by Beth Michele
I blink, removing myself from the memory but still rooted in the past. “Nothing.” I break our stare and look back down to the floor.
“You okay?” she asks, sincerity clear in her eyes.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Come on. I know you need to get ready.”
We finish cleaning up and then I follow her down the stairs, shaking my head and chastising myself the entire fucking time because I’m afraid of a girl. A girl who I’ve known for thirteen years. A girl I don’t want to risk losing by confessing my feelings and having her take off in the other direction.
A girl I’m probably not good enough for.
I’M JUST FINISHING up some verses of a poem when there’s a firm knock on the door. I stash my paper under the sofa cushion and since I’m not expecting anyone, take my time getting there. The face revealed when I open the door is the last one I expect—Braden James.
Braden and I met when we were thrown together in Mrs. Pava’s second grade class. I’ve known him almost as long as I’ve known Evie. I chuckle a little under my breath. Evie is the gauge for everything in my life. I smile at that as I take in my burly friend. Braden and I max out at around six two, but that’s where the similarities end. He is broader than I am, carrying a lot more bulk from his days of playing high school football. He grips me in a bear hug, then slaps me on the back with a solid hand leading up to a full sleeve of tattoos.
“What the hell, man? How goes it?” He sets me down, knocking me against the shoulder.
“I’m surprised to see you. I thought you weren’t getting back until next week.” I nod toward the living room. “Come on in.”
“Yeah, well,” he wipes a hand across his brow, “it was hotter than shit in Texas. I swear, I stepped outside for five minutes and I already needed another shower. But my uncle and aunt love it there.”
“How did everything go?” I collapse onto the couch, and in his signature move, Braden jumps on it, his weight making the springs bounce. “Make yourself at home.” I snicker and he throws me a devilish grin.
“It was good. Everything’s at the new condo. Now, all they have to do is unpack. My mom is staying until next weekend so she can help out.”
“Your dad must be going crazy at the restaurant without your mom, though.” That’s the other thing Braden and I have in common. His parents own a small pizza place in town. But unlike me, he made a smart decision and stayed out of it. Instead, he pursued his dream of being a mechanic, and now he has his own body shop. “I can’t even imagine—”
“Dills?” Evie’s voice at the door slices through my words. She opens the screen, smiling when she sees Braden. “Hey, you!”
“Hey, Red.” He lifts his large body off the couch and gives her the same treatment he gave me, embracing her in a bear hug. She giggles, and he winks at me over her shoulder. “Well,” he deposits her gently on the carpet, “you’re looking good.”
“Thanks.” Her cheeks color pink as she straightens her tank top and smoothes down the edges of her running shorts.
I scratch my chin and push myself up off the sofa. “What are you doing here, Hopper? I thought you were headed out.”
“I am,” she answers, walking in the direction of the kitchen, “but Zoey just got home and she’s in a mad dash to make a cake for a friend of hers before she heads to the hotel, and we’re out of eggs. Can I snag a couple from you?”
“Sure. Take whatever you need.” Braden smirks at that statement but keeps his mouth shut.
“How is that hot little rebel sister of yours?” He leans against the wall in a cocky stance, arms folded over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles.
“You should come by and see for yourself,” Evie yells out. I hear the fridge open and close before she reappears carrying five eggs. “I’m taking some extra just in case.” She juggles the eggs, cupping them in her hands, then nudges the door open with her hip. “And to think,” she laughs, “they say chivalry is dead. Anyway, thanks for the eggs. See you two later.” The screen door smacks loudly against its frame and Braden ogles her as she walks away. He whistles a breath through his teeth.
“Damn, is it my imagination or does she get better looking every day?”
I take my eyes off of Evie and pivot to face him. “Don’t even fucking think about it, man.”
“Why?” One of his thick eyebrows lifts. “Have you claimed her yet?”
Well, shit. He’s got me there. “No.”
“Okay, then.” He says it so casually but it does nothing to ease my concern as I stomp off toward the kitchen.
“Hey,” Braden calls out and I turn back around, “I may be a horny bastard, but I’m not a prick. I’d never make a move on her. But what the fuck, man?” He taps the nonexistent watch on his wrist. “The clock’s ticking. Shit or get off the pot.”
“I know, I know.”
He walks over and playfully punches me in the arm. “Now let’s go to Hal’s and catch up for a bit. I don’t have a lot of time. My dad roped me into helping out at the restaurant tonight and you know I just can’t wait for that.”
WHEN WE PULL into the parking lot at Hal’s, Braden pats the dashboard a few times. “I think you need to drop your baby off next week and let me give her a tune-up. She’s sounding a little bit sluggish.”
“I think you’re right,” I say as we climb out of the truck.
Hal’s doesn’t look like much from the outside, or even from the inside for that matter. The oak tables and chairs have aged right along with the fifteen-year-old establishment, and the pictures on the walls have seen better days. But people don’t come here for the ambience. They come here for the food and friendly service.
“Hey, Vivian,” Braden greets one of the waitresses, “we’ll take a table in the back.”
“Sure, hon,” she shoots back, sliding a pencil behind her ear, “any one you want.”
Braden wastes no time giving me the third degree once we sit down. He steeples his fingers in front of him on the table as he glares at me. “So, what the hell is going on with you and Evie? Oh wait,” he clucks his tongue between his teeth, “maybe the question is, why isn’t something going on with you and Evie?”
“She’s seeing that douchebag Harrington.” I barely manage to finish the statement given the bile rising in my throat.
He waves his hand in the air, effectively dismissing my comment. “He’s an asshole and that won’t last. Now answer the question.”
I rub the back of my neck, the overwhelming tension of the subject tightening the muscles there. “I’ve been trying, but—”
“Trying, my ass,” he interrupts. “Seems to me you’ve been trying,” he curls his fingers in air quotes, “for a while now. Try the fuck harder.”
“My father used to say that to me all the time, remember?” I spit, the memories making me claustrophobic in my own skin. “That time he embarrassed me in front of the whole baseball team because we lost. He basically blamed it on me and reamed me out.”
“Yeah, but there’s a difference. I love you, man. Your father, he was a royal dick. No disrespect,” he jokes, our laughter forcing the memory from my mind.
“But with Evie, I don’t know, dude. I just don’t want to screw up what we have.” The bullshit leaving my mouth drags me down and I slouch in my chair. I can’t tell him the real reason—that I don’t think I’m enough for her. She deserves better. “When you admit your feelings, it changes things. Shit, did I just say that? I sound like a pussy.”
“Yeah, ya did. And Jesus, Dylan. You’re scaring me. How the hell did you ever get laid before?” He scrubs a hand down his face then flicks the table repeatedly with his finger. “I’ve got a news flash for you. Evie is smart, strong-willed, funny, and very beautiful. And while you’re wasting time trying, someone might come along and actually do.”
The waitress comes over so my torture ends for the moment. “Hi there. What can I get you two?”
“Braden?” When he doesn’t respond I snap my fingers in front of his face.
He’s too busy staring at her tits to answer the question. Her cheeks glow pink from the attention. “We’ll just have two Cokes, thanks.”
“Sure.” She gives me a bright smile before she turns on her heel and saunters off, a little extra sway in her hips.
“She must be new here.” His eyes follow her down the aisle. “I’ve never seen her before. She’s got great tits, doesn’t she?” he asks when he faces me again, and I shrug, but that’s not good enough for him. “Come on. I know you’re whipped, but you’re not immune. She does have great tits, admit it.”
“Yeah, she does,” I confess with a grin right as she comes back with our drinks. We try to keep our smirking to a minimum.
“Cheers to great tits.” Braden clinks his glass against mine then takes a swig. I snatch a sugar packet from the table and shake it, then tear it open and pour it into my soda. The left side of his mouth curves into a curious smile. “You’re still sucking down sugar packets, huh? You do realize how much sugar there already is in Coke, right?”
“Yeah, but old habits die hard. Plus, it’s a tradition. Remember how my grandfather used to do it?” I remind him, crumpling up the packet and tossing it at his chest.
“Yeah, I do. He was crazy, too.”
“Hey,” I square my shoulders and motion toward the window, “don’t talk shit about Gramps or we’ll have to take this outside.”
“Why,” he says, clenching and unclenching his fist, “you think because you were in a couple of fistfights with some lightweights when you were younger that you can take me on? ’Cause, you know I’ll pummel your ass.”
“Yeah right. And lightweights? Remember Greg Jerald? He was twice my size. But I was running on adrenaline and solid rage so I beat him to a pulp.”
“You were one pissed off motherfucker, I’ll give you that.” He chuckles as he lifts his glass to take another sip. “I’m surprised you didn’t end up in a boxing ring. You could have made some serious cash.”
“Well, I have to admit, as much as I hated that after-school program, Mr. Thomson managed to tame me.” I flick the ice around in my glass. “So weird, that seems like another life, you know?”
“I hear ya. So, how are things at the diner?”
“Same old, same old,” I tell him, shifting in my chair.
“Don’t let that enthusiasm bowl you over,” he cackles. “Man, I’m so glad I’m not involved in the restaurant like that. It would drive me crazy having to work there day in and day out. Speaking of which,” he pauses to swallow, “I didn’t tell you what happened with my sister. Lindsay is now officially stuck hanging out with my father at the restaurant so he can keep an eye on her.”
I lean forward, rolling the glass between my hands. “Uh oh. That doesn’t sound good. What happened?”
“Well,” he relaxes back, hooking an arm over his chair, “she turned seventeen two weeks ago, and after my parents went to sleep, she decided to sneak out the window with her boyfriend and get a tattoo.”
“Oh, shit.”
“You have no idea.” His eyes dart around the bar then return to me. “My mom grounded her for like two months. She can’t stand tattoos as it is.” He pats his arm, grinning. “Even though she had no choice but to accept mine since I was a legal adult. My father was really upset, too, but not nearly as much as my mother.”
I down the rest of my soda then set it on the table. “I can just see it, too. Your tiny mom with her hands on her hips, telling your sister off.”
“Yeah. I had to talk her down a bit,” he laughs, “I think she wanted to put bars on her windows.” His phone dings and he pulls it from his pocket. “Eh, shit.”
“What?” I look up to find him scowling.
“Fucking Lindsay. She just texted me. ‘You better haul ass over here right now. Dad is lecturing me and I’m about to lose it. He’s embarrassing me!!’ All right,” he stands up and tosses a couple of bills on the table, “let’s get back. I gotta go save her ass. Fun times. Hey, didn’t you say that tomorrow is the first Friday night you’ve had off in a while?”
“Yeah, it is.”
He pushes the door open and I follow behind him. “Well, hope you take advantage of it. I’d say we could hang out but I need to help my neighbor move furniture or some shit like that.”
“No biggie.” I wrench the keys from my pocket. “I’m not really up for going out. I’ve been pretty tired lately so I’ll probably attempt a workout at the gym then hang out at home.”
He does a mock stumble backward. “Wow, I’m blown away by how exciting that sounds.” A grin lifts his lips and I flip him off.
Braden’s quiet the rest of the way to the truck, but that just means something is brewing… and sure enough, I’m right. We’re about to get in when he pauses, flashing me a wicked grin over the hood.
“Some words of wisdom from the master. You have to open your mouth widely for the words to come out.”
“Gee, thanks, Shakespeare.”
I just wish there wasn’t someone still pulling my strings.
YESTERDAY, I TOLD Braden I wasn’t up for going out tonight. What nineteen-year-old doesn’t want to go out on a Friday night? That would be me. It’s comical, really. What kid my age actually wants to sit in his room drawing, instead of partying? Then again, been there, done that. I just had a bit of a head start on everyone else.
I dig through the closet to find the oil pastels I picked up last week. Tossing them on the bed, I jump on the mattress and recline back against the pillows. My sketchpad is where it always is, in the side drawer. While I’m taking it out, I also grab the bag of barbecue potato chips that I stuffed in there last night. I bring up my knees and use my thighs as a table, balancing the pad on them.
Right now I’m working on a landscape, but most of the time I don’t know what I’m going to draw. Usually something will inspire me and I’ll be overwhelmed with the need to get whatever it is out of my head and down on paper. Much the same way as it is with writing. Both forms of expression take me away, and I love that. It’s like I’m surrendering myself, my heart, my soul. I’m no longer the person I’m supposed to be, or who someone thinks I should be. I become who I’m meant to be.
I’m nearly done when I glance up in thought, trying to work out a color change, and my eyes land on a picture of Evie and me at one of Braden’s football games. Everything in my room ties me to Evie in some way. Various posters from concerts we attended together line the wall directly across from my bed. Opposite those is the picture she had blown up of us jet skiing at Laguna Beach, and I smile at the vision of the sun bouncing off her fiery red strands. The golden trophy we got at the local fair for winning the three-legged race together still sits atop my small oak dresser. Beside it is a photo of us from elementary school, the one where we’re grinning like idiots because we filled two buckets full of worms, and then I dared her to eat one. She accepted my dare like a champ.
A distant knock interrupts my walk down memory lane. I glance over at the digital clock, noting that it’s 9:00. I drop my sketchpad on the bed and push the white curtain aside to check for cars. When I don’t spot any, I take the steps two at a time to the front door, only to open it to find Evie standing on the porch.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” A frown pulls down her lips as she twirls the key ring around her finger.
“Nice greeting for your best friend.” She strolls past me and makes herself at home in our living room, sinking into the black leather couch.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen with dickhead?” She fires a glare at me. “Sorry, Evie, give me all the looks you want, but I don’t trust the guy. So what happened?”
She drops her head, fumbling with her fingers in her lap. “Nothing really. We were supposed to go out tonight but I called him and he said he had to cancel, yet I heard tons of voices in the background like he was having a party or something.”
“He’s a dick. If you were mine, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.” Oh shit. From the way her blue eyes s
tretch wide, I’m pretty sure I said that out loud. “What I mean,” I clarify, covering my tracks, “is he’s a fool and I’m sorry.” And I am sorry. I don’t like to see her upset. “But, hey,” I take a seat next to her, knocking her arm playfully, “you can hang out with me. We can eat ice cream and watch movies.”
She lays her head on my shoulder and my heart slows. I could die right now and I’d die happy. “I figured I’d just grab my Kindle and get lost in a book.”
I angle my head slightly and tip her chin up. Her lips are inches from mine but I try to focus on her eyes. “Something’s going on, what is it?”
“Nothing.” She drives me absolutely insane, always thinking she has to shoulder whatever is bothering her on her own. Whereas me, I’ll spew my shit out to anyone who’s willing to listen. “Besides, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do on a Friday night, Dills.”
“There’s nothing I’d rather do,” I tell her, and for a second I think I hear an intake of breath and sense her eyes drift to my lips. But I also know I’ve cornered the market on hallucinations where she’s concerned.
“Well, you know I’m always up for ice cream. What are the chances you have any Haagen-Dazs Deep Chocolate Fudge?”
I spring up from the couch and head for the kitchen, flipping her a wink over my shoulder. “I’d say the chances are pretty darn good.”
She’s been eating that flavor ever since she knew it existed. In the summertime when we were just kids, she and I would race our bicycles down the path to the school and then reward ourselves with a pint of ice cream when we returned. We’d sit on the front porch and tell stupid jokes while we devoured it. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Every single good memory I have in my life involves Evie. Actually, the bad ones do too, but the bad ones always include her trying to make everything better.
“Look at this,” I lift the ice cream like it’s on display, “a full pint ready and waiting for us.” I plop back down next to her. “Should we sit here, or out on the front porch?”
