Magic Minutes

by Jennifer Millikin

  “Neither of those things happened.” She pulls out a handful of toys.

  Crap. She no-showed on purpose.

  “You said you’d meet me,” I remind her. “I was there. At five.”

  She sighs, threading the last of the small children’s toys around the metal rod they hang on. She stands, and I stand with her.

  “I know.”

  “Why didn’t you come?”

  I feel like an idiot. Can’t I just take it on the chin and move on? I’m single now. I should be enjoying that. The problem is that I don’t want anyone else. Ember arrived in my life suddenly, splashing and flailing, asking me to dance without music, and now all I want is to get to know her. I want to understand why I felt lighter and happier in the few minutes I spent in her presence. My parents’ insistence that I learn to love the family business, and my stress over playing soccer in college, disappeared.

  She opens her mouth, but a large, bearded man comes around the corner and barks her name. I jump when he does it, but Ember doesn't flinch.

  “Check-out,” he says, stiffly throwing a thumb behind him.

  Ember’s lips tug at the corners as if she wants to laugh. I don’t know why. I want to slug the guy for talking to her like that. She turns and walks to the front of the store. Her braid slides off her shoulder and onto her back. The copper shade looks garish against the yellow vest.

  Holding the bottle I came in here for, I join the others in line. When it’s my turn, she rings up the medicine and places it in the plastic bag. She recites the total, and I panic. I can’t leave now. I don’t have her number. I don’t even know her last name.

  Quickly I grab a bag of some kind of candy from the display below the counter. I toss it onto the surface, and blurt out the most important thing I have to say to her, because I’m not sure when I’ll get a chance to again. “Kelsey and I broke up.”

  Her eyes widen a fraction as she scans the barcode and recites my new total.

  I need more time.

  Without looking, I grab at something else and toss it down. “She was cheating on me.” I don’t want her to think I broke up with Kelsey for her. That might scare her off, and it’s becoming clear she’s not tripping over herself to date me.

  She nods but now a smile tugs at one corner of her mouth.

  “Come on,” the guy behind me mutters. I ignore him.

  To make sure I get more than a second with her, I grab everything my hands can carry and dump it onto the counter. Her shoulders shake with her laughter as she scans the candy and various last-minute items. Chapstick. A pair of nail clippers. I don’t know what else.

  “Let’s try it again, okay?” I say. “Tomorrow? Same place and time?” My heart does a ridiculous dance when I see her lips say yes. I slip my mom’s credit card through the machine so Ember can get back to her job.

  She flashes me a shy smile as I turn to go.

  I’m happy the whole way home. I don’t think she’ll stand me up again. Maybe if I’d told her about Kelsey when I saw her yesterday at the library, she would have met me today. The more I think about it, the more I like the fact that Ember didn't show. She thought I was still in a relationship. Like any decent person, she wasn’t going to pursue something with someone who wasn’t available. It’s makes me like her even more.

  I park in the garage and head into the house, feeling more prepared to face my parents than I have in weeks. The bag with the medicine smacks my thigh as I walk to my mom’s office to give her the Tylenol.

  The bag is far heavier than it should be, but I’m feeling lighter than air.

  5

  Noah

  “What are you doing home, Noah? No practice today?” My mom pulls open the pantry door and steps in. It’s good to see that medicine worked for her yesterday. When I went to her office last night to hand her the pills she had her head down on her desk, and one arm draped over her head.

  “It’s Friday.” I lean a forearm against the counter and wait for her to come back out.

  “Noah?” she calls, her voice muffled. “Come help me.”

  I walk in behind her, and she loads me up with ingredients. “What are you doing?” I ask, bewildered. I’m holding flour, salt, and three bottles of seasonings I can’t read the name of because they’re facing away from me.

  “Cooking. What does it look like I’m doing?”

  I bite back my response. When was the last time I saw my mother cook anything?

  “Do you want help?” I have some time before I leave to meet Ember. She promised not to show me up today, and I’m really hoping she keeps that promise.

  She leans a hand on the marble countertop and pushes her hair from her eyes with her other one. “I’d like to say no to that, but unfortunately I think I do need some help. My talents don’t lie in the kitchen.”

  Leaning over, I glance over the recipe she has printed out. Shepherd’s Pie. We divide and conquer. She tells me my job is to brown the ground beef, while she focuses on the dough.

  “How are you, Noah?” she asks.

  It’s an odd question to be asking your son, isn’t it? She sees me every day. Shouldn’t she have an idea of how I’m doing?

  “Fine. Why?”

  “I talked to Laurel today.” Hesitant eyes meet mine.

  She thinks I’m heartbroken.

  Now I understand her question.

  “She told you about Kelsey and me?” I pick up the bag of frozen mixed vegetables and pour them into a different pan.

  Kelsey’s mom and my mom are close friends. They meet for spin every morning. It’s a form of exercise I don’t understand. Why ride a bike to nowhere? I like to run, to kick the ball. I want every individual pass, kick, and dribble to be focused on that one thing—scoring a goal.

  “She said Kelsey was upset this whole past week. I looked like a fool asking her why.” She gives me a reproachful look.

  “Sorry,” I mutter, stirring the meat.

  “Why haven’t you told me before now?”

  I shrug. “No reason. I guess I just didn't think to.”

  Mom wipes her hands on a kitchen towel and stares at me. “Aren’t you upset?”

  “Sure,” I lie. More of a fib, really. Lies imply a degree of malice. Fibs protect. Sometimes, anyway.

  The hamburger meat is brownish gray now, all the pink cooked out. I set down the wooden spoon I’ve been using to stir and step back from the stove. “I’m going to take off.”

  If I hadn't looked her way, I wouldn’t have seen the hurt that flitted across my mom’s face. But I did, and now I feel bad. Just not enough to keep me here.

  “Save me some?”

  “Of course.” She nods as she adds the cooked veggies into the pan with the meat. “For someone who was broken up with recently, you seem a little too happy.” She eyes me for a moment, then turns her attention to folding the mixture.

  My hand runs through my hair as I wait for her to ask the question. When she’s finished folding, she knocks the spoon against the rim of the pan. Utensil poised in mid-air, she turns to me. “Was there someone else? Were you cheating on Kelsey?” Her face is calm, no judgment furrowing her brows or challenging gleam in her eyes.

  I screw up my face, the very opposite of her stoic expression. “That’s a terrible question to ask. Do you think I would do that?”

  “If you did, I would need to know. So I can be ahead of it. Manage the damage. Laurel will be furious if she finds out.” She turns back to the stove, lifting the pan and turning down the burner. The orange flame changes from yellow to orange to blue as it dwindles, and then it disappears.

  My mother’s lavender silk blouse is protected by an apron as she pours the meat and veggie mixture into a pie plate. In this exact moment she looks like a classy homemaker, but I’m not letting this once-in-a-decade scratch-cooking routine fool me. She’s a shark.

  “I didn’t cheat, Mom.” I can’t throw Kelsey under the bus. She didn’t tell her mother what really happened, and I won’t be the one to
say it. “Sometimes things just don’t work out. You’ve been with dad forever, so maybe you’ve forgotten that.”

  When she turns around, she is less poised. A moment ago, she was unmoved by the possibility of me cheating on Kelsey, maybe even callous about it, but that has been replaced by some emotion I can’t name.

  “I’ve been married to your father for twenty-two years, but my memory stretches back a bit further.” She slams her hands into baking mitts and slides the pie into the oven.

  “Sorry, Mom, I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s fine.” She waves off my apology. “I’m fine. You should go to wherever it is you're going.”

  For a second I consider telling her about Ember. How just the thought of her makes my heart race like it wants to burst from my chest and run a marathon. How the only other time I’ve been this excited was when I was a freshman and saw my name on the roster for varsity soccer. That was the day I stopped being known only as Brody Sutton’s little brother. Finally I was making a name for myself.

  If my mom had a modicum of understanding, if she weren’t so embroiled in living a life free from emotion and love, maybe I would tell her about the girl I stumbled upon.

  “Bye, Mom.” I reach out for her, but she’s facing away from me now. Her back is rigid, her shoulders stiff, and she says goodbye to the air instead of me.

  I feel bad leaving like this, but I have somewhere to be. By the time I’m halfway to the lake, thoughts of my mom and the kitchen conversation drift away. Images of Ember fill my brain, and excitement sweeps my body until I’m pulsing with adrenaline. It’s the same feeling that comes over me when I’m preparing to take the field, a stadium filled with cheering students and parents surrounding me.

  Like yesterday, I come upon an empty parking lot. According to the clock on my dash, I’m five minutes late.

  My heart heavy, my adrenaline decreasing at a steady rate, I climb from my car. On uncertain legs I walk the trail I blazed yesterday afternoon. She won’t stand me up a second time, will she? I get closer to the lake and see red. It’s stark against the colors of the landscape. I think it’s officially my favorite color.

  I make it through the trees and onto the sand. Ember grins when she sees me.

  “You came,” she says, glancing at her watch. Her chest heaves with her relief.

  I walk to where she sits on the smooth, flat rock, legs dangling off the side.

  “I would never no-show. That would be rude.”

  She laughs, head thrown back, and I know in this very moment, I will always see this image when I think of happiness.

  “You’re beautiful.” I should be embarrassed to be that forward. Aren’t I supposed to keep all my thoughts and feelings to myself? I’m in front of her now, and I can’t hide from what I said. The words float between us, growing bigger and wider by the second, like block lettering in an advertisement.

  Ember doesn't shy away from my compliment. She doesn't demure, say something about how it’s her new make-up, or try to brush it off. She tilts her head up and smiles, soaking in my compliment, unabashed and unafraid.

  I’ve never been so attracted to anybody in my whole life.

  Without thinking, without knowing what I’m doing, I reach out and capture a lock of her hair. It slides through my fingers, copper against cream, softer than silk. This time she doesn't snatch it away.

  “I think you might be obsessed with my hair.” She twists her lips as she says it.

  “This shade of red is my new favorite color,” I confess, holding the hair out between us. “What would you do if I smelled your hair right now?” I ask, emboldened by nothing more than the beautiful girl in front of me.

  Ember laughs again. “I’d run, screaming in fear.”

  “Would you?”

  She shakes her head, her hair falling from my grasp. “No. Though I didn’t take you for a hair-smeller.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You look like someone who’s more likely to drape his letterman jacket across my shoulders than smell my hair.”

  “Maybe I have some freak in me after all.”

  Ember’s lips purse together as she watches me with eyes that wait for me to realize what I’ve said.

  Oh, shit.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I say, the words tumbling from my lips.

  Ember tips her head and studies me. “How did you mean it?”

  What is it about that gaze that rips me in two? She studies me like I’m a brand-new subject. AP Noah.

  “Um, just that, you know, maybe I’m not so normal after all.”

  “Normal is a relative term.”

  I nod, not sure what to say. Ember seems wise. Too wise for her age, which makes me realize I don’t know exactly how old she is, or which grade she’s in. And I still don’t know her last name. I haven't asked around school about her, because the last thing I need is a churning rumor mill.

  She laughs when I ask her age. I figure this is the safest question, because her age could help me guess her grade.

  “I feel stupid asking.” I’m trying to come across as goofy, but really I’m embarrassed.

  “That’s okay with me.” Ember places her palms behind her and leans back on them.

  The rock she’s sitting on is large enough for two, so I sit beside her. Glancing up at her, I reach down for a small rock and run it through my fingers. “You’re okay with me feeling stupid?” The sun’s glare makes my eyes water, and I blink away the moisture.

  “Yes,” she answers quickly. “I’ve been in school with you for three-and-a-half years.” She points to her head. “My hair could be a beacon in the dark, and you have no clue who I am.”

  “But you still came,” I say, a burst of breath puffing out as I hurl the rock at the water. It bounces one, two, three times before disappearing beneath the surface.

  “I couldn't pass up the chance to see if Noah Sutton was as dreamy as he’s seemed all these years.” She places prayer hands across her cheek and rolls her eyes upward, pretending to swoon.

  My eyes go upward too, but it’s because I’m rolling them.

  Ember drops the act and turns to face me, pulling her legs up into her chest. “I already know the Noah Sutton I've seen at school. I’m here because I want to know who you are when you’re not kicking a soccer ball, or parading around campus.” She untucks her legs and crisscrosses them on the small section of rock between us. Leaning forward, she lightly touches my temple. “I want to know who you are in here.” Her hand falls to my chest. “And in here.”

  My pulse quickens. She can’t possibly know, and yet she’s zeroed in on my secret. I’ve never told anybody, and the words, teetering on the brink in that space between my lips, still won’t come out. Instead, I say something just as true, and it takes me by surprise.

  “I don’t think I know who I am yet.” Did I know that about myself before I said it?

  “I don’t think any of us do, Noah.”

  “You seem to know more than most people our age.”

  Her face shifts into a reluctant, sad smile. “Different experiences teach us different things.”

  She looks at her watch, the smile slipping away. “I need to go.”

  “But we’ve only been here for a little while. Can’t you stay?” I try my lower lip pout and pleading eyes. It always works with Gretchen. She gives me extra chocolate silk pie when I bring out the puppy dog eyes.

  “I have to work.”

  “This late?” I glance up at the sky. It’s already turning dark pink and purple.

  “I close every Friday night.” She says it matter-of-factly, no regret at being unable to attend parties or go to the movies. Things I do on Friday nights.

  I lean in to her, so that only six inches separates our faces. “You know I’m going to have to kiss you before you go.”

  Ember’s hand finds my arm, it’s warmth seeping through the thin cotton shirt I’m wearing. “I’d be angry if you didn’t,” she whispers.

&nbs
p; And then Ember blows my mind.

  She takes every experience I’ve had with girls and tosses it right on its naïve head.

  Closing the distance, she kisses me. Not with a small, tentative peck either. No, this is an all-out, balls to the wall, hands tangling in hair kind of kiss. One that has me rising and falling, gasping for air, and then taking it from her. Just as suddenly as she started it, she pulls back.

  “I’m not done,” I complain, my eyes tracing her reddened cheeks. I’m certain they're flushed from the kiss, not from embarrassment. She doesn’t seem to embarrass at all.

  She laughs and gets up from the rock.

  “Next time,” she says. “I can’t be late for work.”

  “Next time,” I echo, standing too. “Can I take you to a movie tomorrow night?”

  “I’m baby-sitting until five.”

  I fall into step beside her. “You’re a hard worker.” We reach the path where I first spotted her in the lake. She shrugs but stays quiet. Did I say something wrong? “It’s admirable,” I add quickly, pulling her hand into mine, and when she leans her head on my upper arm, I feel the relief drip from me.

  We step from the trees and into the parking lot, and I wish she didn't have to leave. I want to take her somewhere and ask her questions, starting with where the hell have you been hiding yourself? I can’t imagine I was ever in proximity to her and didn't know it. The way I react to her, the automatic interest, how could any of that have slipped by me? How has she been slipping by me for the last three and a half years?

  “There’s my ride.” She points to a bike leaning against a tree on the far side of the parking lot.

  “You’re going to bike all the way to work?” That’s crazy. It’s way too far, especially with the sun going down.

  “It’s three-point-four miles from here. I checked.”