by Monica James
Peering at the door nervously, I slip my hand inside, inexplicably needing to run my fingers over the source of Saxon’s most intimate thoughts. I wouldn’t dare read what’s inside, as I know how private a diary can be. I also know however, that inside lies the reason why Saxon and Samuel don’t get along. I could sneak a peek and finally uncover why the two brothers are mere strangers. I could…but I won’t. If I ever find out the reason why, it’ll be because Saxon or Sam wants to share their story with me.
Quietly closing the drawer, I gather my clothes and boots off the floor, goose bumps painting my skin when remembering Saxon undressing me so intimately. It’s a memory I’ll never forget. Tiptoeing through his room for some reason, I close the door behind me and pad down the hallway to my bedroom. I have no idea why I feel the need to sneak around. I doubt Sam is home, and even if he were, he wouldn’t care where I slept last night.
With that thought in mind, I yank open my bedroom door, ready to shower and face another day of the unknown. My confidence takes a nosedive however when I step into my bedroom and see a sight I never thought I’d see.
Sitting in the middle of the room is Sam and sitting around him, scattered all over our hardwood floor are my journals. There are piles surrounding him, the boxes they once sat in overturned. In his lap sits an opened journal, and when he meets my eyes, there is nothing but guilt reflected in his.
“W-what are you doing?” I stupidly ask because it’s fairly obvious that Samuel has no respect for me or my privacy.
He holds up my diary, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“You didn’t mean to read my dairy?” I offer when he draws a blank. “It just jumped off the dresser and into your lap?”
He doesn’t reply.
“You can’t do that, Sam. You can’t just read someone’s diary. Not cool. It’s an invasion of my privacy!” I think back to being in Saxon’s room some thirty seconds ago. I was presented with the same temptation, but I resisted. I respect Saxon. Sadly, Samuel doesn’t feel the same way about me. “And why are you even back here? You made it quite clear you couldn’t stand the sight of me yesterday.”
His silence angers me further.
“Now is the time you apologize for being a gigantic dick! But I guess apologies aren’t your strong suit. How many did you read?” I gesture with my chin towards my scattered memories.
“You love me,” he says in a dreamlike voice.
“I…what?” I reply, scrunching up my nose, confused, my anger coming to a screeching halt.
“You love me,” he repeats, waving my diary. “I’m sorry for reading it, but I can’t remember you, Lucy, and the diaries, they were just sitting there. I was curious. I’m also sorry for being a complete asshole to you yesterday.”
My mouth opens and closes like a stunned goldfish.
Why would he want an insight into my world? He made his feelings perfectly clear last night. How would my diaries be able to change his mind when I haven’t succeeded?
“If you had any questions about us, you should have asked, not resorted to snooping. I feel so violated,” I say, drawing my clothes up to cover my chest.
“I know. I’m sorry.” He places my diary on the floor and stands. He doesn’t move, however. We simply stand, staring at one another, waiting for the other to speak. But I don’t know what he wants me to say.
“It was so weird seeing myself, a self I cannot remember, through your eyes. I sounded like an all right kind of guy.”
“You were,” I affirm, sad we’re talking in past tense.
“So all that stuff, it really happened?”
“Yes, it really did.”
“Wow.” His eyes widen. “I can’t believe I didn’t take the scholarship. I know my grades were good enough.”
His comment has me cocking a brow. “You remember your grades?”
His mouth parts, appearing to be caught out and I don’t know why. “I just meant…” he quickly backtracks, rubbing the back of his neck, “that I know I was always a good student.”
That’s not what he meant and we both know it. Alarm bells sound in my ears and I don’t know why. Samuel wasn’t a great student. He was an exceptional basketball player, and good at math, but he wasn’t so good on the academic playing field. What am I missing? He did, however, do a lot better than I thought he would on the SATs. But if he put his mind to it, he could achieve anything.
But the reason why he didn’t accept the scholarship was because of his dad. Greg and Kellie made it crystal clear that his future was working on the farm with Greg. He didn’t want to disappoint them, so he finally caved. Saxon was the lucky one. He got out.
“I’m sure you read about why you didn’t accept the scholarship,” I sarcastically say. “I’m sure you read about a lot of things.”
My head begins pounding, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m angry or if my hangover has decided to rear its ugly head. Either way, I want a shower. But more so, I want to brush my teeth.
Remembering I’m standing in Saxon’s shirt, carrying my clothes as I crept down the hallway, I suddenly feel incredibly guilty. This emotional ping pong is sure to give me a nervous breakdown one day soon. “I’m going for a shower,” I announce, choosing to ignore the fact that I just came from Saxon’s bedroom.
Sam doesn’t seem to care either way as he nods, watching me stomp across the room. “Can I make you coffee?”
I trip over a discarded diary, almost bumping my head against the dresser. “Coffee?” I squeak.
“Yes, you know. The black, delicious smelling liquid that comes from little beans.”
Is he making a joke?
When he smiles, I know the answer is yes.
This is too much.
That breakdown is not too far away. “S-sure,” I fumble, tripping over my words as I know Saxon is currently doing that for me, but I don’t want Sam to know that, as he’ll soon discover that I spent the night in Saxon’s room. And more importantly, in his bed.
Sam appears happy by my response.
He looks at the mountains of diaries surrounding him, then back up at me. I sigh and wave him off. “I’ve got them. Just go make coffee.”
“Sorry again.” When he appears genuinely apologetic, I push down my anger, as him being remorseful is better than him biting my head off. And I also see a glimmer of the old Sam breaking the surface.
I don’t reply, but instead place my belongings on the floor and reach for an empty cardboard box. Sam watches me for a moment before leaving me to clean up his mess.
Looking around at my most treasured memories, I slump into the middle of the room and brush back my matted hair. I should be happy Samuel wants to remember me, but I’m not. Reading one’s diary is not kosher, but considering Sam’s situation, I guess I could cut him some slack. In a weird, completely messed up way, he was only trying to uncover who he was. Who I was. But why am I not happy?
This is the first real effort he’s made since coming home, and although it’s only been a week, it feels like a lifetime. It feels like I’m doing life without parole.
* * * * *
I shower in record time, feeling human once I dry off and slip on my jeans and PETA tee. The straw cowboy hat looks at me from the bedroom floor, presenting me with the option that it’ll hide my bird nest perfectly. But wearing it around Sam feels wrong. Sighing, I pick it up and hide it in my closet.
The smell of strong coffee has my taste buds dancing in delight as I close the bedroom door and amble down the hallway. I have no idea what I’m about to walk in to, considering Sam and Saxon are in the kitchen, both making coffee. I don’t hear any yelling, so that’s a good start.
Both brothers turn around when I enter, which makes me feel a touch uncomfortable. It’s Saxon’s eyes I meet first and he thankfully smiles, before returning to the bacon popping on the stove.
“Sax was already making coffee and breakfast,” Sam explains, pulling out three plates from the cupboard.
“Smells good,” I say, standing on tippy toes to look over Saxon’s broad shoulders.
From what I can see, he’s working the stove like a whiz. Eggs, bacon, sausage, and flapjacks are on the menu, my ravenous stomach growling in excitement. Sitting on the stool, I watch in interest as Samuel quickly reaches for a mug and pours a cup of coffee.
“Do you take sugar? Cream?” he asks, looking directly at me.
I glance over my shoulder to ensure there’s no one behind me. “Just black,” I reply when I find my voice.
He places the mug in front of me and smiles.
I look at it apprehensively, wondering if it’ll jump up and bite, as there’s got to be a catch to why Sam is being so nice to me. Yesterday’s Sam was a right royal asshole, who made his feelings for me perfectly clear, so why the sudden change of heart?
This predicament is not helping my growing headache and I rub my brow.
“Is there room for one more?”
“Piper!” I exclaim, jumping up from the stool, thankful someone else is here to make conversation.
My on edge behavior has Saxon turning to look at me over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Sure, Piper,” he says, gesturing to Samuel to grab another plate.
Piper narrows her eyes. She’s onto me. “You okay, Luce?”
“Yeah, fine,” I reply, sitting back down as I’m standing like an idiot. “Just tired.”
Saxon’s eyes meet mine, peering in on my secret silently.
“Where do you want these?”
Now that I’m semi-sane, I notice her hands are filled with paper bags. “What are they?”
“You’re kidding, right?” When I shrug, pulling a guilty face, she shakes her head. “Have you forgotten what day it is?”
I scratch my temple. “Well…”
She looks at Saxon, then at Sam, who raises his hands in the air. “Don’t look at me. I’m the one with amnesia, remember?”
Piper huffs, placing the bags onto the counter. “It’s Saturday.”
Oh, shit.
Before I can gripe that I’m in no mood to party, Piper points her fingers at me. “Luce, don’t even. It’s happening.” I slouch low and sip my coffee, knowing that it’ll be one of many.
Saxon dishes up the delicious smelling breakfast, but I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. The thought of having random strangers in my home does not sound appealing whatsoever. My head already feels like it’s about to explode. I don’t need to add rowdy partygoers to the mix. This is a bad idea on all accounts, but I don’t stand a chance against party planner Piper.
We eat in relative silence, the TV filling the calm. To someone looking in, we would appear like a normal family eating breakfast together on a Saturday morning. But I know better. I’m a bundle of nerves, waiting for Sam to lose his temper over something small and storm out, claiming how much he hates being here. But he doesn’t. He eats, trying to make conversation with Saxon, who looks just as puzzled as me.
What’s going on? What has happened for Sam to start acting like…Sam? Like the old Sam I loved more than life itself. I should be over the moon, ecstatic that he’s making an effort, but something doesn’t feel right. I just can’t place my finger on it.
“You don’t like your eggs?”
“Huh?” I blurt out, looking up to see Saxon smirking. He gestures with his fork to my plate.
Peering down, I see that I’ve massacred my breakfast, leaving behind a colorful mess. Pushing my plate away, I sigh. Saxon gulps down his coffee and places his plate in the dishwasher. “I’m going to pick up my bike.”
His comment has me snapping out of my funk as I desperately want to talk to him and ask if Sam has said anything to him. Before I can offer to drive him however, Piper shoots up from her stool while shoveling the last of her breakfast into her mouth. “I’ll drive you,” she says around a mouthful of food.
Saxon’s gaze flicks my way before he nods. “Thanks.”
“Piper, if you want to stay here and decorate, I can drive Saxon,” I offer, hoping she’ll take the bait.
Of course she doesn’t. “No, it’s fine. I need to pick up a few extra things anyway.” No she doesn’t. The bags she bears are packed full. But I don’t make a fuss.
Sam looks at me and again, that thing called a smile is directed my way. “Maybe we can get a head start on tonight?”
I can’t hide my surprise. “S-sure.”
Saxon runs a hand through his sleep mussed hair, narrowing his eyes. Piper let’s him ponder for a second before looping her arm through his. “Ready when you are.”
Her chirpy voice is filled with excitement, as I know she’s eager to spend some alone time with Saxon. Knowing Piper, they’ll take the longest detour possible. Rising, I scrape my untouched breakfast into the trash, hoping my uneasiness doesn’t shine.
“We won’t be long,” Saxon says from behind me. “Did you want to come for a drive?”
I know what he’s doing and I appreciate it. He’s acting on his promise to take care of me, obviously sensing my distress. Turning, I see Piper shaking her head animatedly behind Saxon’s back, waving her hands in the air.
“No, it’s okay. Sam is right. It’s probably a good idea to get things underway.” Saxon nods, but his usual poker face isn’t as foolproof as it once was because I can now read him just as well as he can read me.
Once they’re out the door, my palms begin to sweat and an awkward silence permeates the air. I’m filled with a heavy sadness when it becomes evident that I no longer feel comfortable around my fiancé. There was a time when I believed I could tell Sam anything, but things have changed. I’m now too afraid to talk in fear of getting my head bitten off.
When Sam clears his throat, appearing just as uncomfortable as I am, I decide to make the first move. Pushing down the past few weeks, I try my best to smile and mean it. “So, what’s Piper got in there?”
Sam looks relieved that I instigated conversation as I have every right to tell him to shove it. But the fact that he’s trying has me wanting to try too. I just have to remember that underneath his harsh words, bad attitude, and constant hatred lies the man I was going to marry. And besides, this is what I wanted, wasn’t it?
As Sam begins hunting through the bags, pulling out every known party supply possible, I can’t help but think I should have been careful what I wished for. “How many people did she invite?” he says, whistling.
Looking at the loaded counter, I shake my head. “Knowing Piper, too many.”
“Well, we’re in for some night.” I unexpectedly shiver and I don’t know why. “Where should we start?”
Ignoring my weird premonition, I look at the twenty different color boxes of Jell-O and laugh. “It appears we’ll be making Jell-O shots for the rest of the morning. Oh—” I pause “—but you can start with clearing the living room if you like.” I have no idea if Samuel remembers what Jell-O shots are, and I don’t want to make a big deal about it.
My attempt at being subtle however falls short. “I’m a fast learner,” he offers, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater.
I hold my breath, waiting for some kind of explosion to erupt, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, Sam begins opening the packets of Jell-O, waiting for me to instruct him further.
“Right,” I say after a few seconds of collecting my thoughts. “We’ll need a couple of big bowls and a measuring cup.”
Before I can direct Sam to where the bowls are kept, he walks over to the cupboard near the fridge and opens it. My mouth drops open and I gasp. “You remember?”
His hand freezes on the handle. “Holy shit.” The mixing bowls stare at us innocently, while I choke on my raspy breathing. “I don’t know. I don’t think I remember?”
“You’ve done this once before,” I say, winded.
“I have?” He spins to look at me, eyes wide.
“Yes, you did it the other day. With the mugs.” I point to the cupboard above the stove top.
My stomach drops at his comment as I can’t make out his mood. Have I just ruined a “moment” by putting my foot in it? We were having a semi-decent conversation and now I’ve gone and…but I pause. This is exactly the type of attitude I refuse to relive. No more second guessing myself.
I am thankful however when he turns to me and smiles. “Maybe there’s hope for me after all, then?” His optimism reminds me of the old Sam.
Whatever has triggered this response, I decide not to question it for now because even though I’m completely confused, I’m also…glad.
“Hello, anyone home?”
Sam cocks a brow, obviously not recognizing my mom’s voice.
“It’s my mom,” I state, while his mouth falls open in understanding. “We’re in here.”
My parents walk into the kitchen, my mom unable to hide her happiness at seeing me standing beside Sam without tears in my eyes.
“My, my, what on earth have you got there?” Dad asks, looking at the endless Jell-O boxes as he kisses me on the top of the head.
“It’s Piper’s doing, sir,” Sam replies politely.
I don’t know how much he remembers of my parents, but he never once called my dad sir. Dad doesn’t make a fuss, however, and smiles.
“We’re throwing a party tonight, and no Dad, you’re not invited.” I giggle when he stops mid-tango.
This reminds me of the old days when Sam and my dad used to get a kick out of teasing me. But why does it feel so different?
“Honey, I have some of your things in the car. I cleaned out the attic and didn’t know what you wanted to keep, so I brought it all over. Did you want to take a look?”
“Maggie, I can get that,” my dad says, but when my mom shakes her head, I know this is her silent cue to get me alone.
Samuel smiles, none the wiser. “You can help me…”
“Simon.” My dad fills in the blanks when Sam pauses, obviously not remembering my dad’s name. Dad rolls up his sleeves and the boys get to work.
The moment my mom and I step aside, she gently rubs my arm. “What’s the matter, Lucy?”
