by Taylor Dean
I admit, he makes me hold back a smile. I love a man who can make me smile. I wish I could release one, but I think they’re stuck inside of me as if I’ve malfunctioned. “I’ll work on it.”
“I’ll hold you to that. And I promise I will find out what song you sing one day. One thing you should know about me, I always keep my promises.”
I hope so. I really, really hope so. I shake my head. It doesn’t matter to me if he keeps his promises or not. Not one iota.
“Okay next question. What movie do you watch when you’re bored?”
“I’m never bored.”
“Theoretically, what movie would you choose?”
“Xanadu,” I say right away.
“I was not expecting that. I think the movie people choose when asked that question says a lot about them.”
“What does it say about me?”
“You have a romantic side.”
Too bad I don’t have a romantic life. I don’t respond.
“So, are you a romantic?”
Yes, yes I am. “No, not really,” I lie. I don’t want the conversation to turn to romance. I feel like he’s leading that way on purpose.
“Okay. Next question, and this one is perhaps the most important question I’ll ever ask you. Are you ready?”
“Sure.”
“What do you scream when you’re riding on a roller coaster?”
I stop and face him. “Seriously?”
He faces me too. He’s smiling, revealing even white teeth. Be still my heart. I’m looking into the eyes of a golden boy. The one who is always the captain of the football team and dates all the cheerleaders. I don’t know why he’s looking my way. I’m not a cheerleader anymore. Those days are long gone.
He adds, “If I don’t know the answer, then I will always feel like I don’t know the real you.”
I want to laugh. I want to laugh so hard, my belly will hurt. In my heart, I love his silly queries. Even though he’s attempting to get to know me with his questions, the opposite is happening. His questions reveal so much about him and his personality. But I decide to pretend like I’m irritated. I don’t want to feel a connection with him.
“I don’t ride roller coasters. They make me sick.” With that, I turn and keep walking.
“Good answer. Neither do I, for a very different reason though. I can hear the screws coming loose from a mile away and I’m positive it will fall apart when I’m riding on it. It’s my phobia.”
I don’t believe him for a second.
When he’s met with silence, he sighs. “It’s a beautiful night.”
When a man turns to the topic of the weather, you know things aren’t going well. Huge clue. “Yes, it is.” I know I’m being a little cold, but I don’t want to encourage him.
He’s Spencer’s brother.
“Can I ask you one more pressing question? I promise this one is serious.”
I doubt that. “Sure.” I admit, he has my attention. I know his question will be anything but serious and I can’t wait to hear what he comes up with next.
“When is the best time of day to eat at IHOP? If you get this wrong, we can’t be friends.”
We can’t be friends no matter what, so my answer is moot. Too bad, I like his quick wit. I have a different opinion than most on the strange subject, so I know I’ll get it wrong anyway. “Late at night, of course. So much of their breakfast food is like eating dessert. It’s too sweet for first thing in the morning.”
According to Ray Bradbury in Something Wicked this Way Comes, three AM is the midnight of the soul. And I think the midnight of the soul deserves pancakes.
I’m met with silence, so I glance over at him. He’s still walking casually with his hands in his pockets. He seems thoughtful.
I match his leisurely pace. “I know that’s not the answer you were looking for. Everyone loves IHOP for breakfast.”
“Au contraire. You surprised me with your answer. You left me speechless. That doesn’t happen very often.” We reach the gate and he opens it for me. “See ya later, Mia. I’m glad I met you, fellow late night IHOP eater.”
“Wait, you agree with me?”
“One hundred percent.”
I think it’s best if I just ignore the similarities of our likes and dislikes. I don’t often meet men I have much in common with. I don’t often meet men period. “Goodbye, Grayson.” I pause for one last look at him. A wave of sadness washes over me. I enjoyed his silly questions much more than I’m letting on. I wish I could let my guard down and spend the evening laughing with him. He would be a fun date.
He nods, a half smile on his face. I memorize his expression and promise myself I’ll dream about him tonight. That’s all I’ll allow myself to do.
I walk to my car and unlock my door.
“Oh, Mia?”
“Yes?” I glance back at him.
“Woooohoooo!” he yells with enthusiasm.
I know exactly what he means. I fold my arms and lean against my car. “I’m surprised they don’t kick you off the roller coaster.”
He throws his head back and laughs. I watch, fascinated, filled with a longing I can’t define.
Okay, I give in. “Oh, Grayson?”
“Yes?” The anticipation is rich on his face.
“Mommy,” I tell him pointedly.
He grins. “I knew it, I just knew it.”
With that, I get in my car and drive away, his laughter echoing in my ears.
CHAPTER
Six
I DRIVE HOME with a million thoughts wandering through my mind. I wish I could erase how happy Grayson makes me feel. But I can’t. He seems like one of the good guys, that’s for sure. Maybe too perfect. Which means he must have some sort of fatal flaw. I won’t be spending enough time with him to find out what it is. I push him from my mind and turn on the radio.
The song Girl Crush wafts through the speakers of my car and I quickly switch it. I don’t like the message. It pegs how I feel about Spencer. I change the station until I hear Taylor Swift singing We are never, ever, ever getting back together. That message suits my mood and empowers me.
I imagine my mother asking where I’ve been all evening and me telling her I spent the evening with Stony and his beautiful bride—and the bride’s engaging brother. I know exactly what my mom will say to that too.
“Brother? Is he single?”
To which I would have to say, “Very.”
Very interesting. Very appealing. Very exuberant.
Very much Spencer’s brother.
I picture Stony and Grayson gathered around Spencer, feeling the life that is growing inside of her. I admit, I wish I could’ve felt it. There’s something so amazing about creating a life. It’s such a miracle.
I used to teach my English students about the author of Frankenstein, Mary Shelley. Mary lost her first baby girl after she’d only lived for a few days and it devastated her. She would go on to lose two more late term babies as well.
The history books say that when Mary and her husband were visiting Lord Byron in Switzerland, Lord Byron challenged them each to write their own horror story. Mary would take that challenge and write Frankenstein. Knowing her history with death, you can see where her motivation came for writing her horror novel. I imagine she had an overwhelming desire to have the power to bring a human back to life or to create a human and give it life. Her personal experience truly inspired her novel. There’s something utterly sad about that. In the novel, Frankenstein’s creation says, “I did not ask for life, but now that you’ve given it to me, I will fight for it.”
Given her history, those words break my heart.
And the fact that I can’t teach all these interesting little tidbits anymore kills me too. I loved the way students’ eyes would light up when they learned personal facts about an author’s life; things that really brought the story to life.
Of course, at this time in my life, the words Mary Shelley penned inspire me as well. I have a life. My future
is in front of me. And I will fight for it. I will.
I didn’t do what I intended to do this evening. Still, I accomplished so much. I’m proud of myself for having the courage to face Stony and Spencer. And I lived to tell the tale.
I will survive this. And I will come out on top. It will just take some effort on my part.
The evening is still young. Daylight savings makes it feel earlier than it really is. The new school year has barely begun and summer still lingers in the air. As I drive through Sweetwater, kids are out riding bikes and skateboarding, making the most of the beautiful weather and holding onto summer with tightly gripped fists.
I notice my gage is low, so I pull in to a gas station. I fill my tank, then run inside for some very unhealthy snacks I can drown my sorrows in. Some middle schoolers are loitering outside, messing around on skateboards. As I leave, I hear a few snickers and whispers of “jailbird.”
I can’t help myself, I face them with my sternest face and say, “I know where you live.”
Their smiles are gone and their faces are pale as I drive away. High schoolers would’ve laughed in my face. Middle schoolers think they’re so mature, when in reality they’re too young to know I’m kidding.
I shouldn’t have done that. It’s unwise to fuel the gossip and I’m just making it worse by responding. Since I made the news in Sweetwater when little old me went to jail, I’m practically famous. Or maybe infamous is a little more apt.
For being a jailbird. The last thing I want to be known for. Not one news report mentioned that I’ve helped hundreds of teenagers fall in love with classic literature during my teaching career. Why can’t I be known for that incredible feat?
The world is upside down and sideways. And I’m there right along with it.
IT’S A WEEK later when the doorbell rings and I open it up to find myself staring into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. They make me feel as though I’m drowning in the depths of the ocean.
Grayson Elliott.
He’s clean shaven now, evidence that he’s back at work on a military installation. No more unshaven bum wandering the world. While it gave him a bohemian appearance that matched his personality, I like the more formal shaven look on him.
I knew he’d show up eventually. It was inevitable. He moved in to Caroline’s house yesterday and I know he did it just to be close to me. Although he doesn’t know I know that. I’m flattered and horrified all at the same time.
“Hey, Mia. How’s life treating you?”
I pause and wonder how he’ll respond if I tell him, “Horrible.” Instead I say, “Fine.” Does anyone ever answer the various forms of “How are you?” honestly? I think the trite query makes liars of all of us.
“How about a late lunch?”
I’m speechless. He really does plan on pursuing me. I guess I assumed he’d change his mind. My lips purse with worry. “I can’t leave my mother.”
He grins like a Cheshire cat. “I know, that’s why I brought the lunch to you.” He produces a large white bag from behind his back. “Will you join me for lunch?” In spite of his silly grin, I see a man who oozes confidence, who is comfortable in his own skin.
The breeze licks at his short hair and his gaze is unwavering. His blue eyes are even more intense in the sunlight. I can’t bring myself to look away.
I run my hands over my messy hair. It’s been a tough morning. I’ve hardly had the chance to glance at myself in the mirror. “Look, it’s not a good day today. My mom had chemo yesterday and she’s having a rough morning.” And by rough, I mean miserable. She’s in pain, she’s nauseous, and she can’t sleep.
“How can I help?” he asks immediately.
“Mia!” I hear my mom holler in a scratchy voice.
“I’m sorry, I need to go.” I don’t have time for this.
He stops the door from closing with one hand. “Please, let me help.”
Our eyes meet and hold. I have a decision to make. To be honest, I could really use some help. Do I let this man into my life? He scares me because I feel like there could be something between us if I let it happen. I liked him immediately when I met him and that hardly ever happens. Rarely.
Okay, never.
“Mia!” my mom yells again.
I rub the back of my neck. I haven’t sat down since I got out of bed and I haven’t eaten a thing today. It’s going on three PM.
“Actually, I could use some help.” It’s hard to admit and I doubt the wisdom of allowing this man into my life.
He follows me into my mother’s room. She’s struggling to get out of the bed. “Mom, this is Grayson.”
“I’m not dressed properly,” she objects, pulling at her nightgown. She’s perfectly modest, but she hates being seen when she’s not fully dressed and made up. Or as she says, “I don’t have my face on.”
“I won’t look, I promise,” he says cheekily with that contagious grin of his and helps her stand.
“I need the bathroom,” she says weakly. She hates the puke bowl and will only use it in an emergency. Grayson walks her into the bathroom and she kneels by the toilet. A few minutes later, she begins to retch.
Welcome to my life.
He doesn’t even flinch. He rubs her back and consoles her with soft words. He takes her to the sink and lets her rinse out her mouth, then escorts her back to bed.
“Thank you, son,” she mumbles.
“Most exciting thing I’ve done all day,” he says and my mother laughs in response. I haven’t heard her laugh since I arrived home.
“Mia, did you get my new prescriptions?”
“Not yet. I can’t leave you alone until Blake gets home, remember Mom?”
“I don’t remember anything anymore,” she says weakly.
Grayson’s eyes wander to mine and we share a worried look. I know he’s realizing what I’m going through every day and seeing me with new eyes. “Go. Get her medicine. I’ll stay with her. Watch out, though. She’ll like me more than you by the time you get home.”
I scoff at him in a friendly manner. What a goofball. But the mood in the room is so much lighter than ten minutes ago. The difference is marked. “Are you sure?” I can’t leave my mom with a total stranger. I mean, when it comes down to it, I don’t know Grayson at all.
“It’s fine, Mia. Go.” Mom pulls her covers up to her chin, but she’d tell me if she didn’t want to be left alone with Grayson. Believe me, loud and clear.
It seems to take forever at the pharmacy. I swear I hear the word jailbird mumbled or whispered at least five times. I’m so fed up by the time it’s my turn at the counter, that I hold the bag of medications to my heart and say loudly, “Thank goodness, now I can keep the crazy away.”
There. That’ll give everyone something to talk about. I don’t even care that I’m making things worse. I have to fight back somehow. I love the glimpse of the old Mia. She’s alive and kicking, chomping at the bit to come out. I just need to unleash her.
Old Mr. Jenkins, the pharmacist, has known my family for years. He gives me a strange look and a sly smile, knowing the medications are for my mother, but he doesn’t rat me out.
When I finally return home, I’m taken aback by the sight that meets me.
My mom is sitting up in bed with the pillows stacked behind her. Grayson is having her sip ginger ale through a straw, her cheeks are flushed, and I hear her giggle at something Grayson just said. Then she smiles when she sees me. Smiles! It’s an amazing sight.
“I have your new nausea medicine and a stronger pain medicine, Mom. They should both help you sleep.”
“My Mia is such a dear. Isn’t she Grayson?” Mom reaches out and touches Grayson’s hand.
“Yes, she is, Irene. I happen to agree.”
Since when did those two become BFFs? I leave them alone for an hour and they’re suddenly thick as thieves. Grayson has magical powers. I’d better tread carefully around him. He might suck me into his orbit.
“You didn’t tell me Spencer had a brot
her, dear?” Mom says with a hint of chastisement.
“I only found out the other night. I told you all about it after I arrived home.”
Mom sighs heavily, clearly discouraged. “It’s chemo brain. It plays havoc with my memory.”
I give Mom her new pills and tuck her in. We sit at her bedside silently watching her for the next twenty minutes, so as not to disturb her. Grayson doesn’t seem to mind the wait. I wish I could make witty conversation with him. He’s being so kind. I feel like he’d see right through my fake attempt, so I don’t even try. This is me. Take it or leave it. Soon, Mom’s sleeping peacefully. Thank goodness for tender mercies.
I grab the video monitor and hook it on the waist of my pants so I can keep an eye on her. “We can let her sleep now.” I close her door softly.
I usher him into the living room. “She’s been restless, feeling horrible and wanting to sleep. But it was as if she couldn’t get comfortable and she was tossing and turning. In the middle of the night last night, she was walking the halls, unsure what to do with herself. It’s good to finally see her be able to rest and relax.”
“That’s tough. In case you didn’t know, I’m temporarily living across the street, so call if you ever need help.”
“Oh,” I say casually. “You took Stony’s offer and moved in with Caroline?” As if I didn’t know that already.
“I did. Only until I find the house I’d like to buy though. It’s very short-term.”
“Caroline is wonderful, the most maternal woman I know.”
“Yeah, she actually makes sure I’ve eaten breakfast before I leave for work. I’m not used to that.”
“She enjoys taking care of people. In many ways, she’s been my second mom.” I let out my breath and lean against the wall. I never knew how exhausting it was to take care of another person. Kudos to Caroline. The woman has boundless energy.
“Lucky you.” He studies me, taking a few steps closer. I’m trapped between him and the wall. He reaches up and pushes the hair away from my eyes. Then he lets his hand trail down my cheek. His actions are comforting rather than seductive, still I know I should object. Yet, absolutely nothing inside of me wants to object. My chest rises and falls as I try to catch my breath. I swear his eyes have little dancing orbs of light in them. It’s like I can see the life inside of him, vibrant and buzzing. In my mind, Stony moves into the shadowland, and Grayson basks in the sunlight. “Have you eaten at all today?” Grayson whispers, seeing more than I want him to see.
