t want to look at it. Half of me is hopeful, certain he’ll call back any second, and half of me is chastising that hopeful half for being so stupid about guys. Did he really just hang up on me like that? When I was bawling my eyes out?
I’ve stopped counting the minutes, but it must be another twenty minutes before I hear voices, and some commotion, at the front door. My mother calls for my father, and then there’s a shuffle as they hurry from the front of the house to the back and open the sliding patio door.
As they move from the foyer to the kitchen, I hear my parents’ voices, surprised and slightly frantic, but I can’t make out their words. I start to pick up on an exchange coming from the kitchen, and curiosity gets the better of me, so I creep out to the hallway and peer around the corner and down the stairs. Still I can’t see to the kitchen, but I’m close enough to make out the voice.
“I’m sorry for showing up like this, but I felt like I had to.”
Pax.
My breath gets stuck in my throat, and I drop onto the top step, wrapping my arms around the banister and leaning forward.
My mother stumbles over an apology about the front steps being difficult to navigate, and I draw back and into the shadows as the three of them appear in the living room.
Pax must’ve left immediately after hanging up the phone. He’s wearing the same pink shirt from last night, and it’s beyond wrinkled. His hair is disheveled, probably from falling asleep on it when it was still damp, and maybe a little bit from my pawing at him in the front seat of his car.
“I need to apologize for last night,” Pax tells my parents. “Nikki never even would have left the house if it wasn’t for me, and I didn’t give her advance warning that I was going to show up.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t really think through the situation I was putting h
er in.”
“No, you didn’t,” my father agrees.
Even so, Pax manages to look him in the eye. “I was just excited because I got an idea about getting her excited again, about her future. I know she’s given up on the idea of a performing-arts school, but every time she talks about it, I can tell she’s still got the desire somewhere inside.”
I press my forehead against the banister and cringe. Pax doesn’t know about my mom’s disdain for the idea in general, and I’m not surprised when she tells him.
“It’s nice that you care about her,” my mom says, “but to be honest, we seem to be on a different page about what ‘getting her excited’ for her future looks like. Especially at this stage in the game, Nikki needs to focus on more traditional options for college.” She pauses and crosses her arms. “Furthermore, I’m concerned that getting involved in a relationship is the last thing that will motivate her to think about where she’s going next year. It’s nothing personal, but I’m not thrilled about the prospect of your presence in her life factoring into her future plans.”
Pax is quiet a minute and stares at his lap. “I think you’re overestimating the part I’m going to end up playing in Nikki’s college decisions,” he mumbles.
An icy feeling of fear coats my stomach. What does he mean? Why does he think he’s not going to be a factor?
Where’s he going?
“And look … I know it’s probably not my place to say,” he continues, “but I’ve seen Nikki with a microphone in her hand now, and there’s something so natural and obvious about her being up on a stage like that. I get that it’s not the traditional, or safest, college plan, but … it just sort of sucks to think about her giving up that really amazing part of herself.”
My dad hates the word sucks. Even from this distance, I can detect my father’s nostrils flaring and see his spine stiffen. “I’m struggling with this,” he says, voice grim.
“I don’t want to off—”
“I’m really struggling with this,” he repeats. “Because I barely know my daughter anymore, and I’m having a really hard time with some boy she’s known for a few weeks showing up at my door and acting like he does. I knew her for seventeen years before I started feeling like I didn’t, and you’ll forgive me if I haven’t quite recovered from that enough to be able to appreciate your perspective on her life.”
