The Scars That Made Us

by Inda Herwood

  I’ve been sitting under a large green oak tree for about ten minutes when I see her red hair come into view, a smile not far behind it. She’s wearing black scrubs, her hair up in a ponytail, swishing back and forth as she comes to a stop in front of me.

  Her arms aren’t covered today.

  When she catches me staring, she says, a little awkwardly, “This is all your fault, you know.”

  I grin, unable to help it. “Really?”

  A nod. “Yep. After not having to suffer the feeling of fabric grating against my skin last night, I couldn’t bring myself to go back to how it was.”

  I stand up, handing one of the coffees to her. She takes it gratefully. “I’m glad.” And just because I can’t help it, I kiss her cheek, tasting the sweetness of her skin. When I pull away, she couldn’t look more surprised.

  “Uh, I – um. What…what was that for?” she asks, swallowing hard as a group of Japanese tourists walk by, snapping pictures of everything with their disposable cameras, including a trash can that is overflowing.

  My brows fold in, watching her face mask itself in confusion. I don’t know what to say to that. Does she regret what happened last night? Or is she just pretending like nothing went down between us, and expecting me to do the same?

  She clears her throat, looking around uncomfortably before saying, “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Sure…”

  “Um, do you want to walk?” She motions to the paved path in front of us, and I manage a nod, not really knowing what else to do.

  We stay in step with each other, both staring down at the ground. I’m trying to figure out how to ask her why she’s acting clueless when she mutters, “So, how was your day?”

  How was my day? “Fine…yours?”

  “Good.”

  Silence…

  “Alright. This is awkward, and I don’t know why,” she admits, looking up at me with bothered eyes, made even brighter by the late day sun. “What is it that happened last night that you wanted to talk about? Did I do something wrong that I don’t remember? Drool in your car? Break my mother’s nose? Grim bit you and I laughed? What? It’s been stressing me out all day, and then this morning Moon called me and said that something was up with you, and I didn’t know if –” She loses air and has to stop. She struggles taking in a big enough breath to replace the one she just expelled.

  I bring us both to a halt, my hand landing on her shoulder to spin her in my direction. Everyone else is forced to go around us, but I don’t care. All I can think about right now is: she doesn’t remember.

  My fingers tense on her scrubs.

  Schooling my features, I ask as evenly as possible, “What do you remember?”

  She bites her lip, looking around uncertainly. I notice the hand clutching her coffee cup is nearly white. I didn’t mean to stress her out. I’m just curious. Leading her over to another unoccupied bench, I say, “Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just wondering what you think you did.”

  She blows out a breath, her shoulders drooping in the same motion. “I don’t know. Last thing I remember is walking to the car, and then I think I fell asleep. Then I got up this morning, and I was in my room, still in my dress. Wait, how did I get there? I don’t recall the walk to the house.”

  My worst fears are confirmed as she looks at me, utterly obtuse about what actually happened. To her, none of it was real. Calling me out in her dreams, tracing my face with her gentle fingers, like it was the only time she’d get to be that close… Saying she wished it was real. It’s all a lost memory for her. And I’m left to deal with it alone.

  I swallow what little saliva I have left, unable to look at her any longer. I don’t want her to see how devastated what she just admitted makes me. I actually thought…I actually thought for a moment that she felt what I feel, which is every false emotion I’m supposed to have for her turning into something tangible; the first thing I’ve been able to really hold onto since my mother passed. But it’s all fake, at least to her.

  Shit.

  Working the muscle in my jaw, I say, as calmly as I can, “Like I said, you didn’t do anything wrong. I – I just, um. You…you fell asleep in the car on the ride back to the house. I carried you inside. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay after I left. That’s all.”

  Lie, lie, lie.

  “Oh,” she says with a stumped expression, not having expected it to be something so simple, I imagine. “Moon made it sound like you were – never mind.” She shakes her head before taking a sip of her coffee. Looking down at it, she inquires, “How did you know how I take it?”

  “After seeing the ice cream and fudge you took down at Serendipity, I figured you were a cream and sugar kind of girl.” I smile, and it actually hurts with how false it is. But she doesn’t look up to notice.

  “Hmm. Well, you were right. Next time, though, get some chocolate in there. I kind of have an addiction to feed.” She continues to smile, looking relieved that things are back to normal between us, or maybe the fact that she didn’t do something last night that she would regret today. If she only knew…

  We talk for a little while, some about the party, but mostly about how she fears the meeting she has with her mother tonight. “She called me at work and said she wanted to go over some things. I’m not sure what it is, but I’m guessing wedding plans.” Her happy demeanor dies at the word “wedding”, and she looks down at her sneaker-clad feet, kicking little pebbles away with their tips.

  “Want me to come?” I ask, still feeling the effects of her broken memory. I can’t figure out how she doesn’t remember what we did. What I said. What I admitted. It’s like having someone grab my heart and pull it through my chest.

  Of course, she has no idea what I’m feeling, sitting there, unaware as she looks at me, eyes appreciative of my offer, but, “No, it’s okay. Whatever she dishes out, I’ll be able to handle it. But thanks.” Looking down at her watch, she says, “Crap, I have to get back. My mom wanted to meet at seven for dinner. I’ll call you later and let you know what it was about, alright?”

  She stands, readjusting her drawstring bag over her shoulder, looking up at me as I join her. Caramel eyes mixed with honey stare at me with a seed of doubt behind them, causing her to ask, “Is something wrong? You’ve seemed kind of upset today.”

  Oh, where do I begin?

  Yes, everything is wrong. I like you, and I shouldn’t. I like you, but you don’t know how I like you. I’m upset because I held you last night and you don’t remember. I’m upset because I killed my mom, and for the first time in three years, I forgot about it while I was kissing you. Nothing is right. It hasn’t been for a long time.

  “Just a lot on my mind,” I say, shrugging it off. “But yeah, call me later. Let me know if you survived.” I smirk at her, using everything within me to make it look easy, normal, and it seems to do the trick, because she smiles back, latching her strong arms around my middle.

  Head resting against my chest, I feel her take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Thank you, Jagger.”

  My chin moves to rest on the top of her head, a slight breeze blowing her scent to me. Lilacs. “For what?” I ask quietly.

  “For getting me home last night. I guess I really needed the sleep. Oh, and I’m sorry I made you carry me.” She chuckles, pulling away from me, eyes slightly guilty. “But then what’s all that time in the gym good for if you’re not using it to pick up unconscious girls?”

  I nod, rolling back on my heels. “Yep, it’s why I do it. Though there’s not much glory in it when said girl is unconscious and can’t kiss you as her thanks.” I jump my brows at her, and she slaps my shoulder, smile small but amused.

  “Yeah, yeah. Mr. Chivalry.” Eyes still glittering, she looks at me, expression softening. “Goodbye, Jagger.

  I mirror her. “Goodbye, Cyvil.”

  ***

  “Dude, where were you today? We had a golf date, remember?” Rosy says through the phone, sounding as pi
ssed as Moon had been when I told him I’d be unable to make it this morning.

  “You’re only mad because you didn’t have me to distract Moon from you.” Walking into my apartment, I turn on the light, illuminating the space that seems empty even with furniture in it. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get a cheaper apartment, a smaller space.

  “Okay, yes, that is one reason, but for real. We missed you today, man. You’ve been MIA the last few days.”

  “I know,” I sigh, putting my keys on the counter. I haven’t talked to the guys since Sunday, which is like a year in our terms. “I’ve been…doing stuff.”

  “Yeah, and by “stuff” you mean sitting on your couch, watching infomercials, and pretending the world outside your house doesn’t exist.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” I ask, flopping down on the exact couch he was talking about, staring back at a black television screen. It’s what I do most days when I’m not hanging out with them.

  “You know what’s wrong with it. And don’t even pretend that things haven’t gotten worse. I’ve noticed how you’ve been, Jag. Something’s going on with you, and you’re not sharing.”

  Letting out a breath that gets semi-caught in my chest, I admit to the ceiling, hoping it might make me feel less heavy if someone else knows, “I kissed Cyvil last night.”

  “…You what?”

  “I kissed her. In her bed.”

  “…”

  “Hardcore.”

  “…”

  “And she doesn’t remember it.”

  “Dude,” he breathes out, and then proceeds to curse zero to a hundred in Spanish.

  “What did we discuss about you using your secret lingo in front of me?”

  “If by “lingo” you mean language then no, I don’t remember that conversation. But seriously, that’s harsh, man. I’m sorry.” He pauses, then says, almost hopefully, “So…does that mean you’ve got a real thing for her?”

  I close my eyes. “If you tell Moon, I’ll murder you.”

  “TOO LATE!” I hear his obnoxious voice exclaim, forcing me to move the phone away from my ear.

  Dammit. “You could have mentioned Ignoramus was there with you,” I growl.

  “Sorry. He just walked into the room. Though I don’t know how. I locked it,” Rosy says, sounding perplexed. “Seriously, how’d you do that?”

  “I’m amazing. I used this magical thing called a key. It lets you get through these portals you ordinary people call doors, and – oof!” What sounds like a pillow slamming into his face makes its way to me, and I smile.

  “Thanks, Rose.”

  “Yep.”

  “Ah, come on. My nose is just barely healing, man! Ugh.” Pause. “Shoot, is that blood? Did you just make me bleed?”

  Before fists start flying instead of pillows, I yell over the mix of Korean and Spanish swearing, “SHUT. UP. Both of you. Man, I’m so sick of you guys acting like we’re still in high school. We’re not fifteen anymore. Grow up.”

  “Oh, whatever. You’re just pissy because you’re so in love,” Moon says in a sappy voice, completely ignoring my comments on immaturity. “It’s okay, J-dawg. I forgive you for being a bitch.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Rosy complains in the background.

  “You’re both losers and I don’t know why I’m friends with you. And Moon, if you speak a word of this to Cyvil, or Atillia, or anyone with a pulse, I will put you in the same body bag as Rosy.” I’m not even kidding.

  “Alright, alright. Let’s drop the dramatics here for a sec,” he says, sounding somewhat serious. “So that’s why you were all happy this morning. You got a little action from the redhead, but then you talk to her, discover she has no idea you did…something, and now you’re upset. Did I get it right?”

  I mutter noncommittally.

  “Okay, so what are you going to do about it?”

  “What do you mean what am I going to do about it? I can’t do anything about it. She doesn’t remember.”

  “Then make her. Tell her the truth, kiss her again, do something! But stop complaining to us and going all emo over being in love with your fiancée.”

  “I’m not in love with her.” I correct.

  I imagine him raising that one eyebrow at me when he says, “You sure?”

  …

  “You’re in love with her.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “You know, you have a lot of nerve giving me advice on making a move,” I say, getting angry now. “When are you going to man up and do the same thing with –”

  “Don’t you dare involve her in this,” he hisses before I can even say her name, and my brows rise in surprise. It takes quite a lot to upset Moon. But I guess if there was ever going to be a trigger for him, it’d be Ayla.

  I rub my eyes, saying quietly, “You can’t tell me that it’s not the same.”

  “It’s not.” A door closes, and I imagine he’s taken me off speakerphone at this point. “You’re in a position to get everything you want without any consequences if you confess. I don’t have that luxury.”

  “Is that the excuse you’re sticking with?” I deadpan, the sky outside growing as dark as this conversation is getting. “Because if it is, then you’re pathetic.”

  “You know what? Screw you, Jagger. Tell her or don’t tell her. I couldn’t give a damn anymore. Just make sure you don’t hurt my friend.” And with that, the line goes flat.

  Building frustration with Cyvil, my dad, Moon, and my life burns a whole through my chest, begging for a way out. Crushing the phone in a white-knuckle grip, I throw it as hard as I can against the opposite wall with a scream, watching it smash into pieces all over the living room floor. It feels like a perfect representation of how my life is going, my own pieces irreparable.

  ***

  I don’t talk to my friends for the next few days. The isolation I thought I felt before is nothing compared to this. The only one I’ve talked to is Cyvil, and that was only her telling me that her mother wanted her to start wedding plans, beginning with the dress. She sounded stressed on the phone, her words flying faster than a Bugatti. I didn’t know how to make her feel better except to reassure her that this is what we were expected to do, and that in the end, it’s not like it’s actually going to happen. It seemed to appease her.

  “You’re right,” she’d said, and I could picture her nodding to herself. “At least they believe it’s real. That’s good.”

  “Sure.”

  She paused, and I knew I hadn’t done a good enough job of hiding my irritation. “You sound like you’re mad. Is something wrong?”

  If you only knew. Since I didn’t want to lie to her any longer, I simply didn’t answer.

  “Is this about Moon?”

  Of course she would know.

  “You’ve talked,” I said on a sigh.

  “Well, yeah. He calls me every day. He seemed as upset as you just now when I talked to him this morning. But he wouldn’t tell me why. Will you?”

  “No.”

  “Great,” she said sarcastically. “So not only do I have a friend who sounds like his dog died, but also a pissed off faux fiancé to boot. And they say women are hormonal.”

  Cyvil

  I don’t know if there is anything I hate more than being out of the loop. And since dumb things one and two won’t tell me anything, that’s where I’m left: sitting on the edge of the circle of their boy drama.

  When Sunday rolls around, I’m not sure whether it’d be a good idea to go to the Nunez family dinner or not. If Jagger and Moon have something going on, then I don’t want to be around them, quite frankly. Because heaven knows I don’t need the extra stress. But then Ayla calls me, asking if I’m coming over, and when I pause, she says, knowing exactly what I had been thinking, “Oh, forget about those two. They probably won’t even show up.” She sounded a touch sad about the last part of her sales pitch, but went on, “Plus, my friend Taji is coming over and we’re going to hav
e a mehndi party after dinner. It’ll be fun. Just us girls.”

  Uh…? “First, what is mehndi, and second, isn’t your brother going to be around?”

  Her response was quick. “Rosy has a date with Hanna, and mehndi is an eastern tradition where women get designs applied on their hands and feet for weddings and special occasions. Really, it’ll be awesome. You should come with or without the boys. You’re always welcome.”

  Well, my only other plans were to sit on the couch and watch melodrama TV while stewing over Jagger’s coldness to me since our night on the beach. So with that thought, I figured being surrounded by my own sex for once wouldn’t be such a terrible idea.

  “Alright,” I said, hopping off the couch, “I’ll be there in an hour. Tell your mom I’m not coming empty handed this time.”

  Exactly one hour later, I’m standing in front of the beautiful brownstone belonging to the Nunez family, a large, triple chocolate cake sitting in my hands as I balance it precariously, just managing to push the doorbell with my pinky. A minute later, the door goes flying open, and I’m greeted by an army of women.

  Aunts, cousins, and Grammy welcome me in, cooing over how beautiful the cake is, and how sweet I was to think to bring it. They scurry me off to the kitchen, Lotta giving me a giant hug and kiss before she takes the cake from me, placing it on the island, saying, “It’s a good thing you brought it, otherwise we would have been stuck with Camilla’s fruit loaf.”

  “I heard that!” an angry voice echoes from the dining room, and Lotta winks at me, making me crack a smile.

  “Hey, you made it!” Ayla says with a great big hug as she walks into the kitchen, a girl with long black hair and beautiful rich skin standing behind her, a golden flower stud shining from her nose. When Ayla pulls away from me, she says, “Cyvil, this is my best friend, Taji. Taji, this is Cyvil, Jagger’s fiancée.”

  “Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” I say as we shake hands, her smile warm and friendly.

  “Same here. It’s actually kind of an honor to meet the girl who nailed down the male specimen.”