Breathing 02 - Barely Breathing

by Rebecca Donovan

I opened my mouth to speak, but then immediately closed it.

  “Say it,” he demanded. “Let me in that head of yours before you start thinking things you shouldn’t.”

  “Too late,” I confessed with a guilty shrug. I paused again before I revealed, “I heard your dad.” Evan opened his mouth, about to spew some not so happy words, when I interrupted, “He’s right.”

  He stopped and stared at me. “About what?”

  “You can’t make one of the biggest decisions of your life based on a girl.”

  Evan smirked. Not the reaction I expected. “Okay.” My eyes widened at his casual response. He continued to wear his infamous amused grin as he added, “Because Stanford and Berkeley are horrible schools, and I’d be jeopardizing my whole future if I went to California. You're right. We should just break up now since there’s no point in us considering each other in any decisions we make about our futures.”

  “Evan!” I balled up the wrapping paper and threw it at him. He laughed and batted it into the fire as if he’d planned it. “That’s not what I meant,” I huffed.

  “I know,” he chuckled, pulling me toward him, “but you can’t listen to my father. He only thinks he knows what’s best for me, when in fact he has no idea who I am.” He kissed the top of my head and added, “I would never make such a huge decision based on a girl.” He paused long enough for a jolt of panic to make my back tense, before completing with, “but you’re not just any girl. I’m… We’re going to California.”

  I buried my face in his chest and squeezed my arms around him. “Yale’s the best law school in the country,” I rebutted without conviction.

  “And who said I wanted to be a lawyer,” he responded, squeezing me back. Suddenly, he pulled away and declared, “I want to teach you how to dance.”

  My heart stopped. “You what?”

  Evan laughed.

  “I can’t dance.”

  He laughed again. “I know. That’s why I’m going to teach you.”

  I groaned and clenched my teeth in dread as he approached the Bose system. I was trying to figure out how to conjure up an ounce of grace as he inserted his iPhone and scrolled through the song selections. I scanned the empty terrace, scouting for potential tripping hazards. Then I took in the puddle of chiffon around my sneakers and exhaled in defeat―this was going to be a disaster.

  My head popped up at the sudden strum of a guitar followed by a round of drums. Evan started nodding his head to the beat, walking slowly over to me. He reached for me, cradling my hips in his hands and rocking me to the punk song.

  “Ready?” he asked, taking my hand and spinning me around as I laughed. When I turned back to face him, he started bouncing up and down, forcing me up with him. The thumping energy surged through me and I found myself jumping alongside him. He smiled in approval and proceeded to thrust his head in time with the thrashing bass. I rocked from side to side and jumped in a circle, swinging my arms―my skirt swirling around me.

  We po-goed around the terrace for another song until I finally collapsed in an Adirondack, giddy and out of breath.

  “You’re amazing.”

  Evan stood in front of me, admiring me with flushed cheeks.

  “I’m sure I don’t look so amazing now,” I noted, blowing the strand of hair stuck to my nose as a line sweat ran down my temple.

  “That’s not what I said,” he corrected. “You are amazing.”

  I could feel my cheeks changing color, and my lips stretched into an embarrassed smile. “What did I do?”

  “Just you, everything about you―you’re amazing,” he stated simply.

  “You just love that I’m such a great dancer,” I teased, making him chuckle.

  Evan pulled me to my feet and met me with a kiss that set off a thousand fireworks through my entire body. Wait. Those were fireworks. I turned to witness a sprinkling of red sparks in the sky. We stepped out from under the terrace to watch the brilliant spectacle.

  “Happy New Year,” Evan said into my ear, pulling me around to kiss me before I could say the same.

  It was the most dazzling fireworks display I'd ever seen; I could feel my heart beating in my chest with each explosion. The sparks felt like they were going sprinkle down upon us. Every so often, I’d glance up at Evan to find him watching me adoringly. Then he’d redirect his attention toward the fire in the sky.

  When it was over, my toes were numb from standing in the snow and I was shivering. The fireworks were so mesmerizing; I hadn’t registered that the temperature had dropped until now.

  “Let's get going,” Evan said, rubbing my arms when he noticed me shaking. “You're about to freeze into a lawn ornament." I followed him to the terrace where the fire had become a heap of glowing embers. Evan walked to the side of the house and returned with a couple gallons of water to douse the remaining heat in the fireplace. I packed up Evan’s package and speaker system while he put the fire out.

  When we neared the front of the house, Evan’s black BMW was idling in the driveway.

  “The limo driver?”

  “Is awesome,” Evan declared in awe. When we ducked into the warm car, I pulled off my gloves and thawed my hands in front of the blowing heater vent. “Now where?”

  “Hotel?” I suggested, trying to sound nonchalant.

  Evan grinned knowingly. “Mine or yours?”

  The question suddenly made me think of Sara. I wondered how her night had gone, and where she and Jared were right now.

  “Where do you think they are?” Evan asked, as if reading my mind.

  “You don’t think they…” I questioned.

  “He was excited to see her again,” he shrugged, “and she looked incredible tonight…”

  “I know, right?!” I agreed emphatically. “But you don’t think they would… do you?”

  Evan shrugged again. “Let’s just pick a room and hope it’s empty.” He leaned over and found me waiting. What started as a soft kiss, pressed into a more urgent one, coated with want. The nervousness that shot through me at the thought of going to the hotel room, was quickly replaced with a need to get there as quickly as we could.

  Evan pulled back, breathing heavily, “Yours.” He buckled his seatbelt and put the car in gear, speeding out of the driveway. That’s when we met the line of slow moving limos pulling out of the mansion’s driveway and were practically forced to stop. “No way,” Evan groaned, banging his head against his head rest in frustration. I laughed.

  While we patiently waited to move more than twenty feet a minute, Evan stated, “I think this is going to be a great year, Em.”

  “I hope so,” I squeezed his hand that rested on my lap and thought, It can’t be any worse than last year.

  “It’s going to be different, that’s for sure,” he continued, “especially since you’re moving in with your mother. Where did that come from anyway?”

  I shrugged. “I figured now was a better time than any to recognize I have a mother.”

  “Okay,” he noted slowly with a nod of his head. “But this weekend? All in, huh?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you’re going to do something, you’re going to give it everything you have. You’ve decided to reconnect with your mother, so why not move in with her?”

  I shrugged again, never consciously recognizing that that was one of my character traits. But he was right. I was an overachiever, needing to excel in everything I did―so why not this?

  “What’s your therapist going to say about your decision?” he asked, and then shook his head when I wouldn't answer. “You stopped seeing her, didn’t you?” I still wouldn't say anything, knowing how he felt about the therapy. “How come?”

  “I’m fine,” I defended. “I don’t see the point. Besides, Sara’s a better therapist than anyone with a PhD, and she doesn’t force me to write down my feelings.”

  Evan chuckled. “That’s probably true.” His laugh tapered and he became serious. “You know if you ever need to talk…”
>
  “I’m not much of a talker.” I directed my attention out the window, not wanting to stir the emotions I'd made a point to shut off.

  “I know,” he accepted softly. After a moment of silence, he added, “This year will be better at school, too.”

  I glanced at him skeptically.

  “Really,” he assured me. “You know something stupid had to have happened over the break. Somebody got a nose job or slept with their best friend’s girlfriend. They have short memories.” Evan squeezed my hand, and I hoped more than anything that he was right.

  My stomach fluttered with nerves when we pulled up to the hotel. While we waited for the valet attendant, Evan said, “Let’s not go into this with expectations. We can do whatever comes naturally.”

  I stared at him. “Are you serious? Of course I have expectations. I’ve expected to have sex with you for about six months now.”

  “Okay then,” Evan replied with a smile. “We obviously have the same expectation.” I laughed, easing the nervous tension.

  We left the car in the hands of the valet and made our way to the elevator. Evan held my hand the entire time, and my whole body was jittering so much that I couldn’t find anything to say.

  Before I opened the door, Evan turned me around and said, “Close your eyes.” I obeyed. “Deep breath.” I inhaled deeply and relaxed my shoulders with the exhale. I awaited my next instruction but felt his lips upon mine instead. Their touch surprised me. My calm breath faltered and my knees weakened. I opened my mouth to the rhythm of his, feeling the warmth of his tongue on mine. Fumbling in my pocket for the key, I tried to open the door while remaining connected. It didn’t work.

  I pulled away long enough to insert the key and open the door. Then I tugged Evan toward me, finding his lips again. Evan started to unbutton his jacket as I backed into the room. That’s when I heard, “You’re back!” I pushed away from Evan mid-kiss and spun around, slamming the door in his face.

  “Sara, hi,” I fumbled, trying to catch my breath. I cracked the door to find Evan rubbing his forehead, “So, Sara’s here. Umm, I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Uh, okay,” Evan said slowly, looking at me like I was acting weird―only because I was. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.” I shut the door before he could even kiss me goodnight.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Sara demanded. “You could've let him in.”

  “No, it’s late,” I said in a rush, taking off my jacket and tossing it on the chair, my face on fire.

  “Oh, wait,” she shot out. “You two thought you’d have the room to yourselves. Oh, Em!” She started laughing hysterically.

  “Sara,” I scowled. “It’s not funny.”

  “Oh, it is,” she countered. “For the first time ever, I like a guy and don’t sleep with him. And you were finally about to have sex and didn’t get to. Oh that’s so fucking funny. Em, I’m so sorry.”

  I groaned and collapsed next to her on the king sized bed. “This had better not be an indication of how this year’s going to be.”

  Sara rested her head on my shoulder and draped her arm across my stomach, “It’s the end of our senior year. Then we're off to college. It's going to be the best year of our lives. Believe me.”

  I groaned, not sharing her optimism.

  3. Still Loved

  “Can we talk about what happened last night?” I asked Sara after leaving the small restaurant where we ate a greasy breakfast with Jared and Evan, surrounded by people who looked like they wished they'd never seen the New Year.

  “What? That you were planning on losing your virginity finally, but I screwed it up?”

  “No, I’m definitely not talking about that,” I retorted. “You mentioned liking Jared. What happened between you two?”

  “I'd rather not talk about it.”

  Something was off. Avoiding a conversation about a guy was not like Sara at all.

  “I’m confused.”

  “Em, he lives in New York. I’m still in high school, forget about the fact that we’re moving to California,” she presented plainly, void of emotion. “I can’t keep torturing myself. I need to forget about him... again.”

  I glanced over at her. She kept texting and wouldn’t look at me.

  “Thanks for driving,” she said, slipping the phone in her purse. “I’m going to sleep most of the way if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure,” I responded, concerned by her reaction.

  The quiet drive gave me time to think―which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Being trapped in my head for almost three hours could be a bit overwhelming―even scary. But at the end of it, I was content with my internal discussion. Whether moving in with my mother was the right thing to do or not, I was committed to trying.

  “Let’s just do nothing today and watch movies,” Sara proposed as we unloaded our bags from the car.

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Evan had to drive Jared back to school, so it was just Sara and me in front of the television the entire New Year’s Day. I forced myself to get sucked into the sappy romantic comedies and awkward teenage humiliation.

  Sara responded to a beeping text. "Em, do you want to go to a party tonight?"

  "Yeah, I don't think so," I answered without thinking twice.

  "Are you ever going to go to another party again?"

  "I don't know," I sighed. "I just don't want to hear it if someone gets too drunk and then asks me the wrong thing. I don't want to be the freak anymore."

  "They need to get over it, and so do you," Sara argued. "You can't stay locked away forever because you're afraid someone's going to say the wrong thing. Someone always says the wrong thing eventually, so fuck them. Who cares?"

  I grinned, knowing she was right. "Just not tonight, okay?"

  "Okay," Sara shrugged. I knew she was disappointed. I hadn't been to a party with her in over six months.

  "But why don't you go," I suggested. "I don't want to, but there's no reason you shouldn't."

  "Are you sure?" she questioned cautiously.

  "Of course," I replied adamantly.

  Sara's face lit up. She went back to her phone and began texting the masses to get the details.

  Anna hollered up the stairs, “Girls, we’re home. Come down and tell us about the party.”

  Sara jumped up and hopped down the stairs. I followed behind, still not accustomed to this family sharing thing that Sara had going on. Anna and Carl were so patient with me, not prying too much. But even the slightest questions about my day caught me off guard―questions that were so very natural to them.

  Sara sat in her usual spot, cross-legged on their king sized bed, and I sat down on the edge of the bed, very much a spectator. Anna was unpacking while Carl flipped through the mail. He pulled an envelope from the stack. “Emma, this is for you.”

  “Thanks.” I replied, as I took it from his hand.

  I examined the plain business envelope with no return address while Sara completely recreated every detail of the evening―from the décor, to Vivian’s award, to the fireworks display.

  I was running my finger over the Boca Raton, FL postmark when I heard, “How did Evan react when you told him about Stanford, Emma?”

  I flipped my eyes up upon hearing my name. All three were eagerly awaiting my response, making me realize that Sara and I hadn’t talked about it either.

  “He’s excited,” I replied awkwardly.

  They waited a second longer, and when they recognized that was the extent of my account, Anna said, “I'm looking forward to meeting your mom in the morning."

  I nodded, my stomach tensing at the thought.

  "Then I thought you, Sara and I might go shopping after."

  “Mom, you should know by now that Emma dreads shopping. But I'm in,” Sara answered on my behalf.

  Carl looked over at me knowingly and offered, “College football?” I nodded in relief.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Anna questioned. “Isn’t Marissa Flemi
ng having a party?” I shouldn’t have been shocked that Anna knew this. She seemed to know the social schedule of just about everyone in town.

  Sara's face flashed with excitement, "Yes, and I'm going with the girls."

  "What about you, Emma?" Anna asked, hanging a dress in the closet.

  "I’m just going to hang out here and read,” I answered feebly.

  Sara slid off the bed. "You have to help me pick out something to wear."

  Knowing I wouldn’t really have any input in this decision, I answered, “Sure,” anyway.

  I saw Sara off to the party, with several assurances that I would be fine. I was then able to redirect my attention to the mysterious envelope, while sitting on the pile of pillows beneath Sara’s floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

  I tried to recall if I was expecting something from Florida. It didn’t look official enough for college correspondence; it was simply a plain white envelope with small handwriting addressed to me at the McKinleys’.

  When I pulled out the folded paper, my heart stopped. I unfolded it with shaking hands to find it streaked with crayon. On the front was a rudimentarily drawn picture of a boy, a girl, a man, and a woman with grey hair standing by a pink Christmas tree. I opened the paper to find, “Merry Christmas Emma. We miss you!” slanted across the page in a child’s oversized handwriting. The message concluded on the back with, “Love always, Leyla and Jack.”

  I stared at the words, tears trailing down my cheeks, and swallowed against the knot in my throat. I took comfort in the large red smiles and the mountain of presents under the festive tree. The man was undeniably George, but I couldn’t figure out who the woman was supposed to be. I wanted to believe it was Carol's mother, Janet, but she didn’t have grey hair.

  I dismissed it, thinking it must be a teacher or someone they met in Florida. I guess I knew where they were now―not like I’d ever see them again.

  That did it. That sent me over the edge. I collapsed in the pillows and cried until I felt a hand brush against my back and I raised my head in surprise. Anna was kneeling next to me, her eyes glassy as she offered me a comforting smile. She noticed the picture in my hand and settled in next to me.