“Wouldn’t a car be faster?”
“Yes,” she says, lifting her head slowly and bringing it back down in one drawn-out nod, “a car would be faster.” She levels me with her gaze, and my heart lands with a heavy thud in my abdomen.
“Can we reverse to twenty seconds ago, before I asked the presumptuous question that made me look like a privileged ass?” I rub the back of my neck with my free hand.
“Aren’t you privileged?” Her eyes have laser-beam focus. Her voice doesn't convey any jealousy or indignation. She’s merely asking a question and seeking an honest answer.
“Yes, I am. Am I also an ass?”
She holds up a hand, tipping it left to right. “A little, but you do it with finesse. You make it cute, not so…ass-y.”
“Ass-y?”
“It’s a word. I just made it one.”
She looks adorable right now, with the breeze moving the baby hairs around her face and the smattering of freckles across her cheeks. I can’t help what I’m about to do.
This time, I kiss her. It’s easier now, without the rock to dictate how we can move. I pull her against me until I can feel her heart pounding on my chest. The lines of her body melt into mine when she throws her arms around my neck and kisses me as if I’m going off to war. That’s the only way I can think to describe it.
Ember kisses the same way she accepts a compliment. Freely and without reservation. She puts her whole self into it.
I could stand here and kiss her until every star in the sky makes an appearance, but I know she needs to leave. “Let me drive you to work,” I plead, dragging my mouth from hers.
She agrees, and I jog to her bike. It has to go in my trunk at a weird angle, but it fits. We get in and she looks back at her bike.
“I thought soccer moms drove SUV’s. Not soccer players,” she teases, turning around to face front. Reaching across the center console, she lightly pinches my forearm. I give her a dirty look as I start the car and put it in drive.
“Black Beauty is not a mom car.” I try to give her the stern look Gretchen sometimes gives me, but it falls apart when my gaze lands on hers.
“You named your mom-car after a horse?”
I can’t help it. I laugh so hard I nearly miss the turn onto the main road.
“You’re impossible,” I say, reaching over to rest my hand on her thigh.
“You’re ass-y.” She replies, setting her hand on mine.
In minutes we’re in front of her work. I pull her bike from the back of my car while she digs through her purse.
“Here.” She scribbles onto a small piece of paper and hands it to me. “Text me tomorrow and tell me what time you’ll be picking me up.”
I agree and pull Ember in for a quick, chaste kiss. Before I let her go, I run a thumb from her lips to her ear. She leans into my touch and grins, then turns to leave. Like a lovesick idiot, I stand there, smiling, and watch her wheel her bike to the rack.
She turns around and cups her hands to her mouth. “Dane,” she calls, giving me a final wave as she sails through the automatic doors.
What?
Oh. Her last name. I shake my head at the absurdity of all this. At Ember and me. At this incredible girl who was there all along. I’m chuckling to myself and not paying attention. I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that I don’t notice my mother’s car parked two spaces down until I’m in the driver’s seat.
Our eyes meet through our windows. I feel the guilt on my face, but it’s her expression that doesn't make sense. Her hand is across her heart, and her face looks stunned.
I back out first, and my mother follows.
When we get home, she says nothing. She pretends as if she didn't see me in the parking lot. In a high-pitched voice she tells me there are leftovers for me in the fridge, and that my father will be working late tonight. When I go to the fridge, I see a whole lot more than leftovers. The entire shepherd’s pie sits in its glass pie plate, untouched.
My mother has disappeared, it seems, so I dig out a massive slice and warm it in the microwave. Sitting down by myself at the dining room table, I count eleven empty seats.
Why do we have a massive table? I can’t remember a time when it was full. The only person who comes for dinner is my grandmother, and it’s clear my mother invites her over out of obligation. Every moment with her is painful. She criticizes every move we make, usually focusing on Mom. She’s ninety-one and healthier than anyone that old should be. Secretly, I think she’s just too mean to die.
Aside from that royal pain in the ass, nobody else comes for dinner. So why all the chairs?
My dinner, although delicious, is lonely. It makes me miss my brother. If he were here, he’d make a joke about Mom being a better cook than Gretchen, and then he’d sneak me some beer from the second fridge in the garage.
Pushing my plate away, I unfold my legs from under my seat and lean back. The only light on is the one above my head. The rest of the room is under shadow.
If Ember were here, she’d light up the whole room. Not just with her red hair, but her whole personality. I like the way she teases me. Ass-y. What is it about that made up word that makes me smile?
Right now Ember is at work, wearing that terrible yellow vest and ringing up people’s purchases. And I’m here, in this big house, with only my thoughts for company.
Something tells me Ember never has to eat dinner alone.
6
Ember
I don’t do sneaky well. For me, honesty is preferable, even when it hurts. I’d rather hear I don’t like you than it’s not you, it’s me. But every other Saturday, after I cash my check from the drugstore, I sneak into my mother’s room and open the top drawer of her nightstand.
Today just happens to be the day of my bi-weekly sneak. A few minutes ago my mom and Sky left to run errands, giving me plenty of time to get in and out of her room. When I saw her car back out from the space and drive away, I came in here.
Drawer open, I remove a small stack of white envelopes and lay them out on her bed. Groceries. Rent. Sky college. Ember college. Gas. Spending money.
Reaching around to the back pocket of my jeans, I pull out a small wad of cash and unfold it.
The largest amount goes into the rent envelope. Groceries and gas gets less. Next is spending money. I don’t touch the college envelopes. It’s sweet of my mom, and it makes me love her even more, but realistically there will never be enough money in those envelopes to pay for us to go to college. It’ll be scholarships and loans for us. If Sky ever goes at all.
My college situation is a mess. Yes, I applied. Yes, I’ve received acceptance letters from all but one. I’d jump at the chance to go to every one of them, but it’s not in the cards for me. At least, not right away. Most of them are out of state. Sky still needs help. I applied knowing I wasn’t going to go. I wanted the validation of an acceptance letter. You’re good enough to be here. And I got it. Five times. Jury’s still out on the sixth one.
“Ember?” Sky yells from the living room.
I jump at the sound of my name and scramble to gather the envelopes. My fingers shake as I toss them in and attempt to gently close the drawer.
“Yeah?” I yell, then walk out. Sky stands in the kitchen, her eyes moving quickly from countertop to table, then around one more time.
“I need Mom’s car charger.” She looks at me as I come in. “Why were you in Mom’s room?”
“Uhhh…” I don’t lie well either. It kind of goes hand-in-hand with the sneaky thing I don’t like doing. “I was looking through her stuff. I have a date tonight.” Both of those things are true, so technically I didn’t lie.
“You have a date tonight?” It’s not Sky asking me this question. It’s my mom, who’s standing in the open apartment door.
“Yep.” I grin. I can’t help it.
“And he’s coming here to pick you up?” Her eyes sweep our home, picking out the faults.
“I’ll clean up before he arrives.” I could c
lean for ten years and it wouldn't put thread back into the couch cushions or remove water rings from the coffee table, but my words seem to appease her.
“Here’s your charger, Mom.” Sky passes me on her way to the door, the white string dangling from her outstretched hand.
“Don’t forget, you’re babysitting at eleven.” Mom leans on the door handle, opening the door wider so Sky can walk through.
“I won’t. See you both at five.”
She blows me a kiss and closes the door. I count to ninety, then go to peer out the window and make sure her car is gone. It is, so I hurry back into her room and open the drawer. She keeps the envelopes in a tidy stack, and they’re always in the same order. When everything is straightened properly, I shut the drawer and leave her room.
Unless she believes in some kind of money fairy, she must know it’s me padding the envelopes every two weeks. Still, I’d rather she not tell me she knows.
Some things are better left unsaid.
“Wyatt, come here.” I feign right and leap left.
The Ficus tree Wyatt is hiding behind tips as he leans onto the edge of the woven basket it sits in. Wyatt has turned his body into a pogo stick, and the Ficus is going to either fall on him, or fall on the ground. Apparently, the boy thinks what I’m doing is funny, and his screeching laughter bounces off the walls of the small living room. His eyes are the size of Frisbees, and he jumps up and down repeatedly.
I swear on all that is holy I will never have a child who acts like this.
Lurching forward, I grab the other side of the basket just before it tips all the way over. Wyatt cackles and runs to his room.
And me?
I slump down onto the floor and lean my head against the couch. Two minutes of rest before I have to stand on tiptoe and feel along the top of the door for the nail. No doubt Wyatt has locked himself in his room. It’s one of his many tricks.
The bright spot in all this is what’s on the schedule tonight. Not even the behavior of a tyrannical three-year-old can take away from my excitement about seeing Noah again. A real date. No lake, no school library, and no drugstore.
At the sound of Wyatt’s wail, I rush toward his room. He opens his door as I approach, his face scrunched up and tears flowing.
“I bonked my head,” he says, lips quivering. His arms are open, so I scoop him up and hold him close.
His little body settles into me, and I smile into his hair. Wyatt is as mercurial as they come.
When his mother gets home at five, she looks as exhausted as I feel.
“Three more hours until bedtime,” she says with a laugh, handing me some cash. I don’t count it. Her Saturday lunch shift at the restaurant around the corner isn’t a big money maker, and sometimes she can’t afford to pay me my hourly rate. I come back every Saturday because she needs the help, and Wyatt is good birth control. Not that I need any, because that’s what someone who actually has sex would need, but it’s a joke I make to Sky.
On the short walk back to my apartment, a text message pops up on my screen from an unknown number.
Can I pick you up at six?
A grin stretches my cheeks. I write my address and pause, wondering if I should say something else. Something cute. I can’t think of anything and, thanks to the three dots, now he knows I’m over-thinking my response. I shake my head and hit send.
Noah arrives at exactly six o’clock. He’s wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and an expensive looking hoodie that’s zipped up halfway. I know because I watched from my bedroom window as he got out of his car.
My mom is on my heels as I go to the door. I frown and swat at her. She jumps backs and laughs nervously. I think she’s more excited for my date than I am.
I open the door, and there he is. “Noah. Hi.”
He grins at me but doesn't say anything. We stare at each other for a few moments before my mom’s hand snakes past me. Her hello is loud in my ear.
“Mrs. Dane, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Call me Maddie. Would you like to come in?” She steps back, pulling my hand so I’m forced to step back too.
“Noah and I have a movie to get to, Mom.” I incline my head to the world outside our door. “We should probably get going.”
“The movie doesn't start for a while,” Noah chimes in, his gaze on me. “I was going to take you to grab some dinner first, but we can visit for a few minutes.”
I back up all the way, and Noah steps in. My mom leads him to the couch and offers him a glass of water.
I’m not embarrassed about what little we have. Not at all. I love that my mom works hard to provide for us. I don’t waste one second of my life wishing for more. I have everything I need to be happy. The rest is material. But I do wonder what Noah is seeing. I know what his eyes are taking in, but how is he processing it?
I sit beside him as my mom places a glass of water on a coaster on the table. It’s hard not to laugh, considering the coaster is right beside a place where the wood is swollen from a spill from some unknown time, maybe even from a previous owner.
“Thank you, Maddie.”
Mom sits in the butter yellow recliner adjacent to the sofa. “Noah, tell me a little about yourself.”
Noah wipes his palms on his denim-covered thighs. “I’m a senior, like Ember.” He glances quickly at me. “I play on the soccer team. I’d like to get on a college team, but…” He pauses, shakes his head, and one side of his lips curl up. It’s not a smile though. Just disappointment. “I’m not sure that will happen.”
Mom nods. “Are you good?”
“At soccer?” Noah ducks his head. “Yes,” he answers in a quiet voice, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.
Mom smiles. “Don’t be embarrassed to say you’re good at something. There is nothing wrong with that.”
Noah casts his gaze on me. The look of disappointment is gone, and now a smile pulls at his lips.
“Is there something funny I’m not aware of?” I ask.
“Nope. Just thinking of something.”
“Well,” my mom says, rising. “I’ll let you two get on with your night. It was nice to meet you, Noah.”
“You as well.” Noah stands and reaches out for a second handshake, but my mom takes him by surprise with a hug.
“I’m a hugger.” She steps back and shrugs. “It’s a disease for which there is no cure.”
Noah grins at her. I get up as he walks around the coffee table. Mom grabs my elbow from behind and leans into my ear. “Last name?” she asks in a whisper.
Oh, duh. Concerned parent, and all that.
“Sutton,” I whisper back without looking at her. “Bye.”
We walk out, and behind me I hear the lock slide into place. Noah’s hand slips in mine, and we take our time going down the treacherous stairs to the ground level.
After we get buckled into his car, he turns to me. “Your mom is…warm.”
“Warm?”
“You’ll understand when you meet my mom.”
“She’s…cold?”
“She doesn't like to show emotion, and she doesn't like when others show it. She likes to be strong all the time. Stoic, my dad calls her. He loves her, though. That counts for something, right?”
“I guess so. Tell me about your dad.”
“He runs Sutton Vineyards. He loves it.” Noah’s mouth turns down as he says it.
“Why does that make you frown?”
Noah is quiet as he turns out of the apartment complex and onto the street. He taps the fingers of his free hand against his lips.
“It’s what I’ll probably end up doing.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” I arch an eyebrow and cock my head to the side.
“If I work for the family business, it means my soccer career is over. It means it never even started.” His whole body deflates, like he’s melting into the driver’s seat.
My heart twists at the sight of his vulnerability. “You’re scared?” My voice is soft. I can’t imagin
e what it must feel like to have a passion with a stop sign. As though reaching a certain time in life signifies the ending of a dedication and devotion that has ruled all your years until that point.
Noah lifts his shoulders and drops them quickly. “I guess so. I’ve never told anybody that.”
I place a hand on his upper arm, wanting more than anything to be able to wipe the look of fear from his face. “Everything will be okay.”
“Do you know that for certain?” The hope in his voice tells me he wants me to answer in the affirmative.
I can’t help the sad feeling that comes over me. For a guy with a seemingly solid future, he’s very unsettled. “No. But things have a way of working out.”
“I like your apartment.” His subject change is anything but subtle.
I move my hand back from his arm. “You only saw the living room.” Not that he needed that pointed out to him.
“I know. But I like it. It felt…home-ish.”
“Now who’s the one making up words?”
Noah tips back his head and laughs. He takes my hands from where they lay intertwined on my lap, slips his fingers through mine, and gives me a squeeze.
“Ass-y and home-ish.” He barks a laugh. “We’re quite a pair.”
“We could switch the words around, and it would be ass-ish and homey.” Though homey isn’t a word that could ever be used to describe Noah.
“You’re ass-ish,” he says, his eyebrows wiggling.
I scrunch my nose. “False.”
“Your ass looks pretty good to me.”
I feign shock. “Are you admitting to having checked out my hiney?”
Noah glances at me, his eyebrows about an inch above where they normally are. “Did you just say hiney?”
“Yes.”
“The only other person I’ve heard use that word is my housekeeper, Gretchen.” Noah’s eyes grow wide as soon as he’s finished saying his housekeeper’s name. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think—”
I hold up my free hand. “Stop. I don’t care. You can tell me that you have seven hundred and eighty-two pairs of shoes and I wouldn't care. I mean, I would suggest you give ninety-two percent of them to charity, but other than that, I don’t care.”
Magic Minutes Page 5
