by Amber Garza
I’d had these same feelings back in high school. Lennie always had a boyfriend. I can’t think of a time when she didn’t. Her relationships never lasted long. A few months here, a few months there. But the times in between boyfriends were short. Too short for me to make a move. Other guys moved quicker, but I was so shy that a simple word or two took me weeks to formulate. By the time I got around to talking to Lennie, she’d already have been snatched up.
As I made my way further down the page, I found pictures of Lennie with her high school girlfriends. Some were throwback photos from when we were teenagers, but others were more current. My insides soured at the sight of the girls who had snubbed me in high school.
That was what I liked about Lennie. She may have been popular, but it didn’t stop her from being a decent human being. She was friendly to everyone, and I never heard her gossiping or teasing anyone. In fact, a couple of times I overheard her chastising her friends for doing that. I could always count on Lennie for a smile or wave, a kind word spoken in passing. Initially I crushed on Lennie because she was gorgeous. I mean, every guy had a thing for Lennie at some point in our four years of high school. But the reason I kept liking her was because of her genuineness.
Her Facebook page listed Southern California as her place of residence, and her relationship status was engaged. Clearly, she hadn’t updated it recently. Realizing I would learn nothing from snooping on here, I logged off. Next I tried Instagram, but I came up with the same results.
What had happened a year ago that caused her to hide from social media? Did it have to do with her ex?
I swear if he’d hurt her, I’d make him pay. Well, at least I’d think about making him pay. Based on the pictures, I was pretty sure he could take me. Perhaps, I could write him into my book. Have something horrible happen to him.
At the thought, my lips curled upward at the corners.
Man, I really was lame.
No wonder Lennie kept turning me down.
Glancing up at the clock, my heart sank. Crap. I was late for dinner with my parents. My stepdad, Ray, was always in a sour mood, but he got even worse when dinner was delayed. Groaning, I stood and hurried toward the front door, already dreading having to see my stepdad. Mom would be nice as always. Nothing rattled her. She stayed calm no matter what. Ray was always grumbling about something, but Mom consistently had a sweet disposition. That’s why it was so scary when Mom would get angry. My sister and I used to say that we knew we were in big trouble if Mom lost her cool. That was not a pretty picture. But thankfully, it was rare.
Shoving back my chair, it scraped on the ground. After standing up, I hurried out the front door. As I made my way down the cement walkway, chilly air blew over my skin causing goosebumps to rise on my flesh.
In no time I had arrived at my parents’ front door. They still lived in the same house I’d grown up in. Every time I stepped inside, I felt like I was a kid again. It didn’t help that they hadn’t changed anything. The decorations and furniture had been the same for years. Mom only switched out things out of necessity, like the furniture in mine and my sister’s rooms, or the blinds that broke in the front windows.
The heater was on full blast when I entered the house. At first it felt nice, and I was grateful for the warmth. But I knew that it was only a matter of time before it got to be too much. I could already predict the places that sweat would be forming momentarily.
“About time,” Ray said when Mom ushered me into the dining room.
“Nice to see you too.” I clamped a hand down on his shoulder before sliding around him and plunking down in my chair.
That was the other thing that hadn’t changed. Our seating at the dining table. If Amelia was here she’d be sitting across from me right now. But my sister lived in North Carolina with her husband and baby. Mom and Ray had visited her a few times. I’d never been, but I saw her when she was here last Christmas. We’d never been especially close. I mean, we got along okay, but we’d never truly understood each other.
Mostly what I remember about Amelia was how she spent all her time texting friends or watching YouTube videos. She was a few years younger than me, but she never looked up to me the way some of my friends’ younger siblings did. Amelia wasn’t impressed with normal people like me. She only cared about celebrities. And I used the word “celebrity” loosely. To Amelia, celebrities might be well-known recording artists, or they could be her current favorite YouTuber. Either way, an older brother who spent all his time alone in his room reading wasn’t her idea of exciting.
It was a shock to all of us when Amelia told us she was marrying Chris and moving to North Carolina. They hadn’t been dating that long, and she was only a year into college. At first everyone tried to talk her out of it, but then she confessed that she was pregnant. That’s when it made sense. Chris was in the army, so at least we knew Amelia was taken care of financially.
Mom set the food out on the table, and Ray didn’t waste any time. He started scooping food on his plate as if it was his first meal in days. As I spooned a piece of chicken on my own plate, I realized that I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. I’d worked through lunch, and then I’d been so preoccupied with thoughts of Lennie that I’d forgotten to eat.
My stomach thanked me when I took a bite of food. For a few minutes the three of us ate without talking. But that wasn’t unusual. My family wasn’t uncomfortable with long silences. I never understood people who had to talk constantly. There was something comforting about being with people without feeling like you had to speak.
But there was one thing I was curious about. Something I wanted to know. After swallowing down my food, I looked up. “So, Mom, were you able to read what I sent you?” Ever since I’d shared with my parents that I was working on my book, Mom had been begging me to send it to her. Initially I’d scoffed at the offer. The idea of someone reading my rough draft made me want to hurl. Then I realized that was precisely why I needed to send it to her. If it was terrible, it would be better to hear from my mom than from an editor at a publishing house. Besides, if I planned to publish it, I would have to get used to the idea of people reading it, right? So last week, I’d bit the bullet and sent her what I had.
Setting down her fork she smiled at me. “Yes, I read it all, and I can’t wait for more.”
“Really?” My stomach flip-flopped. “You liked it?”
“Liked it?” Her eyes sparkled. “I loved it.”
Uh oh. I’d seen that look before. When I was in second grade I painted a picture in class. An awful monstrosity of colors morphing together until they resembled something you’d find in a toilet. But Mom beamed when I handed it to her. Then she hung it on the fridge as if it was the most beautiful thing in the world.
Perhaps my mom was the wrong person to critique my novel.
“I just have one question,” she said, leaning forward.
The expectant look on her face caused me to squirm in my seat. Unfortunately, the chairs were so old that even the slightest movement caused them to creak and moan. Ray threw me a dirty look until I stopped moving. Perhaps Amelia had the right idea when she moved far away. Growing up, I’d always been told I was the smart one, but I was questioning that now. Out of the two of us she was the only one successfully living on her own. Well, maybe not technically “on her own,” but at least she was out from under our parents’ thumb. “What’s that?” I asked her.
Mom smiled. “Who’s the girl?”
I almost choked. “Um…she’s fictional. It’s a story, Mom.”
“I know it’s a story, Colin. I’m not stupid.” Mom had never gone to college. She married
my dad right out of high school. He had a good job, so she never needed to work. After he died unexpectedly as the result of an accident when Amelia was an infant and I was a toddler, my mom immediately fell into the arms of Ray. Therefore, any time I corrected Mom or treated her like she didn’t know something she got defensive. I knew my mom was intelligent, and I had no
doubt that she could’ve been very successful had she not put her dreams on hold for the rest of us. In fact, it made me sad at times. Ray had taken care of my mom financially, but he wasn’t a good husband to her. I’m certain that if she hadn’t been so afraid to raise us on our own, she wouldn’t have married him. She would’ve paved her own path, done something exciting with her life. It was part of the reason I was taking her advice; taking time to write my novel. I didn’t want to let her down. I didn’t want her to think that her sacrifice was in vain. “But I also know my boy. And there’s no way you could write about love like this unless you had personal experience.” Her eyes met mine. “There is someone, isn’t there?”
Picturing Lennie’s face, my gaze dropped to my lap. I suppose Mom was right. Technically there was someone. But she wasn’t someone I could tell my mom about. What would I say? I ran into an old high school acquaintance, and we talked a couple of times. She refused to go out with me, so instead I’m writing about her; imagining what could have been. Oh, yeah, and she’s the same girl I used to talk about all the time in high school. She wasn’t into me then either.
Yeah, no thanks. I’d keep that to myself. In my experience, it was good to keep a lid on the crazy as much as possible.
“Nope. There’s no one. It’s just a made up story.” Lifting my head, my gaze briefly landed on Ray.
He stared at me, his eyes narrowed as if he suspected something. But then he bent his head over his plate, taking another bite of food, and the moment was gone. It was probably in my imagination anyway. Ray had never been the most observant guy. I couldn’t tell you how many times Mom got a new haircut or color and it took Ray days to notice it. Sometimes he never did. She would eventually point it out or bribe one of us kids to do it.
Mom, however, had always been astute. She eyed me as if she didn’t believe what I said. But I held her gaze steady as if I had nothing to hide. Still not appearing completely satisfied, she went back to her meal. I sighed with relief, grateful to have dodged that bullet for now.
After dinner, I helped Mom with dishes while Ray went to watch TV in the family room. While leaning my back against the tile counter and drying one of the frying pans, my gaze shot down the hallway to my left. The doorway to my former bedroom came into view. It had since been turned into a guest bedroom, but in my mind I could picture it exactly as it used to be. Where there was now a wall filled with framed pictures of flowers, there once was a tall bookshelf overflowing with novels.
I thought of my conversation with Lennie about those choose-your-own-ending stories. Setting the dried pan down, I turned to Mom. “Hey, whatever happened to all my books?”
Mom’s arms were elbow deep in soapy water, the faucet spraying liquid down her arms. Using a sponge, she scrubbed a chrome pot. “We boxed them up years ago, remember? Ray tried to get you to take them awhile ago, but you said you didn’t have room.”
Nodding, I vaguely remembered the conversation. My apartment was too small for all of my books, so that made sense. “Where are the boxes now?”
“In the garage.” After turning off the faucet, Mom pulled her arms out of the water and reached for a dishrag. Droplets of water dotted the counter and splashed on the floor near Mom’s feet. She swiftly wiped her arms with the rag and then used a different rag to wipe the counter. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”
As I followed her, I noticed a few silver strands of hair at the roots of her straight brown hair. I was sure they’d be gone by the next time I came over. Mom went to her hairdresser every month like clockwork. I knew that because she used to drag me to her appointments when I was little. Nothing was worse than spending an hour in a hair salon bored out of my mind. Amelia didn’t mind because she would peruse the glossy magazines and choose hairstyles she wanted to one day try. Mom always took us out for ice cream afterward, though, so that sort of made up for it. The garage smelled like tools and faintly of gas. Mom flicked on the wall switch, and yellow light bathed the chilly room.
Passing Mom’s compact car and Ray’s truck, Mom guided me to a shelf in the corner. Pointing to a few boxes on the bottom, she said, “There they are. Do you want to take them? I can have Ray help you carry them out.”
“Oh.” I shook my head. “No. I won’t take them all. I’m looking for a specific one.”
Mom grinned. “Something to help with your novel?”
I paused, studying her face. “Mom, do you honestly like it? Like, would you like it if I wasn’t your son?”
Her brown eyes appeared even darker in this lighting. Reaching out, she gently patted my cheek. “I don’t like the book just because you wrote it. I like it because it’s good.” Dropping her hand, she nodded. “Seriously.” My chest expanded at her words. Maybe I actually had something this time. “I can’t wait to see it in bookstores,” she added, and the tightness in my chest returned.
“I’ve been keeping my eyes open for a job,” I said. “You know, in case this doesn’t work out.”
“Nonsense. It’s going to sell.”
“I know, but in the meantime I need to bring in more than my freelance work is right now.”
“If you need anything, Ray and I are happy to help.”
“But you shouldn’t have to. I’m an adult.”
“An adult with a dream worth pursuing,” she responded. “You’ve got something special, Colin. I’ve always known it.” Shivering, she hugged herself. “Well, it’s too cold out here for me. I’ll go make some tea. Do you want some?”
“No, thanks.”
“Okay. Let me know if you need any help finding something.” As Mom hurried inside, I knelt down in front of the boxes. Curving my hand around one of them, I scooted it toward me. My name was scrawled on top with Sharpie in Mom’s handwriting. Bringing it down to the floor, I pried the top open. Inside I was greeted with the scent of old books. It’s a smell that’s impossible to describe, but instantly recognizable. And a warm feeling swelled in my chest. I ran my fingertips over the spines, and when I pulled my hand back the pads of my fingers were coated in a thick film of dust. Cold from the cement seeped through my jeans. I readjusted my position, and dug into the box. After sifting through the books, I surmised that the ones I was looking for weren’t in here. Firmly closing the top, I shoved it back onto the shelf and reached for a different box.
This time I found what I was looking for right away. The choose-your-own-ending books were on top. Yanking a few of them out, I spread them out in my lap. Opening the first one, I was surprised that after all of these years I could still remember the story and the ending I’d chosen. Satisfied, I set aside a couple of the books and then shut the remainder of them into the box. After securing the box back on the shelf, I tucked the books under my arm and stood up.
I headed back into the house armed with my books and a plan.
5
I’d overslept.
Every morning, I woke up at six a.m. like clockwork. I never needed to set an alarm. It was as if my body was internally set to that time. But this morning I slept peacefully until eight o’clock. When I rolled over, and saw how light it was outside I was confused. Blinking profusely, I stared at my clock in disbelief. Then again, I had stayed up late. I was busy reading through the books I’d brought home from my parents’ house. It was reminiscent of when I was a kid. Of all the nights I’d hide under my covers reading with my flashlight. As an adult, my mom had confessed that she knew what I was doing all along. However, when I was younger I thought I was so clever, pulling one over on my parents.
Sliding out of bed, I padded into the bathroom. Yawning, I turned on the shower. As steam rose around me, filling the tiny bathroom, I contemplated staying home today. I mean, wasn’t that the beauty of not having a job? Whenever I fantasized about becoming an author, I pictured myself staying in my pajamas all day, forgoing showers and going out for the sake of my craft. But as I stood under the steady stream of water allowing the heat to penetrate my back muscles, I decided against it. What if this was the one
day Lennie came into the coffee shop again?
In my experience, that was the way it worked. It was like when you were waiting for a package and the UPS guy finally showed up the one time you went to use the restroom. So I hurriedly scrubbed my body with soap, determined to get out of here as quickly as possible. When Lennie had shown up, it was around eight or eight-thirty, so time was of the essence.
After hopping out of the shower, I wrapped the towel around my waist and brushed my teeth so fast it was like I was involved in some type of contest. My window to possibly seeing Lennie was quickly dwindling. It took me only minutes to throw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Not wanting to bother with my hair, I grabbed a hat and my jacket, and flung them on. I slid into my shoes, slung my laptop bag over my shoulder, and raced outside.
I didn’t bother driving to the coffee shop because I didn’t want to waste an hour searching for a parking space. It was faster to walk. And I certainly wasn’t paying for a space in a parking garage. Besides, it wasn’t raining today. In fact, the sun was even making an appearance. Not a huge one. Mostly it was hidden behind the clouds, but it peeked out every once in awhile, teasing and alluring, like a wink.
With my laptop bag thumping against the side of my thigh, I walked swiftly down the street. Cars zipped past, kicking up cold wind that blew over my neck. Shivering, I bent my head and continued on. Men carrying briefcases, cell phones pressed to the ears slid around me. A teenager bumped me because she was too busy texting to notice I existed. One morning, I almost saw a teenage boy get hit by a car because he was doing the same thing.
The coffee shop came into view, and hope sparked the same way it did every day. Picking up the pace, I made my way to the front door. I had almost reached it when it popped open. Reacting, I stepped back, my eyes widening at the sight of the person walking through it.
