Sparrows For Free

by Lila Felix

  Enough, I berate myself for the redundant internal thoughts. I grab my keys and drive over to Aysa’s apartment. I don’t see her car in the spot I’ve seen it before. I knock on the door for nearly an hour before giving up.

  My truck sputters home, and I need the run again. I try to convince myself that it’s not even worth the anxiety. It’s not worth the headache. We haven’t even gone out. How could I become so attached to someone I haven’t even gone out on a date with?

  That night, I ran to forget Aysa instead of Mara.

  Aysa

  There are several fun things I do while my parents and Ariel are away. Things they must never, ever know about. The first thing is putting on a pair of my mom’s stilettos and clip clopping on her perfectly waxed white marble floors. I even stop in front of the mirror and did a few brush steps and brush flats from my old tap dancing days.

  The other thing I do? I plan a junk food revelry in direct rebellion to their high fiber vegan ways. I have nothing against vegetarians, don’t get me wrong. But tofurkey for Thanksgiving was a little much. That Tuesday I go to Whole Foods Market and buy the good stuff just for me. I only let the fact that I am spending a holiday by myself again bother me for a couple of minutes. Much like my Christmas, I would make my own Thanksgiving memorable.

  I grab a small turkey breast, sweet potatoes, the makings for my favorite pea salad, yeast rolls and pumpkin pie.

  “Aysa,” I hear a voice, somewhat familiar, call.

  I turn to find Dauber of all people, headlining in my direction. Great, he was going to bring up Ezra.

  “Hey, Dauber. How are you?”

  “Can you call me Roman?”

  I giggle, “Sure. How are you Roman?”

  “I’m good. How are you?”

  “I’m great. Planning a little Thanksgiving for myself. Are you a health nut?”

  He flexes a bicep in my direction, “Got to feed the guns right.”

  He does have pretty spectacular arms.

  “I guess so. Well, I guess I’ll see you later?”

  “Should I ask or not?”

  I cringe. I know this is gonna happen. Ezra and his friends are so tight. I doubt I will ever be able to get away with having a conversation with any of them that doesn’t bring us up.

  “Do you want to have some lunch with me,” I say, not avoiding his question, simply deferring it until I can get a true handle on my answer.

  “Sure. I’ve got time.”

  We grab some hot food and a small table inside the market after paying for our groceries. We talk about other things for a while. I found out he was in school and almost finished. He would be an architect. His second cousin had a firm and he was already interning. He has a solid plan. Before I knew how the tide had taken the turn, we are talking about their group of friends. Roman, Neil and Leon felt left out most of the time. And Ezra and Gray need to be tip toed around all the time.

  “Why?”

  “Not my story to tell,” he reaches over, forks a piece of my tilapia, and shoves it into his mouth.

  “Fine. So he told you what happened the other night?”

  “Nah, but he’s all pissed off.”

  “He’s pissed off,” I accuse.

  “Well, he’s being short with everyone and calls you about a thousand times a day. I heard him grumble that your phone is off.”

  “I guess I should turn it back on.”

  “Only if you want to,” he shrugs. “Can I just warn you about something? You have to promise not to tell Ez.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I just—he and Gray are really tight. They went through something painful when they were teenagers, and then they bonded over it. But he needs someone like you. They are each other’s quicksand. The more they struggle, the more they pull each other down.”

  “I can’t save anyone, Roman.”

  “I know. But I think if maybe he was just thrown a rope—he might pull himself out.”

  “I hear you.”

  “Look, I’ve got to go. Are you eating by yourself for Thanksgiving? Ez said something about you housesitting or something.”

  “Yes. What about you?”

  “Yep. My Dad’s a drunk.”

  “Well, why don’t you spend it with me—we’re friends, right?”

  “Ok. Write down your address. That way you don’t have to turn your phone on to text me.”

  I grabbed a napkin and a pen from my purse and scribbled my parents’ address on it.

  “Noon?”

  “Yeah, noon. Thanks Aysa.” Then Roman hugs me. It is a hug of gratitude. And I am grateful right back.

  I take my bags to the car and drive back to that big empty house. I bite the bullet and turn my phone on. And when I do, I’m treated to thirty minutes of bleeps and rings. Most of the texts are from Ezra, but some are from Gray. I delete them all without looking. I wouldn’t just read them. I’d read between the lines of them, I’d read through them and into them until I would wonder why I even read them in the first place.

  I do the guy a courtesy. I text him and Gray together, since I suspect they are together: I’m fine. At my parents. Will call when I get home.

  Then I turn my phone down to silent. The next day I spend running errands. I pay some bills and pick up some of my work clothes from the dry cleaners.

  Thursday I decide to embrace the day of Thanksgiving, even though my parents haven’t called once and since I texted, neither has Ezra or Gray. I stuff the turkey breast and get everything else ready. Roman arrives a little before noon and looks like someone killed his dog.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “They made me.”

  “They made you wha…”

  Behind him, I see two cars pull up in the driveway, one was Gray’s BMW and the other was Ezra’s truck.

  “I don’t have enough…food.”

  Yeah, the lack of food is my main concern—not.

  And then I see that each person exiting a car has an armful of serving dishes and plastic containers.

  “I’m sorry. They locked me out of the apartment in my boxers until I told them where you were. It was colder than Satan’s third nipple out there.”

  “It’s fine, Roman.”

  It’s so not fine.

  They file in like opposite ants at a picnic, bringing food in instead of taking it away. Ezra passes by me without a word and without even looking at me.

  I stand at a distance and watch as they rearrange and set the table for six instead of two. I’m offered the head of the table right next to Ezra, conveniently.

  I take it, hesitantly. I don’t really want to pretend like everything is okay, but it’s a holiday and even the nastiest of beings can put on a smile and insincerely go through the polite measures that it calls for.

  “Should we give thanks,” I firmly suggest as they drool.

  “Yes,” Roman chimes in. “I’m thankful for friends.”

  Around the table we went, all being un-uniquely and some disingenuously thankful for friendship. Even Ezra looks down at his plate when he mumbles out friendship. I, however, decide not to be so graceful.

  “I’m thankful for small spaces.”

  How’s that for obtuse?

  We get into a comfortable conversation. I try to steer it in the direction of either Neil, Leon or Roman. But somehow it always gets back to Gray or Ezra, but it is always kept generalized.

  When we’d finish eating and the pie is polished off Neil is the first to break away.

  “If I don’t see my parents, they’ll be pissed.”

  They all file out the same way they came in. Even Roman says his Dad, though drunk, would notice if he didn’t show up. Ezra stays behind to help me clean-up. He is smart. He doesn’t try to seize the opportunity to apologize or say whatever warranted thirteen thousand text messages.

  And I attempt not to act completely downtrodden that he isn’t talking—even though it’s his safest bet.

  With the last fork back in its crib, he picks up his
jacket from the back of the couch, fishes his keys out of his pocket, and makes for the door wordlessly.

  I should be easier at this, this letting my defenses down—but I’m not.

  “I’m sorry.” Wait, that’s not what I want to say.

  “What are you sorry for,” he prompts, facing the door.

  “I don’t know. I just didn’t know what to say. Usually, I have something to apologize for, so I just went with it.”

  He turns and an apology of his own shines in his smoky eyes.

  “She asked me to stay with her. I didn’t know what else to do. She’s been my best friend for—for a long time. Then she got better and said she wanted to go to church.”

  I smile and laugh at nothing funny. I mumble, “She felt so good she had her hand on your thigh.”

  Ezra opens his mouth to deny it, but I interrupt. “Look, it’s fine. I get it. Maybe you’ve loved her, and she loved you and neither of you knew until the other one started dating—or maybe neither of you knew until lately. Either way, it’s fine. I’m happy for you two. So, no more explaining—no more texting—I’m just glad we can all be friends.”

  It sounded a lot more cutthroat in my head.

  He throws down his jacket in a fury and stalks over to me—for a split second, I’m afraid of him. I don’t want him near me, mostly because I’m three breaths away from crying.

  “Is that what you think?”

  Two breaths and a nod away from crying.

  “Friends, is that what you want to be?”

  God, how can I think when he’s in my face like this? His eyes bear down into my soul, demanding an answer from me. I look down to see both of his hands fisting the edges of my shirt. I can’t tell if he’s holding onto me or holding me up. Either way, I’m scrambling for a decision. My heart wants to tell him that friends is the last thing on my mind. My mind says block him out—make him go away.

  If I tell him I want to be friends—he’ll run to Gray.

  If I tell him I want more—he’ll trample me in the process.

  Maybe I’m willing to be trampled.

  One breath left.

  “I don’t know. What do you want?”

  I hate how shaky my voice gets. I despise my chin for quivering at the tiniest bit of emotional distress. At least I haven’t succumbed to speaking in hypothetical questions yet.

  “I don’t want to only be friends with you. I want to be your friend and more. I want so many things from you, I can’t even name them. I don’t know why she was touching me like that or acting that way, I swear it. Something in me needs something in you. I don’t know how and I don’t know why, but it’s just undeniable. Can we just—can we start over? I’m not ready to give you up before I really even had a fighting chance.”

  Warm hands cradle my hips now, fingers dig into them, locking me in place, forcing my hand in a decision I’d given up on responding to.

  With no breaths left, I let loose a tear.

  “And what about Gray? Does she know you want to be more than friends?”

  “I’ll make her know.”

  “Well, let me know when that happens. Until then, we’re friends—only.”

  A pain under my sternum throbs as I say the words out loud.

  With a growl, he whips around, grabs his jacket from the floor, and I watch helplessly as he rushes through the door. The girl inside me quakes and wants to follow him to the driveway and tell him to stay. But the girl with the fraction of spine? The one that makes her appearance more and more frequently—she says let him go.

  And because the quaking girl has never been right—it’s Spine Girl for the win.

  By Sunday afternoon, my parents are back, raving about their cruise and they just simply did not have enough room in their suitcases for souvenirs. Well, not enough room in their suitcase for a souvenir for me.

  My dad walks me out to my car and slips a necklace with a dolphin pendant into my hand.

  “There’s always room for you. Thank you for house sitting for us. I’ll see you next week.”

  And with that one sentence, I am dismissed.

  I get settle back into my apartment. My laundry has piled up, and I spend the rest of the afternoon washing clothes and getting ready for the week. Other than the random weird text from the boys—I hadn’t heard from Gray or Ezra since Thursday.

  I text Roman and ask if he wants to come watch movies with me and eat pizza. He replies that he’ll be here in twenty minutes with the pizza already in tow.

  Almost immediately afterwards, I get a text from Ezra. He says he needs to talk. I reply: Maybe later tonight. Roman is coming over.

  ‘Oh,’ is his response.

  Roman and I eat and watch Adam Sandler movies until my throat is sore from laughing so hard. He’s really funny. He can quote every single movie. I really like that he makes himself at home. He takes his shoes off and crosses his socked feet on my coffee table. It’s nice to have someone over just as a friend.

  He yawns, extending his fists over his head in a dramatic showing of lethargy.

  “I’ve got to get home. I have an eight o’clock class—it’s Spanish. Foreign language classes shouldn’t be allowed before noon.”

  “You’re right, they shouldn’t.”

  Roman hugs me tight before leaving. I guess I need to get used to people hugging me.

  I glance at the clock and it’s a little past ten. I decide to go ahead and call even though I’m sure of what he has to say.

  But knowing something is going to end and hearing it said out loud are not the same.

  The band aid method is always best.

  He answers on the first ring. Instead of explaining whatever it is to me over the phone, he insists on coming over. I don’t want him here. He can’t be here, in my space, on my couch, telling me how he loves Gray, and they are destined or some bullshit.

  I may have to move.

  A half an hour later, I open the door to the man who’s making a slow wreck out of me. His shoulders are hunched over. One of his broad hands is gripping the door frame to the left of me. Hazel eyes are cast downward, either ashamed of what he’s about to say or just too forlorn to face me. He’s dressed for no special occasion, just a worn navy t-shirt and jeans.

  “Can I come in,” he asks.

  “Of course.”

  He sits on the couch, and I target the recliner, not wanting to sit in fist shot range when he tells me that he’s in love with Gray. That I’ve begun to fall for someone who’s not available.

  That those moments I treasured were simply blips in time never to be recalled.

  “No,” he grabs my wrist as I pass by him. “Sit by me.”

  He’s gonna try to do that thing where he lets me down easy. I can just tell. And he’s touching me. Why is he touching me? Please, if he has any semblance of decency, he will stop. I sit perched on the edge of the couch and flick a gander at the cabinet. I hope it’s ready for a long night.

  “I talked to Gray;” He finally looks me straight in the eye.

  “Good. I’m happy for y’all.”

  He tunnels his fingers through his hair whispering, ‘Jesus Christ’ to himself before saying, “Will you just let me talk?”

  I wave my fingers in a ‘proceed’ motion.

  “I have no feelings for her other than friendship and guilt. She’s my best friend, but we bonded over something a long time ago. We’re still carrying it around with us. And I haven’t dated for a long time. I think it’s healthy for me to move on. Sometimes I just feel like I’m stuck in the parentheses of life. I was actually satisfied with it. But something about you makes me feel like it would be okay to move on. Like I might finally be safe—with you.”

  Safe with me? I’m the only always on the scavenger hunt of places to cloak myself.

  My hand flies to my neck, trying desperately to throw a mask over the blush I know has started there—or choke myself—I can’t decide which. This man makes everything difficult.

  He makes everythin
g better.

  He makes everything worse.

  I barely manage a whisper, “Don’t make me read between the lines, Ez. I couldn’t read between the lines with you even if I wanted to. You make me foggy. Give it to me straight.”

  “Ez—huh. I want to date you. No, I don’t. I want to build something with you. Give us a real shot. You’re already inside me. ”

  His eyes read honest. He isn’t fidgeting or pinballing his eyes around the room. I am dumbstruck by his honesty. It also scares the life out of me. Boys don’t do this. The girls I know, mostly the ones in my office, complain that even after openly flirting with a guy for months, they still cannot get any depth of emotion from them. I’m not even officially dating Ezra, and he wants to build something with me? What does that mean?

  “You’re doing that thing. Don’t overanalyze it.”

  “What thing?”

  “The thing where you look down, and you’re overthinking what to say or do next. Just tell me if you want to be with me as much as I want to be with you.”

  I sigh, “And if I don’t.”

  He reaches out and brushes my bangs sideways on my forehead, “If you don’t, then I’ll have to keep chasing you until you change your mind.”

  Ezra chasing me doesn’t sound like a threat.

  “I do.”

  “You do what,” he prompts, raising my chin with his hand. Gathering all of my bravery, I stop his hand from leaving my face by covering it with mine and pulling his open palm to slide against my cheek. I can’t believe how eager he looks. His alacrity is shocking. But at the moment, I just don’t care.

  “I do want to see if you and I really have something.”

  He watches my mouth while I speak, and I would exchange whole limbs for the chance to know what he’s thinking and why he’s so fixated on my lips. His tongue flecks out across the middle of his lower lip, and it mesmerizes me. I am equally fixated. The eyebrows I once thought were too big before, now furrow, making me squirm.

  “Say something,” I murmur, not being able to take anymore.

  “How did I ever not see you?”

  I shrug, “What do we do now?”

  He chuckles and takes my hand in his, “I’m so bad at this. How about dinner tomorrow?”