by Siera Maley
“I’m allergic to chocolate,” I told her, but accepted them anyway. “My dad will eat them, though.”
“Oh, wow. That sucks. And explains the vanilla cone.” She stood silently for a moment, chewing on her lip, and then seemed to collect herself. She shot me a pained look. “So… as it turns out, I sometimes do this thing where I flirt with a girl and then mistake discomfort due to lack of interest for discomfort due to nervous sexual tension, and then wind up trapping straight girls against walls and trying to make out with them. And then scaring the crap out of them and literally making them flee from me for several miles. On foot.”
“Has this happened more than once?” I asked, dumbfounded.
She hesitated, and then admitted, “Well, no. You’re kind of the only one. I have a pretty good gaydar. You don’t have a boyfriend, you laugh at all my lame jokes, and I’m pretty sure you’ve actually spent more time blushing around me than not blushing around me so far. Turns out you’re just kind of a nervous person, I guess.”
I sighed, taking pity on her. “Yeah, I am. And also gay.”
She furrowed her eyebrows, caught between looking thoughtful and inquisitive. “Well, now I’m confused. You didn’t kiss me.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Nice ego.”
She flushed abruptly as her own words sank in. “I didn’t… I mean… That came out wrong.”
“I think it kinda came out how you meant it,” I corrected, shooting her a sympathetic look and a smile.
“Okay. Maybe it did. I’m passably attractive and aware of it; sue me.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “God, I shouldn’t have come onto you during freaking laser tag. There are better ways to start out.”
My smile faded. I set the cookies on an end table just inside by the front door, and then let out a sigh and leaned against the doorframe, my arms folded across my chest. Chloe’d relaxed now, and looked like she wanted to ask me to hang out for the day. “Chloe, I like you. But I think we should just be friends. I can’t date you,” I told her.
Her own smile faded. “…Oh?”
“I’m sorry.” I bit at my lip. “I’m just not looking for a relationship.” She opened her mouth and I added, “And I’m not looking for something casual, either. You’re nice, okay? I want you around for a while.”
She studied me for a moment, her mouth falling shut, and then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Okay. But I’m still going to flirt with you. Does this mean we can have sleepovers and pillow fights in our underwear?”
“You haven’t had many female friends, have you?” I guessed, half-kidding.
“I used to call the girls that slept over at my house my friends back when I was in middle school. I’m not sure that counts, though. We probably got a little too friendly.”
“Oh my God.” I shook my head. “We are polar opposites. I have pretty much no experience with girls, and I’m older than you.”
“That could change,” she pointed out, winking. “And not much older, I bet, unless you’re, like, eighteen. You’re what, a senior next year? I just finished up my sophomore year, but I barely missed the cutoff to be in your grade; I’ll be seventeen in August.”
I’d realized what she was about to say just before she said it, but I wasn’t quick enough at tuning her out. It took everything I had to keep a practiced smile on my face at the realization that she was only three months younger than me. August. She was turning seventeen in August.
That meant that Chloe didn’t have twelve months to live. She didn’t even have six.
She was going to be dead by the end of the summer.
* * *
Chloe left without coming inside after our conversation on the porch. I think she was more put off than she’d seemed by my rejection, and as I took the stairs up to my room, I wondered if I’d have been better off letting her think I was straight. Now the idea would always be in the back of both of our minds, even if I never let us actually go there.
I was upset with Robbie, but I knew I had to call him now. He was the only one I could talk to about Chloe.
I used my house phone, but he had the number saved and knew it was me. He seemed hesitant when he answered. “Harper?”
“Forget about last night,” I told him. “I was pissed off and emotional. It doesn’t matter anymore. Chloe turns seventeen in August.”
He was silent for a long time. I picked at the comforter of my bed as I waited for his thoughts. “…How are you?” he asked at last.
“That’s it?” I countered. “No advice? No telling me I should’ve known better?”
“It’s not your fault you like her,” he murmured. “Sometimes that stuff can’t be helped. It happens. Against our better judgment.”
“I guess.” I let out a breath. “The only good thing about this is that it has to be an accident. Right? I mean, barring the infinitesimally small chance that she has some rare brain tumor that’s suddenly going to kill her, it has to be an accident.”
“Another car accident,” he mused quietly. I felt my heart clench in my chest.
“Well… I can watch out for that.”
“How? By making sure she never uses a vehicle over the summer?”
“I don’t know. I could drive her everywhere, maybe…”
“No,” he cut in, so forcefully it startled me. “If it really will be a car accident, you shouldn’t get into a car with her, Harper.”
“Unless my age of death is 17, I think I’ll be alright, Robbie.”
“You can still get seriously injured,” he reminded me.
“So if I can’t stop an accident by driving her myself, how do I stop it?” I asked, realizing too late that his answer would be indicative of his usual philosophy.
“Harper, I don’t think you can.”
“I’m going to try,” I insisted. “Even if I have to be her chauffer all summer and spend every hour of my spare time being with her and checking up on her.” I set my jaw. “Everything I didn’t and couldn’t do for my mom.”
Robbie didn’t respond, but I knew what he was thinking. He didn’t believe I could do it. I was determined to prove him wrong.
Later that day, Dad finally got to have the conversation he’d wanted. I initiated it by entering his office and offering him my SIM card. “Do you have an old cell phone I can put this in?”
He sighed and nodded, taking the card from me. Then he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. “Harper, you know I love you dearly,” he began, “but I think we both know that things have been different since your mother passed away. I’ve been different, particularly.”
He paused, and I stared at him, waiting for him to go on. “Deborah and I met online a few months ago. She lives in the area, and her husband passed away in a fire a couple of years ago. He was a firefighter. Talking to her…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “Everything I’d been through, she’d been through. She could relate to it all. I haven’t had that with anyone other than you.” He shifted in his chair and looked to me pleadingly. “I think you’d really like her if you gave her a chance. A lot of the qualities I admire in her are ones I admired in your mother.”
“She’s not Mom,” I reminded him gruffly. “She’s never gonna be Mom.”
“I know.” He nodded. “I know. And when you were born, your mother and I promised each other that if anything were to happen to either of us, the other one would do the best job they could in raising you, and try as best as they could to be happy.” He smiled proudly. “And I’ve done a damn good job with you. I love you so much, Harper. Now it’s time for me to work on the other half of that promise.”
I lowered my eyes to the ground, not sure what to say. “She’s not a replacement?” I asked at last.
“Trust me. There is no replacing your mother,” he told me, getting to his feet. “Okay?”
I looked up at him as he stretched his arms out for a hug, and then obliged him with a meek, “Okay.”
As he hugged me, he exp
lained, “I’m going to invite her over for dinner one night next weekend, okay? I think you’ll like her, but if anything goes wrong, we’ll talk it out, alright?”
I pulled away from him abruptly, eyebrows furrowed. Dinner with just me, Dad, and Deborah sounded like a train wreck waiting to happen. “Can I invite my friend? Chloe?” I asked him.
He didn’t take too long to think about it before he nodded. “That sounds fair. Sure.”
* * *
I consumed myself with Chloe for the next week. I made lists. Charts. Learned where she liked to go, what her schedule was like. It was borderline stalking, only she had no problem letting me do it. We developed a routine: every weekday, I’d get home from work late in the afternoon and then she’d come over. Depending on whether or not Baxter was with her and whether or not we felt like going out, we’d either hang out at my place or I’d drive us around. Chloe complained about my driving now; she said I was way too slow and way too careful, even when I was going the speed limit. I ignored her.
One of my lists – the most morbid – contained possible causes of death. I added to it every chance I got. An accident involving a vehicle was the most obvious cause, and it was right up at the top of the list. The lower down I went, the most ridiculous they got. It ended with “sky-diving accident” and then “random tumor,” but I wound up crossing the second one out when I decided that the list should only be comprised of preventable causes.
Chloe’s life became more than just an extension of my own. I buried myself in it with an enthusiasm I’d only had once before: four years ago. As the days passed, I could see the similarities cropping up in my subconscious: trouble sleeping and panicky episodes, for example. But I couldn’t let up. Couldn’t give up. I had to keep her safe. Had to keep Chloe safe. Had to keep Mom safe…
I was twelve. I was twelve and Mom was coming downstairs, dressed up for dinner with a friend. And while Dad was telling her how beautiful she looked, a feeling so powerfully foreboding settled within me that I felt paralyzed with fear. I watched her and Dad laugh together as he twirled her around, watching her dress spin, and then I blurted out, “I don’t feel good.”
They both turned toward me, and I tipped forward abruptly, and, barely managing to stay on my feet, vomited. They rushed to me, one on either side of me, and Mom held back my hair as Dad helped me stay on my feet.
“Honey, let’s get you to your bed,” Mom cooed in my ear. “We’ll get you a trash can to put beside it. Your dad will take good care of you.”
I shook my head and gripped at her. “No. I want you to stay.”
She looked at me grimly. “I can’t, sweetie. I have dinner plans with Pam.”
“Please.” I didn’t know why I needed her around so suddenly, but the feeling was there, deep inside me, and I felt it from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I couldn’t ignore it. “Please stay.”
“Your father will stay with you,” she insisted, kissing the top of my head. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
I jolted awake, breathing hard, and fumbled for the clock on my nightstand. I turned it toward me and squinted. It was two in the morning.
Sighing, I rolled over and stared at my bedroom wall, vivid images from my dream swirling around in my mind. I didn’t need time to recall the details; they were all already embedded deep in my head. That night was impossible to forget. I hadn’t pushed hard enough. I’d known her number, and I’d had a feeling so strong it’d made me sick. But I hadn’t pushed hard enough to make her stay.
If it happened with Chloe… when it happened with Chloe… I’d be ready.
Chapter Five
“So what you’re saying is that I’m basically going to be forced to sit through the awkwardness along with you, then.”
“Basically,” I agreed, nodding over at Chloe. She grinned at me from the passenger’s seat of the car.
“Okay. But I’m staying over afterward.” She let out a squeal as Baxter surprised her from the back seat, jumping into her lap and licking at her face.
“Careful, I’m driving,” I reminded her.
“Super slowly. Where are we going? You should just tell me.”
“To one of my favorite places in San Francisco,” was all I said.
“Is it a gay bar? I hope it’s not. I don’t want to meet other girls.”
“I’m flattered,” I joked and ignored the way my stomach flopped.
“I have this theory,” Chloe began.
“You have a lot of theories.”
She ignored me and continued, “-that if I hit on you relentlessly enough, you’ll crack eventually. See, when guys do it, it’s creepy and gross, but I’m female and adorable and you actually like hanging out with me, so it’s okay.”
“Is it?”
She nodded simply and proceeded to kiss Baxter over and over on his head. He licked at her mouth and she saw me pull a face. “You’re just jealous he gets to kiss me and you don’t.”
“Uh huh.” I pulled into a parking lot and Chloe tugged at Baxter’s leash until he was under control. Then we got out of the car together. “Okay.” I pointed to the woods nearby. “We’re following that trail there for only about half a mile or so. My dad told me about this place a few years back. He and mom went here in high school on their first date.”
“Are you serious? And you try to act like you don’t like me,” Chloe marveled, her mouth wide open.
“You wanted to see where I go for fun and which places I like around here,” I insisted. “This is it.”
“And it’s a romantic dating spot your parents used to use. How convenient,” she drawled, sauntering past me. Or… attempting to. Baxter pulling at his leash ruined it a little.
We wound our way down the trail for ten minutes or so before we came to my parents’ hidden gem of a spot. Buried in the woods was a drop-off that led to a small body of water, distantly connected to the ocean. Up at the top of the cliff above the water’s edge was where I liked best, but nearby, the land sloped down to the water’s level, complete with a small beach, and it was easy to wade into the water from there.
“Whoa. Does anyone else know about this place?” Chloe asked me, already leading Baxter down the slope. “This is awesome! We have to bring bathing suits next time; I wanna try jumping off of that cliff.”
“Robbie knows I like it here. And you can’t jump from there,” I warned her. “There are rocks below; it’s really dangerous. You have to just get in from where you are now.” I followed her down the slope, pointing out the rocks in question. A few jutted out just visibly from beneath the water, but there were more underneath. “You’d have to be pretty lucky to miss them all. The drop itself isn’t too bad; it’s the landing that’s the problem.”
She frowned. “That sucks.”
“Gotta get your thrills somewhere else,” I lamented, patting her on the shoulder. She unleashed Baxter and he leapt into the water, splashing the both of us. I sat down on the sand as we watched him swim, and after a moment, Chloe joined me, admiring our surroundings.
“This is really beautiful, Harper.”
“Thanks.” I didn’t know what else to say, and we both fell silent. As Baxter paddled back and forth, I felt Chloe shift closer to me. She leaned over and surprised me by kissing me gently on the cheek, and then rested her head on my shoulder. It felt natural, and I didn’t stop her. I didn’t want to.
“I thought San Francisco was going to be this constant gay pride parade,” she told me abruptly. “Like, hot lesbians everywhere. I’ve gotta say… this is better.”
“A seventeen-year-old socially awkward virgin with a job at a fast food place. And I’m refusing to date you. You sure hit the jackpot,” I joked.
“I must break you,” she replied in what sounded like a Russian accent. I pulled away to shoot her a confused look, and she looked disappointed.
“Rocky IV? No? Doesn’t ring a bell?”
“They kept going after the first one?”
She sighed deeply, shaking h
er head. “What do you even watch?”
“I like older movies,” I explained. “Casablanca, The Sound of Music-”
“You’re so deep!” she sighed out, pretending to swoon.
“Oh, come on. Like, what’s so great about Rocky IV?”
“Sylvester Stallone punches shit!”
“You’re such a dude.”
“Well, the actors in your movies were probably all bigots. So there.”
“Because Sylvester Stallone is such a paragon of love and acceptance. Whatever. Julie Andrews is a gift.”
“She’s the exception,” Chloe conceded. “But still. I grew up on action movies the same way you grew up on your old-timey stuff. We’ll have to swap sometime. Or maybe watch one of each when I stay over.” She seemed excited by the idea. “Oh. I can show you the Terminator movies! Have you seen them? You know: ‘I’ll be back!’”
“That Schwarzenegger impression was abysmal. No, I haven’t. I’m showing you The Sound of Music because I know you haven’t seen it.”
“Okay.” She nodded, grinning. “Deal.”
* * *
Dinner with Deborah went, honestly, as expected. I didn’t learn much about her. She was overly polite and asked me about my interests, and tried too hard to forge some kind of bond between us. We didn’t have very much in common from what I could tell; some of her favorite activities included going on hikes and running marathons. That wasn’t anything like my dad at all either, so I couldn’t see why he liked her so much. She seemed nice, sure, but I took everything she said and did with a grain of salt. She was trying to make me like her, so, naturally, I didn’t exactly warm to her.
Chloe was more polite than usual, too. It was her first time really getting to know my dad. They got along better than Deborah and I did. In fact, most of the conversation over dinner consisted of just the two of them talking. I stayed quiet unless someone addressed me directly. Most of the time it was Deborah, with a question like, “So do you play any sports?” (“No.”) or “Are you excited for your senior year to start?” (“I guess. I don’t know.”) All in all, it wasn’t fun.
