The Choices We Make

by Barbara C. Doyle

I pull out an unopened bag of Sour Patch Kids from my pocket, placing it between us. I know she’s hooked on them ever since I let her have some of my stash when we were eleven.

  She tucks her hair behind her ear, eyeing the candy instead of me. “Mom and Dad wanted me to stay home.”

  “Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Which means that it does.

  “Talk to me, Opal,” I beg. I shouldn’t have to, but she always holds back when she thinks something will upset me. “What’s up?”

  “It’s about the dance,” she murmurs.

  The winter formal in on Friday night. She usually isn’t allowed to go to any dance, but her mother gave her permission this time because Opal kept up on grades and stayed out of trouble. It seems odd, considering Opal is the last person who gets into trouble with anyone. Plus, her grades have always been great, way better than mine.

  She opens the Sour Patch Kids and pulls one out. “Dad found out Mom was letting me go and wouldn’t pay for the dress unless he approved of my date.”

  I blink. “He wants to meet me?

  Her hair falls around her face. “No. He wants me to go with Noah Fuller.”

  I sit up. “Excuse me?” My voice raises, causing her eyes bolt to mine. I collect myself, and ask, “Why does he want you to go with Noah?”

  She licks her bottom lip. “He knows Noah’s dad. I guess he’s a big attorney, and Dad says having good connections is important. He told me and Mom that he’d only allow me to go if it was with him.”

  Shoulders tense, I force myself to lean back. I’ve had a handful of encounters with Mr. Anderson, and none of them were impressive. He knows we’re friends, knows Mom is a single mother who works fulltime as the school secretary, and judges us because we’re not rich or as put-together as his family.

  But I know damn well the Andersons’ aren’t as put together as he wants everyone to believe. Just because he won the town election for mayor doesn’t mean shit. He’ll keep pretending he fits the happy family man persona if it means keeping a good face in the public’s eye.

  “I’m taking you to the dance,” I inform her.

  “He said—”

  “I’ll pay for your dress, the tickets, everything. Okay? You’re my girlfriend, not Noah’s. I may not come from a well-off family like Noah, but I know what I want. He can’t keep controlling you like this.”

  I see her silver eyes glaze over with tears, and instantly feel bad for snapping. It isn’t her fault that her dad is an asshole.

  “Shit, I’m sorry. He just makes me crazy.”

  Opal and I have been dating for three years and known each other for six. We’ve become inseparable, knowing each other like the backs of our hands. I’ve shared everything with this girl—secrets, truths, firsts. Well, some firsts.

  It was six months after we started dating when I finally worked up the nerve to kiss her. Although, those six months felt like forever. She just seemed so quiet, so unsure. I didn’t want to freak her out or embarrass her. People knew we were dating, but she wasn’t one for public displays of affection. It didn’t bother me, in fact it worked in my benefit.

  I’d taken her to the same janitor’s closet that we’d been in before. It was closed off and seemed symbolic, since we became friends inside there. Despite her questions over where we were going, she followed me inside when I opened the door for her.

  Looking back now, maybe I should have made the moment more romantic. I wanted to show her that I wanted more, wanted to prove how much I cared, while still making her comfortable. Yet, we were surrounded by cleaning supplies, with bleach mild in the air. It didn’t stop me from leaning in and pressing my lips to her. It was quick, but even the short moment lingered on my lips when I pulled away from her.

  I remember feeling nervous, swallowing my emotions until she mustered a response. To my surprise, she’d giggled. I guess kissing her in a closet wasn’t the best choice, but it worked for us, even she saw that.

  Opal’s sniffling pulls me out of the memory of our first kiss, making me very aware of the current conversation we’re having. “I don’t see how it’ll work. He won’t let me go if you’re the one he sees me with.”

  As much as I want to give her the whole experience, I know I can’t because of him. I can buy her a dress, shoes, flowers, and everything she’d need for a perfect date, but I wouldn’t be able to walk up to her door, or escort her out.

  “He won’t,” I plot, nodding slowly.

  “What? How?”

  “I’m taking you to the dance,” I state. “But he doesn’t have to know that. We can get Noah to pick you up, and then we meet at the school, have fun, and Noah can take you home. It isn’t like he has spies at school, right?”

  At least, I hope he doesn’t.

  Worry crosses over her face, her lips tipping down as her eyes darken to a gunmetal grey. “I don’t know, Bash. It seems risky.”

  “Do you want to go with me?”

  She nods. “Of course.”

  “Then it’s final. It’ll work out, Opal.”

  It always does.

  I can tell she isn’t quite sure. Her eyes look a thousand miles away. I pull her into me, and she rests her cheek against my chest. My fingers brush through her hair, and we lay like that for a while before either of us breaks the moment.

  “Bash?” she whispers.

  Before I can answer, there’s a loud crash downstairs. We both bolt up, but the panic on Opal’s face is something permanently carved into my memory.

  “Opal. What’s—”

  She stands up. “You need to go. Now.”

  I blink. “Go? What is—”

  “Go!” she hisses, pointing toward the window.

  I’m stuck where I’m sitting on the bed, suddenly aware of the shouting coming from downstairs. I know it’s her parents, but I can’t quite make out what’s being screamed.

  “Sebastian, please leave,” she whimpers, pulling me up and shoving me toward the window. I block her, gripping the sides of the sill so she can’t get my body out.

  When I turn, she’s shaking uncontrollably. Her eyes are everywhere but me, like she’s waiting for something to happen. For someone to do something.

  There’s another loud crash that sounds like glass breaking directly below us, and my eyes widen. Her father must have thrown something. There’s crying from her mother, begging him to calm down.

  “Opal …” I touch her arm, and she flinches away, suddenly remembering I’m still here.

  Her breathing becomes harsher as the voices get louder, like they’re coming up the stairs. Her mother is talking too fast for me to understand a word of what she’s saying, but I do hear something that I’ll never forget.

  A loud smack, and based on the sudden silence of Mrs. Anderson, I have an inkling of what just happened.

  Her father hit her mother.

  “Jesus Chris—”

  Opal is venomous now, shoving me so hard toward the window that I nearly fall out. She’s so determined for me to leave, but I catch myself on the wall and turn to face her once again.

  “It’s not what you think,” she tells me, but her words are icier than I’ve ever heard before.

  Her voice is cold from the lies that she’s telling herself, and I can see in the depths of her eyes that she knows they aren’t true.

  “Bash, if you want to go with you to the dance this weekend then you need to leave. And please, please don’t mention this to anyone.”

  My jaw ticks. “If there’s nothing going on like you say, then what would I have to say?”

  Her eyes widen at the challenge in my tone, and she knows I know.

  “Please,” she whispers defeatedly. “I just want you to go. Please leave. I’ll …” She looks away. “I’ll explain in the morning. Okay?”

  No, you won’t.

  “Friends don’t lie to each other, Opal,” I remind her, putting one leg out the window. “I know for a fact that couples don’t either. And your ey
es,” I shake my head, “they tell me the truth even if you can’t. What just happened isn’t right, so don’t make yourself believe it is. You’re better than that.”

  “Bash, I can’t—”

  I shake my head at her again. “Let me take care of you like I said I would. Do you trust me, Opal?”

  She gulps, her eyes dart between me and her closed bedroom door. The yelling has stopped.

  Her eyes find mine again. “Yes.”

  I nod. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Before she responds, I climb down the tree.

  ***

  Opal missed school again the today, and it’s not like her to miss school at all, let alone three days in a row. Once I realized she wasn’t coming, I collected her homework to take to her. She’d hate herself if she got behind in her classes. It was also my excuse to check on her, to make sure she was alright after what I witnessed the other night.

  Before I can ring the doorbell, her mother whips open the door saying, “You need to leave.”

  “I need to see Opal.”

  She eyes the papers in my hand. “I can give her, her homework. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

  She reaches out for the books, but I snap my hand back. Her face falls, telling me more than her words do. She knows I know.

  “Mrs. Anderson, I want to help.”

  She glances over her shoulder before stepping out of the house, closing the door so it’s cracked open.

  “You can help by minding your own business instead of making officers snoop around our family,” she states coolly.

  My lips part, then close.

  She takes the homework from me. “I am doing everything I can for Opal. But inserting yourself in business that isn’t yours is not helping.”

  Blinking, I try to understand what she means. She can’t really believe that, can she? There’s no way she thinks that subjecting Opal to all that bullshit is healthy.

  “How do you know it was me?”

  She stands up straighter, gripping the skirt of her dress. “I’m not naive, Sebastian. I know that you sneak into my daughter’s room every night, I know that you care about her, and I know that you’d do anything to protect her.”

  Jaw ticking, I match her stance. “Then don’t you think you should do something about the abuse instead of bullshitting yourself?”

  She’s taken aback, speechless.

  I don’t stop there. “If you love Opal, then don’t you think you should allow her to live life the way other teenagers do? She shouldn’t be afraid of her own parents, but it’s obvious she is. She can’t make friends because of your husband’s reputation, and she’s terrified of letting anybody in, in case they learn the truth. Is that the life you want for her?”

  She looks away, clearly put off by my boldness. Despite it, she can hear the truth behind the words even if she doesn’t want to listen.

  “I don’t regret going to my mom,” I inform her matter-of-factly. “Somebody had to do it.”

  Her eyes narrow as they take me in. “If you knew the circumstances, you wouldn’t be so proud, Mr. Everly.”

  What the hell is that supposed to mean?

  I don’t bother asking. If she wanted to tell me, she would. She has more pride than she wants to admit.

  “I know Mr. Anderson expects Noah Fuller to take her to the dance,” I say next. “But he isn’t the one who’s seeing Opal. I don’t care what he thinks, I’m good enough for her.”

  She inhales slowly, finally meeting my eyes with a softer gaze. “Perhaps. But I’m sure you know by now that my husband finds a way to get what he wants, despite his reputation.”

  Mom said that he wasn’t arrested, because there was no evidence of abuse.

  “He’s a powerful man with powerful friends, you know,” she tells me. “Officer Tilden has been friends with my husband for a very long time. Imagine our surprise when he stopped by yesterday morning in full uniform, claiming there was an accusation of domestic abuse.”

  I gulp, nostrils flaring.

  “Without evidence, he couldn’t do anything. Not that it matters. There’s nothing to tell.”

  I go to argue, but she puts her hand up.

  “Blue,” she tells me. “If you’re adamant on taking my daughter to the formal, she’s been eyeing a blue chiffon gown at Miranda’s Corner Shop on West Street. I paid for it already, but you can pick it up and make sure your tie matches. Understood?”

  Surprised at the sudden change of conversation, I nod slowly.

  “It’s under Marie Anderson. I’ll tell the owner you’re picking it up.” She steps back so she’s just inside the door. “For the record, I will do everything in my power to protect Opal. Right now, I can’t do that unless she’s close to me.”

  She doesn’t let me reply before closing the door in my face.

  Stunned, I step back, and stare at the closed door for a few seconds. Backing up to the sidewalk, my eyes drift toward the window I’ve come accustomed to sneaking into.

  Well, not last night. Opal never answered my taps, and after ten minutes waiting for anything, I forced myself to go home.

  Now she’s watching me through the glass, a small smile on her face. I raise my hand and wave at her, and she presses her palm against the glass.

  I miss you, too, Opal.

  Two hesitant knocks at the front door disrupts my focus, making my heart jump over the familiarity. The grip on the butter knife in my hand tightens, knowing there will be a third knock if I don’t answer right away. I lower the mayonnaise container to the counter, set the knife down, and turn toward the door like it’ll open on its own.

  Bash used to invite himself into my childhood house, climbing up the tree branches outside my bedroom window. The same exact branches that used to scare me when they scraped against the glass at night also sent me my salvation at ten o’clock without fail.

  It always started with three little knocks.

  Knuckles meet the door for the third time, and my socked feet pad across the hardwood floor on autopilot, in sync with my thumping heartbeat.

  Taking a deep breath, I open the door.

  Bash’s jaw is lined with scruff that makes him look like he hasn’t slept in days, and the dark purple bags under his eyes makes him look sick. He’s wearing a loose pair of blue jeans and a white Relentless shirt that has a tear in the sleeve and green paint splattered across the font. His hands are stuffed in his pockets as he takes me in with distant eyes.

  “I could have been a serial killer,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

  I blink. “What?”

  “You didn’t ask who it was,” he states. “I could have been some psycho killer with an axe getting ready to chop you into tiny pieces.”

  The way he rambles is unlike him and takes me by surprise. His nerves show through with his fidgeting hands as they flatten and clench by his sides.

  His eyes dart around the empty hallway, then back at me, studded with a new type of awareness. I’ve seen the look before. He’s worried about Addison.

  “I knew it was you,” I admit, tightening my grip on the door. He looks confused. “Your knock is the same.”

  He gapes, then snaps his jaw closed. “I never really thought about it.”

  We stand in silence, both of us looking at the other but not knowing what to say. He takes me in the same way I do him, although I’m in worn pajama pants with dancing toast on them and a ratty tee that Kennedy gave me back in high school.

  “I wasn’t expecting anybody,” I explain, peering down at my attire. My toes curl in my socks as his eyes burn down my body. I’m lucky to be wearing a bra. Usually on my days off I don’t leave the house, so I lounge around without one.

  Today felt different. For the first time in over a week, I felt hopeful. Lighter.

  He palms the back of his neck nervously. “I’ve been thinking about things. A lot. I wasn’t planning to come over, but …” He trails off.

  I pop my lips. “Here you are.”r />
  “Here I am.”

  We stand awkwardly, me shifting from one foot to the other, and him standing stock-still.

  “Um …”

  “Is Noah here? Or …” His eyes dart behind me.

  “Addison?” I supply.

  He shifts. “I can come back if she is. I should have called first.”

  I scrunch my face. “You don’t have my number.”

  His lips form a tight O. “Right.”

  I manage to smile, only for a second. “He’s not here,” I tell him softly. “But Addy is.”

  Her cough came back two days ago, but her energy is still higher than mine is half the time. But I kept her out of school until she was one hundred percent better.

  “Addy,” he repeats to himself. “That’s a pretty name, Opal.”

  He gives me the tiniest timid smile, and I see the questions swirling in his eyes. My anxiety doesn’t outweigh the guilt already resting on my shoulders, so I stand aside and gesture for him to come in.

  He slowly takes a step inside, his worn work boots stepping down like he’s testing to see if it’s safe.

  “There aren’t any lasers,” I tease, hoping it’ll lighten the mood. He chuckles, closing the door behind him. I wrap my hands around my arms, biting down on the inside of my cheek as he glances around the apartment.

  There’s not much to see. The walls have a few pictures of me and Addy, but for the most part they’re just a bland beige with random stains that I haven’t had time to clean or paint over.

  All the furniture is bought used or donated by people around town. Roy gave me my kitchen table and chairs when he bought a new set for his own home, Kennedy bought me my coffee table and TV stand, and I scraped together enough money to get a TV and a few bookshelves for the huge collection of novels I have. All the other necessities I got from the local thrift store.

  “Nice place,” he compliments.

  I flush. “It’s okay.” I shrug. “Home.”

  He blows out a breath. “Home,” he repeats.

  I remember the unfinished sandwich on the counter and make my way over to it. “Have you eaten?”

  I faintly hear him walk up behind me, eyeing the ingredients I have laying on the counter. It’s just a BLT, or a partial one. I ran out of tomatoes two days ago, and only have a few pieces of precooked bacon left.