One Life

by A. J. Pine

  “I know.”

  “No, I don’t think you do. You’re hiding. And I get it. I’ve been there, throwing myself into everything else so I don’t have to deal with life when it goes to shit. But I don’t want to be a part of that. I don’t want to be the place you hide, Zoe. I want to be the place where you feel safe enough to be seen.”

  My head falls to his shoulder, and we’re both quiet for several seconds.

  “And I want you to see me too,” he adds.

  He waits for me, and I want to give him the answer he deserves. I want to give him the me he deserves. Zach already has his grudge against Wyatt. I don’t want to be next. And Jess finally has her life back together. I don’t want to be a burden to her when she’s finally learning to get past her own. Spock is my lifeline, the one holding me together. If I unravel, who will fix me then?

  “I’ll try,” I say, offering up the most honest response I can. When I lift my head, his eyes are ready, waiting for mine. “This is new territory for me. If you can be patient while I tread lightly, I promise each baby step will be toward what you’re asking.”

  Damn defenses kicking in. Just tell him everything, Zoe. Lay it all on the table. If he loves you, he won’t just stop, right?

  But lots of things stop too early—my favorite television series; a good book, the kind I want to live in; life. And love. I’ve already experienced the end of a life. If I can hang on to us a little while longer, weather the storm that’s bound to hit, maybe we won’t have to end too. It seems to be the only thing I can count on these days—where there’s a beginning, there’s also an end. The trick is finding a way to enjoy the ride. Yet with Spock, I’m starting to believe our journey could be infinite.

  He burrows his face into my neck, kisses me with soft lips and warm breath.

  “That’s a start,” he says. “It’s more than we’ve had so far.” His lips find my skin again. “You somehow waited six months for me. I can be patient too.”

  My hands find his cheeks, bringing his face level with mine.

  “You know, I used to be an open book like you, nothing to hide. I just need some time to get back there.”

  He looks away when I say this and starts to respond. “Zoe, I should tell you . . .”

  I hesitate for a second, a tiny place inside my head telling me to let him say what he’s about to say. But I don’t give him a chance to finish. Baby steps. I don’t need to be an open book this minute. So my lips find that stubbly jaw again while my fingers get lost in the back of his hair.

  “Just for now,” I start, my voice tentative, quiet. “Can we communicate like this?”

  He answers me with his mouth on mine, lips parted and inviting me in.

  He tastes like more than just himself. As his tongue tangles with mine, I taste hope, a future—maybe even forgiveness. If anyone can, he will help take me there.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Class ends, but Taylor enters the room against the flow of exiting students, plopping down at her easel and pulling out her sketchpad.

  “Everything okay, kiddo?” I ask, throwing my messenger bag over my shoulder. She just finished her music rotation, though it’s not uncommon for her to hang after everyone else leaves. She’s become my little shadow these past few weeks. I continue to teach her new techniques, and she continues to remind me to love my art, no matter what I produce. I’m just surprised to see her hanging out today on the Friday of a holiday weekend.

  She turns to me, and I smile at the charcoal smudges still on her nose and cheek.

  “I can’t get the eyes right,” she says, opening her pad to what we were working on in class this morning.

  I head over, dragging a stool up next to her so I can sit. We’ve been working on self-portraits. Well, the kids have. I’ve been working on my showcase project.

  “Looks just like you,” I say, staring at the black-and-white version of my star pupil. “But you’re right. The eyes need work.”

  Taylor huffs out a breath, and we both look up when we hear a soft knock on the door.

  “You ready?” Spock asks, and I look from him to Taylor’s frustrated gaze.

  “Just a sec,” I say, then turn back to Taylor.

  “You staying late today?” I ask her. Bree gives Taylor free reign of the art room whenever her mom picks her up past the program’s end.

  Taylor nods, and I get up to meet Spock at the door, pushing him out into the hall.

  “Uh-oh,” he says, and I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes at him.

  “What do you mean, Uh-oh.”

  He laughs. “I just know that look,” he says. “You live with someone for a few weeks, and you get to know their looks.” He wraps an arm around my neck and kisses the top of my head. “I’m willing to go out on a limb and say I’m an expert.”

  I purse my lips. “Okay, expert. Read my look.”

  He glances back in the room at Taylor, who sits scrutinizing her portrait.

  “Your look says we’re not taking a romantic bus ride to Madison together. It says you care too much about that kid in there to let her go home before she feels good about whatever’s on that easel. And it also says you are devastated to let me travel alone, but you promise to get your beautiful self up to Wisconsin as soon as humanly possible because you can’t bear to spend the holiday weekend without me.”

  I bark out a laugh, then clasp my hand over my mouth when I see we’ve broken Taylor’s concentration.

  “Sorry, sweetie,” I call to her. “I’ll be right there.” When I turn back to Spock, he looks at me with a self-satisfied grin. “I will drive myself up there as soon as Dee gets back with my car,” I say. The plan was to head home with Spock for the Fourth of July weekend—on a bus since Dee was borrowing my car for a meeting with an investor this afternoon.

  Spock kisses me softly on the lips. “This isn’t an excuse to get out of meeting the family, right? If it’s too much, all you have to do is say it’s too much, and I’ll see you on Sunday,” he says.

  I shake my head. “No. I mean yes. It’s a lot, and I’m not gonna lie. I’m scared shitless. But I want to do this,” I say.

  He sighs, and I watch the relief wash over him.

  “Good, he says. “I think this weekend—I think you coming home with me—you’ll get to know all of me,” he says. “I want that.” He shakes his head. “No, I need that.” Spock chuckles. “I’m not making sense, am I?”

  I kiss him again. “No, but you’re cute when you’re talking crazy,” I say. “I want to know all of you.” And maybe, I think, you’ll learn all of me too.

  “I love what you’re doing for her,” Spock says, nodding toward Taylor. “This job is good for you.”

  I nod. “It is. Thank you for understanding.”

  He pulls me into a hug, then plants one more soft kiss on my lips.

  “Text when you’re on your way, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Love you,” he says.

  “Love you too.”

  And then he’s gone.

  When I sit down next to Taylor again, she’s still struggling with the eyes, so I pull out my sketchpad, opening it and letting it rest on my knees.

  “Who’s that?” she asks, and I swallow back the sadness and smile.

  “It’s my brother,” I tell her as she stares at the opening image of what will be my first graphic novel. “His name was Wyatt.”

  She smiles. “His eyes look happy,” she says, and I nod.

  “Exactly,” I say. “Do you have happy eyes?” I ask her.

  She stares at her drawing and then at my portrait of Wyatt.

  “I want to,” she says. “But can I take pictures of your drawings first?” she asks, pulling a phone out of her bag. “So I can practice at home—in case I forget what happy eyes look like.”

  I nod and let her go to town, snapping photos of my sketches of Wyatt and his happy eyes. When she’s done, I hand her a pencil and grin.

  “Now let’s get to work.”


  * * *

  “Well, don’t you look . . .”

  “Preppy?” Jess asks, looking at Dee.

  “I was going to say sad,” Patrick responds to both. “But okay, we’ll go with what Jess said.”

  I brush past them out of my bathroom and back to my room.

  “None of you are helping,” I yell over my shoulder.

  I’m nervous enough as it is. I don’t need commentary on my outfit.

  “Do you think Spock’s dad is as pretty as he is?” Patrick asks as my small entourage piles into my room. “I’ve got a thing for older men.”

  I slap him on the shoulder while simultaneously pushing Jess onto my bed and out of the way as I throw my last minute toiletries into the small suitcase.

  “Hey,” Dee starts. “You wanted us all here while you got ready to leave. Remember?”

  Yeah. I remember. My eyes go first to Jess, plopped on my bed. Then Patrick leaning against my dresser. Finally Dee standing in the door frame. I can feign annoyance all I want, but the truth is, I’d never make it out the door if they weren’t here to cheer me on in their own twisted ways.

  My fingers rake through my hair, now turquoise as the blue dye fades.

  “Thank you. All of you. I know I’m freaking out, but imagine what I’d be like if you weren’t here.”

  I smooth out my striped boat-neck tee over my white shorts.

  “I’m not fooling anyone with the nautical look, am I?” I ask.

  Jess stands up and puts her arm around my shoulder.

  “There’s no one to fool, honey. He loves you. So they’ll love you.”

  I sigh. She’s right. The logical side of me knows she’s right, but the logical side of me has also never spent the weekend at her boyfriend’s parents’ house. The Fourth has always been a big thing with his family, so he couldn’t skip out. I didn’t anticipate how much more my nerves would kick in traveling there alone, though. Taylor had a great breakthrough with her drawing after I shared mine with her, but now that I’m ready to leave, all the confidence I had when I said good-bye to Spock seeps out of me, a slow leak I hope I can seal before I get to Madison.

  I’m proud of my appearance, every piercing and drop of ink are details I added to show myself and everyone else that I’m not the drunk party girl I could have turned out to be freshman year. I am who I choose to be, and yes, that is the girl Spock loves.

  “They don’t know me, though. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to make a first impression.”

  “Pfft.” This comes from Patrick. “I loved you from day one, Smurfette.”

  “That’s comforting,” I say with a quiet laugh.

  “And I didn’t want to stab you when you showed up four weeks ago,” Dee says.

  “Um . . . thanks?” I tell her.

  “And you know I love you,” Jess adds, kissing me on the cheek. “And you’re on a first-name basis with my mom, so I think that shows you have a pretty good track record with the parental units.”

  I laugh. “That’s because I’m not sleeping with you. Plus, it’s not just his parents. He’s got brothers. And they have this whole big barbeque thing tomorrow, so forgive me if I’m a little more high-strung than usual.”

  Dee winks at me. “You just need to get laid, and all that will go away. But I doubt you’ll be getting much this weekend, sweetheart. Shaggy’s childhood home? I’m thinking twin bed, Star Wars sheets. Come to think of it, that might be kinda hot.”

  I pull the handle up from the suitcase and sigh.

  “I can do this, right?” My mind sticks on Dee’s not-so-funny joke. It’s actually been a week since Spock and I did anything other than sleep in the same bed. Ever since the drawing started to click again, I’ve been up until two or three in the morning most nights, unable to stop the images pouring onto the page. Star Wars sheets or not, I’m not keeping my legs crossed for three full days and nights with him. He’s got to have a basement or something, right? Someplace out of parental earshot? Oh for the love, I hope so.

  “Yes.” Then Jess slaps me on the ass. “Go get ’em.”

  I look at her, my eyes wide as I hold back a grin.

  “Or something,” she says, and we all burst out laughing. “Text me when you get there!” she says.

  “Text me when you christen his twin bed,” Dee says.

  “Text me a pic of his dad,” Patrick adds. Ew, I think, and I flip them all off, lovingly of course, as I roll my suitcase into the living room and then out the door.

  * * *

  I expect more traffic for the Friday before the Fourth, but I must be the only person who waited until the end of the workday to hit the road, because the ride to Madison is quick—too quick for my taste. I was hoping for time to gear up, maybe even get in too late to meet the parents if they weren’t night owls, but by half past eight, my little sedan rolls up in front of 518 Walnut Lane in the suburb of Waunakee, Wisconsin.

  Holy hell. Red brick exterior and gray cedar siding seem to go on farther than my eyes could take in. Some house, even for a family of five. The yard, perfectly manicured, sports a large oak tree replete with tire swing. This makes me smile, thinking of a young Spock and his older brothers roughhousing in the yard, swinging from that tree.

  A knock on my passenger-side window startles me, and I jump—well, almost jump. The seat belt makes it a little difficult.

  When I turn my head, there he is—smiling and waiting. I unlock the door, and he hops in beside me.

  “You can turn off the car and come inside,” he says, his tone teasing and his smile melting my insides.

  “Have I been out here that long?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “About eight minutes from when I noticed, but I didn’t see you pull up.”

  “Shit. I’m sorry. Your parents must think I’m nuts already.”

  He laughs, then kisses me. My shoulders relax as soon as our exhales intertwine.

  “They don’t even know you’re here. I came inside to grab the pitcher of lemonade for my mom, and I saw your car through the window.”

  He unbuckles my seat belt and turns the car off. More kisses, and now I can lean into him, untethered by the belt.

  “Can we just stay here a little longer?” I ask. “I’m kind of liking where this is going, and I’m not sure we can keep it up in front of your family.”

  His smile lights up the yard. Or maybe it’s just me. He lights something inside me, and I can’t imagine how different things would have been if he hadn’t shown up on my doorstep the day of Wyatt’s memorial.

  “Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he says. “I know it’s only been a few hours, but I feel like I haven’t seen you all week.” Strange to miss someone who’s been beside me day in and day out, yet I know what he means. His lips find mine again. I taste his hunger, my lips the only way to sate it, and I tell him I’ve missed him too the best way I know how—by letting us each devour the time we’ve lost through touch and taste and mingled sighs.

  “Okay,” he says when we come up for air. “Let’s just live in your car. I like it here.”

  I laugh, my voice breathless and light against him. How we went six months with virtually no contact to not being able to get enough of each other is beyond me, but I sure as hell don’t want to go back to how we were, not now. Not ever.

  “Do you think anyone will come looking for us?” I ask.

  Spock’s eyes dart toward the open front door, where the silhouette of a man stands.

  “I think they already have.”

  He steals one more kiss before pulling away, and the warm ache in my belly subsides when I realize the person in the doorway is most likely his dad.

  “Here goes nothing,” I say.

  “They’re going to love you,” he says. “I love you, so that’s already a vote in your favor.”

  We both exit and round the back of the vehicle to the trunk, where my suitcase is.

  “Keep saying stuff like that, Mr. Nolan, and you may not ever be able to get rid of me.”


  He hoists my suitcase from the open trunk, sneaks another kiss while we’re out of view of the front door.

  “And why would I ever want to do that?” he asks, his tone playful while my thoughts on the subject are anything but. I don’t expect him to know this. In fact, I’m glad he doesn’t. But it doesn’t stop my mind from traveling down the wrong path when my only plan for this weekend was to live in the moment and enjoy myself.

  Stupid fucking question, I think. I’m a girl who lies to my family—who’s kept the darkest parts of myself hidden for two months now. What’s not to love about that?

  I clear my throat and shake away the thoughts I swore I’d ignore this weekend.

  “I hope you don’t,” is all I say. Then I slam the trunk closed and let him lead me to his front door.

  Both his parents now stand in the front foyer. Their smiles beam bright and genuine, and I immediately see that Spock’s charm must be a combined mother/father product.

  “We’re so happy to have you, Zoe,” his mom says, and I decide to stop holding my breath. Happy to have me is a good start. “Zach has told us so much about you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Nolan. I’m happy to be here.” I wonder if she noticed my flinch at the use of Spock’s name, how foreign it sounds to me. I also wonder what he’s told her, if she knows about our living arrangement or if we’re both still keeping secrets from those we love.

  Mr. Nolan shakes his head. “It’s Susan and Dave,” he says, and I nod as he extends his hand for a firm shake. My smile widens, and my shoulders relax. Maybe I can do this. “Come out back. We’ve still got some food left and plenty to drink.”

  I follow everyone through the kitchen and out the sliding glass door to where an umbrellaed table for eight sits on a large, brick-paved patio, a candle with the unmistakable scent of citronella glowing at the table’s center. Two guys, each with a bottle of beer in hand, play a game of cornhole out on the grass, and Mr. Nolan—Dave—points to the coolers.