Magic Minutes (The Time Series Book 2)

by Jennifer Millikin

  “What if you never press play again? How can you give that up?”

  Her expression changes into a soft, despondent look. “Did you know there’s a discount grocery store in Brazelton?”

  I blink twice. Why in the world is Ember talking about a store in a town thirty minutes away?

  “No,” I say slowly, my mind racing to figure out how this fits into our conversation.

  “When I was ten we had to go there. My mom lost a whole bunch of houses, and we had nothing. Nothing. We ate pork and beans from cans. Dented cans.”

  Ember pulls her legs into herself, resting her chin on the crack between her knees.

  “You’ve never had to wonder what the next month will be like, and I’m happy for that, but I have. And I won’t let that happen again. I’m not ten anymore. I can make a difference. You ask how I can give up on my dream, but I ask how I can allow my mother to eat food from a dented can.”

  Shit. What is there to say? I’m a privileged boy from a wealthy family. Coach Dalto just waltzed onto my parents’ vineyard and laid more gold bricks on my path.

  How is that fair?

  Ember is good. Better than good. She’s extraordinary. Why isn’t the universe knocking down her door, asking her to come out and spread what she has with the rest of the world?

  “I’m sorry.” I breathe the words. I wish I had more to offer her in this moment, but I don’t.

  “There’s nothing for you to apologize for. That’s just what happened. It’s nothing more than that.” She shrugs. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let it happen again.”

  “Me neither,” I declare, an idea forming. It’s stupid, and it’ll go over worse than a cockroach infestation at Sutton House, but at this point I don’t care.

  “I’m going to stay here,” I say, jabbing the ground with one finger. “I’ll get a job, go to Northmount Community College. We’ll help your mom, and when you’re ready, we’ll make the move to a university. Ember, I’m serious. I love you.”

  “You love soccer.”

  “I love you more.”

  “You have a spot on a college soccer team waiting for you.”

  “I have a vineyard waiting for me too. Not to sound like an arrogant prick, but it’s not as if my alternative to playing soccer in college is shoveling shit at a manure factory. Either way I go, I’ll be okay.”

  “Noah.” Ember runs a hand over my cheek, lets it drag across my chest. “You try and stay here, and there won’t be a relationship to stay for.”

  For a second my whole world tilts on its axis. “What?”

  “I’m serious. I won’t let you pass on an opportunity like this.”

  “You love me.”

  “I do. And that’s why I’d never allow you to give up Stanford for me.”

  I look in her eyes and see the strength of a warrior, her resolve hard and cold like steel. I don’t want to press the issue. A large part of me wants to challenge her, but seeing her now, I know better.

  After getting off the blanket, I reach out a hand and help her up.

  I take her to my house. The concert my parents went to won’t be over for hours.

  Instead of arguing with her, I push her back on my bed. When I want to shout at the injustice of it all, I kiss her instead. And then, because I want to flip fate the stiffest and most heartfelt bird, I don’t roll on a condom. Ember sees me without one, and it’s like she wants to join me in a grand fuck you gesture. Her legs wrap around me, and she guides me inside her.

  Fuck you, fate.

  16

  Ember

  I know it was stupid.

  Tempting fate that way, it was thoughtless and reckless, but it felt good, for more reasons than the obvious. In a small way, it was something we took control of, when everything around us was spinning like debris in a tornado.

  It’s what I said the moment I stepped from the bathroom that hurt Noah. He’s trying to pretend like it didn’t, but I see the shadow in his eyes. And now, even though his arm is wrapped around my shoulders where we lie on his bed, I feel like he’s a mile away.

  Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut? I know why. I’m high on his love, and I don’t want that to change. I want to keep what we have pure, so I suggested we end on a high note. I didn’t really mean it. I don’t actually want that. What I want is to create a perfect picture for our future selves. I can’t bear to have it any other way.

  “Why would you want to break up, Ember? I already promised to take the scholarship. Remember your ultimatum?” His eyes are on the ceiling, and his chest rises and falls in a rhythm, but each inhale and exhale is too long, extended by the effort it’s taking him to stay calm.

  “Because I’m scared for us.” I’ve finally said it. I’ve been putting on a brave face but I can’t anymore. It’s disingenuous, and it hurts. “I want to freeze us in time, while we’re at our peak.”

  He rolls away, dragging his arm out from under my body, only to turn back to me and prop his head in his hand. He offers a grin my mother would call smart-alecky. “We’re not vegetables, Ember. We don’t need to be frozen at the peak of freshness.”

  I move to pinch him, but he blocks me by grabbing my hand and gripping it tightly. Our interwoven fingers drift down between us onto the bed.

  “I’ll come home all the time. So often you’ll get sick of me.”

  I watch his face, trying to push away this feeling creeping over me. A foreboding nuisance, like a gnat buzzing around in my head. It’s more than fear.

  Closing my eyes, I slowly shake my head. “Don’t.” When I open them, they focus on Noah. “Don’t drag us through the mud until we collapse. We’ll miss some calls and you’ll skip a visit. Then it’ll be two missed visits. You’ll make new friends, and tell me about them, and to you they’ll be real, but to me they’ll only be characters. Feelings will get hurt, we won’t communicate, and before you know it, we won’t talk for weeks.” My eyes are stinging now, tightening in that way that tells me tears are imminent. “I can’t have that, Noah. I don’t want to remember us that way and—”

  Noah puts out his hand. “Stop talking.” He lowers his head and kisses my temple. “Let’s just live here,” he whispers against it. “Right now. In these minutes. In these next few months. In the summer of us.”

  How can I say no?

  The boy I love wants only to love me in return.

  I’d be a fool to turn that down.

  We were inseparable the whole summer, squeezing every last drop from our precious and rapidly depleting time. August was a deadline looming, a guillotine, blade poised.

  Noah gave me a bike for graduation; it was just like the one I saw that morning at the beach. I wanted to ride it more, but Noah insisted he keep driving me to work. Knowing I’d get plenty of time to ride it in the fall kept me from arguing with him.

  We spent lazy days together, lying on the shore of the lake, watching puffy white clouds roll across the blue sky. Four more trips to the beach house, and this time we didn’t hide it. We were daring and adventurous.

  Noah talked Brody into getting him some pot, and I tried it for the first time. Noah was excited over how soft the bud was, something I knew nothing about. I’d needed Noah badly that night. Shapes danced in front of me, turning and swirling until they grew into 3-D forms.

  As the days rolled on and August drew nearer, it became harder to ignore its approach. It’s whispered beginning had increased in volume, and we both felt the impending yell.

  Two days.

  He leaves in two days.

  We’re at the lake again. We’ve been other places this summer, but we always come back to the lake. This is where the magic began.

  The clouds are dark, but we decided not to let that deter us. We’re lying on a blanket on the sandy bank, and neither of us speak. Perhaps we’re so full of thoughts, emotion, and fear, that if we let even a drop of it out, the floodgates will open. Besides, the quiet is nice. Is there anything better than being close enough to someone to s
it with them in silence?

  Eventually, Noah reaches for me. I turn into his touch. His eyes reflect the way I feel. We are both drowning on the inside. I meet his lips in the middle, and we take, hungrily. We have sex all the time, but it doesn’t feel like this. Where we are usually unhurried, today has an insistence. There’s a finality to it. When the raindrops fall, we don’t stop. It’s a gentle rain, the kind that touches your skin in a casual, almost comforting way. Intoxicated by the scent of wet air, I tilt my chin to the sky and savor the feel of my hands skimming Noah’s damp back. When it’s over, we dress and lie back down, me with my head on his chest, his hand running over my hair.

  “I love you so much, Ember.” His voice is thick and sad.

  “I love you too,” I say, my words tumbling onto his chest.

  It’s the saddest, most perfect day ever.

  It’s here.

  Noah and I drive the two hours to Stanford in his car, his parents following. When we arrive, Noah looks out his windshield and smiles. I mimic him. I smile so damn hard, there’s no way he’ll see my insides breaking into a million pieces.

  His dorm is red brick and three-stories high. People are everywhere. We climb from the car and join his parents.

  “Let’s go this way,” Johanna says, taking charge.

  I follow. All day long, I follow. Campus tour. Meeting this person, then that one. Smile, smile, smile, but it feels more like marching to the gallows. My internal timer counts each second.

  Not until it’s time to leave do Noah and I get a moment alone. His parents say goodbye and tell me to meet them at their car.

  He pulls me into a tight hug the instant his dorm room door closes behind them.

  “Are you excited to start next week?” he asks.

  I most certainly am not looking forward to my new job working mornings at a cafe. Or going to my old job at night. Gruff is getting on my last nerve.

  “Sure,” I say, thinking of the dwindling cash in my mom’s envelopes. “Are you excited for your first practice?”

  No response. His chin comes to rest on the top of my head. “Fuck this small talk.”

  My body trembles with my empty laughter. “It’s painful, isn’t it?”

  “The conversation or the good-bye?”

  “Both.”

  His breath bolts from him in one swift exhale. “Excruciating.”

  “How are we supposed to say goodbye?” I’m aware of his parent’s waiting for me in their car. The timer is ticking off its final moments.

  “I think it’s like anything else. You just do it. You force it to happen, even when you want to fight it.”

  He runs his fingers through my hair and I squeeze harder, willing myself not to cry.

  “I’ll see you soon, okay? I’ll be home before you know it.” He cups my face and I rise on tiptoe to meet him. Our kiss is short and sweet. Kissing longer will only hurt more.

  I leave on a promise to talk that night when I get back to Northmount. The door shuts behind me and I put one foot in front of the other, never looking back, too afraid I’ll abandon my responsibilities, run straight back to his arms, and never leave.

  I climb into his parents’ car. At first they make small talk, and I swear I try to engage. I must suck at it, because they stop bringing me into the conversation. I want to pull out my phone and text Noah, but I know he has things to do, and I don’t want to take away from his first evening there. I stare out the window and try to keep the tears at bay. When they drop me off in front of my apartment, Johanna makes a comment about still seeing me even though Noah is gone.

  It’s a sweet gesture, but an empty one.

  Before I reach the landing I’m sobbing.

  Even though we had magic and the kind of love I’m certain someone could write a book about, it all happened like I said it would.

  That first month I was glued to my phone, waiting for his call. He came home every weekend. I stayed the night at his house, not asking either of our parents if it was okay. We did it because we could, because we wanted to punish someone, or something, for the way we missed each other. We joked I’d develop problems walking because of how much we had sex. The misery we felt during the week was soothed by the time he arrived home on Friday afternoon, only to begin again when he left on Sunday.

  The second month he missed a visit, and my mom had the flu. Sky and I cleaned houses for her while she lied on the sofa with aches she swore were cancer, and I dropped into bed at night, physically exhausted.

  Noah grew busier. He made new friends. Soccer practice was more intense. He had to travel around California for games. There was always something to do, a person to see, a plan to make. Have fun, I’d say when we were hanging up, but I didn’t really mean it. I felt sad and left out. I was frustrated at the universe, at circumstance, for making this so damn hard. We loved each other. Why couldn’t that be all we needed to survive?

  He’d call when he could, but I was working all the time, and seeing those missed call notifications tore at my heart. We began to fight. We missed each other, but it manifested as criticism, one of us finding fault with the other nearly every time we talked. We were reaching for something to save us, not communicating properly, and sinking fast.

  I hung up the phone on a cold, bleak day in January. Actions brought us together, but all it took to sever us were words. This isn’t working. We’d both said it. We were broken, desolate. We were bringing each other more pain than pleasure. We agreed it was over. Love wasn’t enough.

  I lost him, when all I wanted was to have him.

  17

  Ember

  One Year Later

  My feet.

  My poor, aching feet.

  I reach down, rub a hand over my heel and up my instep, kneading as I go.

  “No more doubles,” I tell Dorothy, the middle-aged woman whose shift I covered last night.

  “You’re the one who wanted my shift,” Dorothy points out from across the booth. Reaching down, she pulls her cash tips from the front of her apron and lays the small pile on the table. She separates the bills by denomination and stacks them.

  The breakfast rush has just ended, signaling the end of my shift. The cafe is mostly empty now. Jack, who has been coming here every morning for years, sits at the counter sipping black coffee.

  “I know.” I slide my foot back into my shoe. “Christmas,” I add.

  “I feel you, honey.” Dorothy rearranges the salt and pepper shakers, so they’re in their proper place.

  Her kids are teenagers. Her husband is a mechanic. Always has grease under his nails, she says, but God help me, I love him. One day Dorothy told me how their family got started early, and not because they chose it that way. After she told me their story, I’d never been so happy fate didn’t take us up on the devil’s dance we did that day at Noah’s parents’ house. We were reckless and foolish. We got lucky. In that one way, we got lucky.

  “You going to be okay?” Dorothy’s concerned gaze pins me against the brown vinyl seat.

  “Of course.”

  “You seem sad.”

  “I’m tired. That’s all.” I smile. I am so fine. Better than fine. I’m dandy. Freakin’ dandy. The whole place is covered in Christmas decorations, and people are in a seasonally-induced good mood.

  Everything is great.

  GREAT.

  It’s been almost a year since I last heard from Noah. He disappeared from my life, like a magician in a puff of smoke. I had fantasies he would come home for the summer, we would see each other and instantly we’d know we’d done everything wrong. We’d form a plan, do better. This time I’d come to visit him at Stanford. Sky had a car, and I’d borrow it. We’d make it work, because we’d learned not to rely on love alone.

  But, no.

  Noah didn’t come back. Or, if he did, he didn’t find me.

  I’m still here with relics of him. The yellow bike I ride every day. The lake I avoid at all costs. My lips feel seared by his kiss. Some days I wish I
didn’t still love him. Other days it’s all I have.

  That and my jobs, of course. I’m still saving money, stashing away as much as I can so that when I take courses at the community college next semester I can work less, and focus on school more. By all accounts, I’m okay.

  Things got even worse for my mom after Noah and I broke up, but she’s better now. I constantly doubted my decision to stay, but when she lost two more houses, I knew I’d made the right choice. Sky worked evenings doing her medical billing, even though we told her to spend that time studying, and we made it through. Mom printed flyers, posted them around town, and eventually rebuilt her clientele.

  I might be okay, but this time of year is hard. I keep picturing Noah at his parents’ house next to a Christmas tree, or vacationing on a tropical island for the holiday. Each time he has a girl next to him. She’s beautiful, and her head is tipped back in laughter while Noah grips her around the waist with one arm. The image knifes my heart every time, yet I can’t seem to make it go away.

  Even now, talking to Dorothy, I see them together. Stab, stab, stab.

  “I better go,” I say in a high-pitched voice, jumping up.

  Dorothy looks at me as if I’m transparent. She has the knowing gaze of a mother who doesn’t believe a word coming out of my mouth.

  I leave, my hands stuffed in my jacket pocket, but when I reach my bike, I don’t feel like getting on it. So I don’t. The windy day makes the cool air feel colder, and it’s a good match for my heart.

  I wander along the main streets in town, past the storefronts and offices. Turns out, walking without a purpose sucks. Without something to focus on, my mind wanders. Straight to Noah. The very place I don’t want it to go.

  Without looking, I duck into a store. The warm air envelops my face. I pull off my jacket, drape it over my forearm, and peer around, curious at what I’ve gotten myself into.