Love Like Crazy

by Megan Squires

  “Let’s do something amazing today, Eppie!” Mom clasped her hands together and held them to her chest. She looked like she could explode, but at the same time she looked like she was hugging herself. “Let’s get all dressed up and go out to brunch and then get our nails and hair done down at that fancy salon on Briar Street. Let’s be spectacular!”

  That seemed like so much fun and Mama’s choice in words was so beautiful. We had never done anything like that together before and she made it sound so exciting.

  “What do you feel like eating? We need something extraordinary to erase that terrible muffin memory.” She squeezed my shoulders and smiled so wide I thought her face would crack. “Anything. You name it.”

  My answer didn’t take long. “I want an Eppie Fritter.”

  Mama’s bright eyes squinted at the edges, crinkling them. “A what?”

  “An Eppie Fritter. I think it’s a kind of donut or something. I saw them making them on the cooking channel this week when I was supposed to be resting. They looked really good.”

  Her eyes rolled up into her head as she nodded and smiled even harder. “You mean an Apple Fritter,” she laughed. “Though an Eppie Fritter would be grand, wouldn’t it?”

  I probably should’ve felt embarrassed for that mistake, but Mama didn’t make me feel that way. Especially when she added, “Let’s ask Miss Ruby if she can make a special change to her menu.” Her face was full of life and she bounced on her heels as she spoke. “I think an Eppie Fritter is exactly what everyone in this town needs.”

  SEVENTEEN

  “Why didn’t you tell me Senior Ball was this weekend?” Lincoln flipped from his stomach onto his back, like a spatula scooped him up and rolled him over. It made me crave pancakes. Those would be really good right about now.

  I peered over the edge of my bed and glanced at his body stretched out on my floor, still thinking of breakfast food. Early evening light sliced through the windows and left diagonal lines across the room, casting a warm hue on every surface, including Lincoln. He tossed a foam basketball I’d gotten years ago at some carnival up in the air, catching it and then throwing it skyward again. “That doesn’t leave you much time to pick out a dress.”

  I closed my Chemistry textbook with a satisfying thud. “We’re not going to the dance, Lincoln.” We’d been dating for over a month now, but the thought of asking Lincoln to accompany me to a dance at a school that he never even attended made my stomach do painful flip-flops. That just wasn’t going to happen.

  “Are you embarrassed by me?”

  That was laugh-worthy. “Um, no. Not at all.”

  “Do you have another date already?”

  “Definitely not,” I snorted.

  “Are you worried that I will overshadow you with my impressive foxtrot and hypnotizing hip moves with my first-place-ribbon-winning samba?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly it. You got me.”

  Lincoln slid up and hooked his arms loosely around his knees. “‘Cause see, the thing is that Sam and Dan are going, and Dan is so far out of high school. I don’t know.” His shoulders jumped up to his ears in a boyish shrug. This was a gesture of insecurity and Lincoln didn’t wear it well. “I just sorta thought you’d want to go, too.”

  “I’m not sure I do. I mean, I don’t know if a dance is something I want to do with you.”

  “You don’t want to dance with me?” Lincoln’s expression fell. “I want to dance with you.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to dance with you. It’s just I don’t know if I want to go to a dance with you.”

  “I’m not understanding how those two things are different.”

  I thought for a moment about how to string my words together to have them make sense. “I don’t really do extracurricular stuff.”

  “Like sports?” He was now rolling the ball back and forth on the carpet in front of him. My eyes looped around as the orange ball twisted under his hand. What he was doing now with that toy ball could even be considered more sport than anything I’d ever been a part of.

  “No. I mean…sorta. It’s just…I stayed home a lot when I was younger.”

  “Like, you were homeschooled?”

  “No.” I was doing a terrible job explaining myself. “Like, I just wasn’t a super healthy kid. I was sick. A lot. And so I could never sign up for anything because I couldn’t commit to a full season. Undoubtedly, I would end up sitting half of it out or spend the other half in the hospital.”

  “Wow.” A lock of Lincoln’s unruly chestnut-colored hair fell across his brow and he swept it back in place with the back of his band. “So we’re not talking just the sniffles, are we?”

  “No. We’re not.” I swallowed thickly and ran my sweaty palms over my comforter beneath me. I was certain I sounded like a freak. “So I’ve never been to anything outside of school, really. Including dances.”

  “And you don’t want to change that now?”

  Man, his honey eyes were mesmerizing. We weren’t even talking about anything remotely suggestive, but that gaze he so freely gave me made all of my insides into mush. Oatmeal. Jeez, more breakfast food. I should probably eat something.

  He smiled again. “I mean, since you’re healthy and all. Cutting a rug with me isn’t on your bucket list?”

  “I don’t know, Lincoln. I mean, yeah, I’d love to dance with you, but Senior Ball? It just seems like a lot of unnecessary money and shopping and obligatory awkwardness. I think I just might not be a high school dance type of girl. Plus, the responsible thing would be to save our money for Herb’s surgery. We’re getting so close.”

  “Well.” He was up on his feet now, and he walked the two steps it took to reach the bed before dropping down on it next to me. “Then we definitely don’t have to go. I agree, dances are excessively expensive.” My heart stuttered at the notion that he knew this from firsthand experience. Of course Lincoln had been to proms and balls and dances before. Of course he had, because that was the normal thing for high schoolers to do. Of course, he was normal. “But I still want to dance with you.”

  He was swiftly up on his feet, though bowed a little, his palm up and hand outstretched. “Eppie,” he smiled. “May I have this dance?”

  “What?” I couldn’t say this felt normal at all. We were in my room on a Friday evening, Lincoln in a blue flannel shirt and jeans and me in a gray hoodie and yoga pants.

  “Dance with me, Eppie,” he said, tugging me off the bed and up against his chest all in one choreographed move. “Don’t make me beg.”

  “There’s no music.”

  “Then we’ll make some.” One by one, he coiled each long finger into mine and then dropped his mouth into my hair, which he did a lot, like he was searching out my ear in my mess of curls, wanting to get his words as close as possible. “I happen to know a beautiful girl who has a magical voice.”

  Was he asking me to dance? Or was he asking me to sing for him? Or was it both, in which case, it felt like a pretty tall order. One I was sure I couldn’t fulfill.

  “This is so weird,” I murmured into his chest as he began swaying gently side to side. And then I heard it. His heart pressed to my ear, thumping so erratically and off-beat that there was no way I could sing. The unsure rhythm would throw everything off kilter, like a broken metronome. “I can’t do both. I can’t be this close to you and sing, Lincoln.”

  “Because?”

  “Because all I can focus on is your heartbeat, and it’s all over the place.” I leaned my head back to look up at him. “And so is mine. I can’t sing like this.”

  “Then show me how you can sing.”

  I slunk out from his arms and flopped down on the bed again. With my right hand, I patted the mattress to have him join me, not ready to give up our physical closeness just yet. “What do you want to hear?” I’d never sung for someone before, other than the night at the construction site, but I wouldn’t really even call that singing. It was only a few lines and a few notes. And it was spontaneo
us. This was practically a personal concert.

  “What do you love to sing?”

  “I don’t love to sing.”

  Lincoln’s forehead tightened, confusion settling in his dark brow. His mouth dropped open just a bit. “How can you not love to sing when even the angels must be jealous of your voice?”

  I had no idea how to receive that compliment. I had no idea how to respond to anything Lincoln ever seemed to say or do. I had absolutely no idea what to do with this unreal boy in front of me. No idea whatsoever.

  “I’ve never had a reason to sing other than to drown everything else out,” I offered readily, but hesitantly at the same time, as strange as that was. My heart hurt to admit it with words more than it did to just secretly hold on to that truth within myself. “I never sang for pleasure. I always sang to cover up pain.”

  “What would you sing then? When you were covering up?” The edge of Lincoln’s nail ran mindlessly along the inside of my forearm. When he got to my wrist, my fingers curled into my palm, almost reflexively. His finger trailed back down the soft flesh slowly, toward my elbow, and now my toes were tingling, another involuntary reaction to his tender strokes. This was weird. I’d become a kind of marionette, his instruction guiding my movements.

  I cleared my throat.

  “You know Lovely Oblivion?” I knew they were before our time, but I figured classics like theirs withstood that test. Lincoln nodded. “You heard of Falling Stardust?”

  Again, he bobbed his head.

  “Five in the morning and I’m lying awake,” I started, my voice catching on to the melody halfway into the song, the part I knew the best. With my eyes closed, I crooned the words out from me in short lines and verses. “Breathing your memory on my skin. Knowing when tomorrow begins, our once-forever will fade like the black of a life we were meant to share together.”

  I paused, then peeked from one slitted eye. Lincoln was staring directly at me.

  My heart beat furiously out of time.

  I inhaled quickly, picking back up to the chorus. “I can’t fall for you anymore, ‘cause I fell when I should have soared, and you couldn’t catch me on the way down. My burden was a broken gift, and one that you couldn’t lift. Some loves are best left to chance. But some lives are worth a second glance.”

  Lincoln cut me off.

  “I don’t plan to catch you the next time you fall, Eppie.” His palm molded onto my face and his body slithered forward on the mattress. His forehead dropped to mine, but his eyes flickered ever so briefly toward the window. I tried desperately not to notice that. “I’m not even going to let you fall this time.”

  We’d never talked about it, but apparently he knew. Everyone knew. That was what happened when you grew up in a town like this. We all had a clear view of one another’s clotheslines, strung out with our dirty laundry.

  But knowing never led to reactions like Lincoln’s. Knowing led to judgment and fear or avoidance and pity. Lincoln didn’t show me any of that. All he showed me was who he was, and how maybe, just maybe, who I was might not be such a scary thing after all.

  “No more falling, Eppie.” His mouth, warm and soft, lowered to my temple. I could feel his full lips melt onto my skin as he pressed them there, kissing me.

  But I was falling again.

  I was falling hard, and this time, all I wanted to do was keep falling.

  All I wanted was to keep falling into Lincoln.

  EIGHTEEN

  Lincoln: You are cordially invited to the Ross residence tonight for an evening of pretentious conversation and foods so rich your bowels will need to join a philanthropic team heading to the absolute poorest of South American slums just to counteract its effects.

  Me: I’m not sure how to reply to that invitation...

  Lincoln: Oh, and I’ll be there.

  Me: Well, why didn’t you say so? ;)

  Lincoln: But so will my two older brothers—Rick and Tommy—and the two other people that created the three of us.

  Me: That math has me confused.

  Lincoln: Yeah, me too.

  Me: Thanks for the invite. Sounds fun. I’m excited to FINALLY meet your family!

  My fingers hovered over the touchscreen as I awaited Lincoln’s reply, but this one took a few minutes longer to show up. All of his others were instant, like he was in the room with me and we were simply conversing back and forth. I glanced down at Herb in my lap and stroked my fingers through his thick fur as he let out a contented groan. Then my phone lit up again, buzzing in my palm.

  Lincoln: My family is... Well, they’re not much like me. And to be honest, they don’t really like me much, either.

  That seemed absolutely absurd. Every single person that came in contact with Lincoln appeared to love him. Adore him, even. How his own family wouldn’t follow suit was beyond me.

  Me: Well that’s just plain crazy.

  Lincoln: Crazy enough to be true.

  Me: I look forward to meeting this bunch of crazies. Bring ‘em on!

  Lincoln: Don’t say I didn’t give you fair warning. They’re completely embarrassed by me, and I just hope they don’t transfer that same humiliation onto you. One out-of-line comment from them and we’re outta there.

  Me: Well, they should be embarrassed of themselves if they’re embarrassed by you. Nothing about you is embarrassing.

  Lincoln: Not even the sleepwalking in my Superman skivvies?

  I chuckled and Herb looked up at me, his brown, sleepy eyes blinking. “Sorry,” I whispered as my fingers punched the keys. I patted him gently on the head.

  Me: I didn’t know that about you, but even that doesn’t seem all too embarrassing.

  Lincoln: Not even when I watered the neighbor’s petunias in said skivvies while sleepwalking? (Side-note: not sure it was actually water.)

  Me: Well, maybe that—

  The phone vibrated against my finger suddenly.

  Lincoln: I’ll pick you up at 4:30. Like you, bye!

  Me: ...

  Lincoln: Damn. That didn’t really translate well, did it?

  I stared at the phone, my heart tapping just a little bit faster.

  Lincoln: Most people sign off with a very common four letter word, yeah? Well, since we’re not at that point in our relationship yet, I felt like I should still say something meaningful. “Bye” didn’t feel like enough. Though “I like you” isn’t quite enough, either.

  My heart was now beating much more than just a little bit faster.

  Me: LOL. I’ll see you in a few hours.

  I waited, and then typed one last message.

  Me: And I more-than-like, less-than-love you, too.

  Lincoln: :)

  ***

  Lincoln’s lips parted, the words he had ready to push through them getting lost on their way out. He shoved a bouquet of purple flowers toward me, and their petals of violet ruffles were all bunched together. I could smell them from where I stood on the other side of the threshold and it felt like spring just blossomed in the entryway. I scooped the flowers out of his grip and buried my nose in them, inhaling deeply.

  “Wait,” I said, eyeing him over the bright leaves, “these aren’t the ones from your neighbor’s garden, are they?”

  “No,” Lincoln smiled. His eyes dropped down to his shoes where he toed at the unwelcoming welcome mat. “They’re from an actual store. You’re safe.”

  “Good.” I grabbed on to his hand and quickly pulled him through the house and into the kitchen. “Up there.” Pointing a finger toward the cabinet above the fridge, I motioned for him to open it. “There should be a vase that’s just perfect for these.”

  I was doing as he had suggested and taking advantage of his tallness, though I really wanted to take advantage of him altogether. He looked absolutely adorable in a button-down white shirt with a skinny black tie knotted around his neck. His jeans weren’t his typical faded construction ones, but these were more fitted and darker in color, almost a true indigo. Lincoln sure did clean up quite
well.

  The bouquet fit perfectly into the glass vase, so I walked to the sink to fill it up with water.

  “You look beautiful, Eppie.” He came up behind me and put his hands on my waist as I pressed into the counter. “I’ve never seen you in a dress.”

  I spun around within his grip. “I don’t wear dresses much.”

  “I don’t wear ties much,” he said as he twisted uncomfortably at his collar. His neck craned back and forth in a strained, robotic manner. “Evidently, something about spending time with my family makes us feel like we have to become something we’re not, huh?”

  “I don’t know, maybe it’s just...”

  “It’s okay.” He looked down at me with the sweetest grin on his face. “I want to impress them, too, Eppie. I always have.”

  Lincoln’s parents didn’t live too far from my house. They were just on the outskirts of town, where the rolling fields picked up and tract homes left off and expanses of golden wheat and flowering cherry orchards lined every gravel country road. The only buildings that stood out here were the plantation-like homes with their massive white columns that stretched two stories tall, almost as though reaching to the sky.

  Lincoln’s house was one of those.

  “Don’t be nervous.” He squeezed just above my knee as he killed the engine to the bus. We were parked in the U-shaped driveway, hedged in by green bushes as tall as the vehicle, and just a few yards from the door. “I wish I could say they’re going to absolutely adore you, but my parents aren’t quite like that. So you’ll just have to settle with knowing that I do, okay?”

  It was a slip up, to say he adored me. It had to be one, because Lincoln didn’t even acknowledge the words as he jumped out of the camper and skipped over to my side to open the door for me. He bent at the waist in a bow and held one hand up to help me out of the vehicle, the other angling toward the mansion behind him. “Your evening awaits, my lady.”

  We were up on the porch in no time. How we got there I wasn’t sure, but I was pretty certain I’d floated because being with Lincoln tonight made me unrealistically light and airy. He dropped three loud knocks on the solid wood door with a balled up fist, apparently not as airy feeling as me.