by J. L. Berg
“Buffy?” he asked for clarification.
“Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It was a TV show about this—”
“Vampire slayer?” he said, smiling.
“Right,” I said, a small smile peeking out the corners of my lips. “There was this character, Willow. She was a witch or something. Anyway, when she delivered me and they asked what I was to be named, that was what she decided on. I’m named after a redheaded witch.”
“Better than a tree,” he said, causing me to laugh.
“True. Very true.”
WHEN I’D FIRST moved to Sugar Tree, I would never have guessed I’d fit in, let alone have people to call my friends.
Sitting at the long table in the cafeteria, listening to Allison prattle on about Spanish homework and the football game on Friday, I felt like I barely knew the girl I once had been.
I was still quiet, still unwilling to sit too close to anyone, but I was different.
I felt different.
“My partner for this project is the most boring person in the world!” Margie, a girl I’d recently met, exclaimed.
She was a friend of Allison’s, and like her, Margie had a sweet disposition. She was curious about me. Her eyes would linger around the frayed edges of my gloves, and I could almost see the questions forming on her lips.
But she never asked.
None of them did.
“Her family has literally done nothing but farm. For generations. I have nothing.” She groaned. “Nothing but four generations of crops. I tried to get something interesting from her — a story or family tradition or, you know, anything — but nope. All I have is farming. I’m screwed.”
“Maybe talk to her about an event that happened in your family’s past, and it will hopefully spark a memory for her?” I suggested, surprised to hear my own voice responding to her.
By the looks of everyone around the table, so were they.
“Um, okay,” she replied. “I’ll give that a try. So far, it’s been really awkward between us. So, I’ll see if approaching it differently might help.”
My cheeks felt hot from the sudden attention, and Allison, who was most likely loving every moment, didn’t make it any better.
“How is your project going, Willow?” she asked, determined to keep me talking for as long as humanly possible.
“Um, good,” I answered.
“You have Sam as a partner, right?” Margie asked. “He’s pretty cool.”
I nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he’s been fairly easy to work with.”
“I knew he would be. He’s a good guy,” Allison agreed before taking a casual sip from her water bottle.
In the last few weeks, I’d noticed her fixation on Sam lessen. Her eyes no longer followed him in the hall, sad and wanting. When she spoke of him, her words carried no regret or remorse.
She’d moved on.
“You like someone!” I said in a hushed, almost whispered tone as I caught her eyes darting back to mine.
“What? Do not!”
“Do too! You haven’t mentioned Sam once in weeks, so spill. Who is it?”
She shrugged. “Sam was just a stupid crush. I don’t even know why I bothered, honestly. I should have known I’d never have a chance with him.”
My good mood instantly soured while I watched her continue to tear the edges of her sandwich off, her perfectly curled blonde hair framing her face, as she laughed and carried on with the people around the table. If she never had a chance with Sam, I was the last person on earth who did.
Apparently, pretty really didn’t mean anything to Sam.
And it shouldn’t mean anything to me either.
ANOTHER SLOW DAY at the bookstore.
I grabbed my notebook filled with random facts about the Shepherd family and headed out on a quest to find Sam. I hadn’t seen him since I arrived, which was odd. Usually, he relished in announcing my late arrival. It used to annoy me that he’d stand by the front door just to notify me that it was one minute past the hour, but now, I actually found myself looking forward to his happy face and smug grin, declaring, “You’re late, Mittens.”
But nothing today.
No cute smile, no greeting at the door.
After helping the one and only customer in the store, I set off on a solitary journey to find him. It didn’t take long. He was in his regular spot, sprawled out on the hardwood floor in the back, hunched over a yellow notepad, loud music blaring from his ears.
He noticed my feet first as I stepped into the small space. His eyes ventured up my tall, thin frame until our eyes met, and I was immediately taken aback by the hard stare he gave me.
“What?” he snapped, pulling at the earbuds with one violent tug.
“Um, I was checking to see if you wanted to work on our project this afternoon? It’s not too busy out there today.”
“No.”
“Okay,” I simply said before adding, “Is there something wrong?”
“I’m fine. I just can’t keep doing homework during work.”
“Right. That makes sense. So, I guess we’ll just need to go back to weekends then? I don’t have much going on, so if you just want to—”
“Whatever. I’ll call you.”
I took a step toward the door, unsure of what to think. He’d been nothing but funny quips and in a good mood the last time I saw him, and now, it felt like the world had tilted on its axis due to his sudden mood shift.
“Are you okay?” I asked, backtracking.
He was in the process of putting his earbuds back in place, basically attempting to ignore me once again, when I interrupted his process with my question.
“I’m great,” he answered firmly.
“Because we were doing fine the other day, and today, you’re—”
“I’m what, Mittens? Busy?”
I huffed in frustration, trying to find a reason for his foul mood.
“Is this because of Allison?” I asked, grasping at straws. “Because I thought everything between you guys was back to normal. She even hinted at liking someone else today.”
He rolled his eyes in a dramatic fashion. “Eddie Reynolds? Please. That kid doesn’t even know she exists. If there is one thing Allison is terrible at, it’s picking guys.”
Anger boiled hot in my chest. “Is that what happened with you — she fell for the wrong guy?”
He deflated slightly, letting a winded breath out through his mouth. I watched his eyes, filled with regret, fall to the floor.
“I love Allison. I always have. But she’s a sister to me — nothing more. She knew this, yet…” His back stiffened, and his gaze refocused on the yellow notepad in front of him. “Don’t you see what I mean?”
I nodded my head. “Yeah, I see exactly what you mean,” I answered, not wasting another second in that stuffy stockroom with him.
I’d wasted enough time on Sam Shepherd.
I DIDN’T TALK to Sam for the rest of the week.
We went back to working side by side in heavy silence. I helped with customers and kept the store neat and tidy while he wallowed in the back with his head buried in a notebook.
The remainder of our project was completed by email. I sent him information on my family and vice versa. It was enough to write what was needed to pass, but as I sat in front of Addy’s old laptop, looking over the first part of my notes, remembering the conversations we’d had, a part of me — okay… a huge part of me — missed him.
I was still mad at him for how he’d acted that day in the stockroom. I’d never known Sam to be spiteful just for the fun of it. That could only mean, something deeper was going on in his life.
But what?
I wish I knew, but my heart hurt from the whiplash he’d caused, and my wounds from our last encounter were still healing. I told myself I needed a break, but even I knew I was telling myself a lie. Because I knew that boy had the power to destroy my heart with one swift strike, and I wasn’t certain I would be strong enough to recover.
&nb
sp; So, I took the easy road out and ignored the issue. It wasn’t brave, and it wasn’t heroic, but it saved the one thing I needed to protect more than anything.
Myself.
Besides, I had a host of other issues to deal with — like finishing a term project about a guy who didn’t want to talk to me and dealing with a best friend who might or might not be first in line to have her heart crushed.
Again.
The more and more I watched her, the more I started to agree with Sam.
I hated to admit it, but he was right. Eddie What’s-His-Face seemed to have no interest whatsoever in Allison, and it only seemed to infatuate her more.
After that, it didn’t take long for me to put the pieces together on what had driven a wedge between Sam and Allison not so long ago. But, with Thanksgiving break soon approaching, I was short on ideas on how to fix it, and I was hoping some time apart would help clear my head.
And hers.
So, as I sat down to work on a project that was supposed to bring classmates together, I convinced myself I was doing the right thing by avoiding Sam and the drama he brought to my life.
Because, so far, Sam had brought me nothing but confusion, sadness, and pain.
And I’d had enough of that for one lifetime.
I WORKED FEVERISHLY on my report right up until the very end. Walking into History class on the last day before Thanksgiving break felt like I was at the end of a twenty-six-mile marathon.
I was exhausted.
As I glanced around the classroom, I realized I wasn’t the only one. Many red-eyed, tired gazes met mine, including one familiar face.
“Did you have enough information?” Sam asked, his arms neatly folded across his chest.
“Um, yes. And you?” I asked, anxiously biting my bottom lip.
I caught his gaze drifting downward toward my mouth before he suddenly snapped out of it and stood upright.
“I made it through, thanks. Anyway, have a good break.”
“You, too,” I replied, but it was useless. He was already headed back to his seat.
The bell rang as I watched him settle in, speaking to several people around him. He wasn’t nearly as short, but I could still see it — the distance he put between himself and everyone else.
Whatever had been going on with him the day he snapped at me in the bookstore, it was still happening.
If there was one thing I could recognize, it was a person being dragged down by their own baggage. And, from the looks of it, Sam was about to take a nosedive into the pavement from the weight of his.
“IT’S JUST THE two of us, right?” I asked, beginning to feel a little nervous, as I watched Addy flutter about the kitchen like a tiny bird.
The idea of a random stranger entering my inner sanctum was a scary thought. I’d grown used to putting myself out there when I was at school. I’d even grown accustomed to talking to complete strangers at Page Turners when necessary.
But this place?
This had quickly become home, and I liked how isolated it felt.
Just Addy and me.
It felt safe that way.
“Just the two of us, promise,” she replied, quelling any nerves I had.
“Then, why so much food?” I asked, watching yet another dish go into the oven. I’d lost count at this point.
“It’s Thanksgiving!” she replied. “It’s our duty as Americans to stuff ourselves until we can’t breathe and then feast on the leftovers for the entire weekend. Some say, there’s some nonsense about football in that tradition, but for me, it’s all about the food.”
I smiled, watching my aunt check on the turkey for the hundredth time.
I knew what she was doing.
It had started a week ago when I was finishing the research for my project. Even though the conversations between Sam and I had ended, they had only continued and flourished at home.
Over the last several weeks, I’d found myself discovering more about the Fairchild family than I’d ever thought possible. Some facts were utterly fascinating while others… well, let’s just say Addy was right.
Not everything I’d learned was easy to face.
But, by and by, with each late-night talk Addy and I’d shared, something had started to grow between us. Soon, it wasn’t just family stories she shared, but also things about her own past — how she’d worked her way through cosmetology school and ended up in Sugar Tree.
It was truly unique — the crazy life she’d led.
And, soon, it was me opening up to her. It was little things to start — school, friends, and work — and then eventually even a little more.
That was how we had gotten to the giant Thanksgiving feast for two.
“Your mother never cooked for you, did she?” Addy asked after a long pause.
I didn’t like talking about my life in DC much, but I knew she was curious.
Curious about her sister and the life we’d had there.
Even if there wasn’t much to tell.
“No,” I finally admitted. “Mom doesn’t really do more than cereal and milk… and peanut butter. She loved peanut butter.”
“What did you do for holidays?” Addy asked, knowing she was treading on dangerous ground.
The last time she’d asked me personal questions like this, I’d bolted, faking tiredness and going straight to bed. It wasn’t that I didn’t want her to know. I was sure she could guess most of it on her own just based on my usual habits and the state in which I’d arrived that rainy night in September.
But it was the talking about it that hurt.
It would bring everything back.
The cold nights, the never-ending hunger pains that had ultimately led to the worst decision of my life. But, even beyond that horrifying night, I’d remember it all.
The lonely, endless hours as a child when all I’d wanted in the world was someone to love me. When a simple hug would have erased every horrible thing my mother had done.
If she’d only loved me, none of it would have mattered.
The men, the lifestyle… I would have defended it all.
If she’d only loved me.
But she hadn’t.
And, instead, I had been left alone, silently chanting to myself to stay quiet and not make a sound.
Nighttime was supposed to be a safe place for children. When the monsters under the bed and the nightmares came, your brave parents would come in and banish them away, like the heroes you always imagined them to be.
But there were never any heroes in my stories.
And the monsters always kept coming.
“I’ve never had a holiday,” I finally said.
I wasn’t sure if Addy was doing this because of guilt or the driving desire to give me something I’d never had before, but as I watched Addy run around the kitchen, assuring me she didn’t need any help, I felt cherished for maybe the first time in my life.
I felt like part of a family.
I felt loved.
I’D NEVER EATEN so much in my entire life.
When Addy had said it was a Thanksgiving tradition to stuff yourself silly, I’d kind of rolled my eyes and laughed, believing she was kidding.
She wasn’t.
After filling my plate and doing a pretty good job of cleaning it, she’d made me take seconds.
And then thirds.
“You’re too thin,” she’d nagged. “Don’t let all this food go to waste.”
I’d decided not to remind her that we had a refrigerator to prevent that. She had been happy, and in turn, so had I.
Although, almost twenty-four hours later, I was still slightly miserable and perhaps a little sleepy from the turkey.
But it was the first Thanksgiving in my life that hadn’t come and gone. I’d been able to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, knowing that hot food would soon be on the table and in my belly.
Most years, I’d been jealous of the homeless people down the street who visited the soup kitchens. One year, wh
en I was around the age of six, I thought I might have even asked my mother if we could join them.
I’d gotten a nice long speech on being grateful as I ate my cold turkey sandwich.
Part of me had wanted to be grateful because, yes, she had put a roof over my head and kept me fed. But what about everything else?
Wasn’t I worth more?
“I’m going to run into town and pick up a few things. Want to come with me, and then maybe we can check out what movies are available to rent?” Addy asked, poking her head in my room.
I’d been in here, curled up on my bed, reading my latest find from the bookstore. So far, I’d managed to line an entire shelf with books I’d read. Looking down at my current read, a paranormal teen drama that was nearly finished, I bit my lip, really wanting to decline.
“Sure,” I finally said, remembering all the trouble she had gone through yesterday to make sure my first real holiday was perfect.
Setting the book down, I grabbed a hoodie and followed her out the door.
All the leaves had mostly fallen from the trees now, some settling around the little gnome that guarded Addy’s small garden in the front. The neighborhood was a picturesque scene of autumn, full of pumpkin-lined porches and laughing children enjoying their short break from school.
I’d experienced the changing of the seasons sixteen different times in my life, but as we drove through the small town I now called home, it felt like I was seeing it for the first time.
One of the luxuries of feeling safe, I guessed.
Addy pulled into one of the few remaining parking spots on Main. It was Black Friday, and people were enjoying the day, shopping at several of the local businesses and taking advantage of sales. I followed Addy to the small grocery store she loved to visit that stocked fruits and veggies from nearby farmers.
“You’re buying more food?” I asked, clearly surprised.
