Skin: He wanted full contact

by Johanna Hawke

  “Wh-what do you mean?” I asked. I couldn’t even begin to guess what she was talking about.

  “You can’t just buy my affection with gifts,” Roni said. “I told you we need to take things slow. Some flowers and jewelry aren’t going to change that.”

  “I didn’t think—”

  “That’s right. You weren’t thinking. You never think.”

  I hung my head down, completely dumbfounded and defeated. I hadn’t seen this coming. How could a gift be so poorly received? Standing there with deafening silence between us, I considered things from Roni’s perspective. I supposed she wasn’t being totally outrageous. After all, I’d given her more gifts than the number of dates we’d gone on. “I’m sorry if you think that’s what I was doing,” I said.

  “You mean it wasn’t?” Roni asked, her arms crossed like she was interrogating me.

  I took a deep breath. “Look, I’ve never been in a situation like this before, trying to win back my high school sweetheart. I don’t exactly know the protocol. I just had a really great time last night, and I wanted to show you that. I wasn’t trying to speed things up or anything. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry for how I reacted,” Roni said, and I could tell from the look in her eyes that she meant it. “It’s just, we went on one date, and then you started showering me with all of these presents. They’re lovely, honestly, but I just can’t accept them. The bracelet is too much. I don’t want material objects making things uncomfortable for us.”

  Against my better judgment, I placed the velvet box back into Roni’s hand. “Please, at least keep the bracelet. Think of it as an apology gift for hurting you.”

  Roni let out a quiet chuckle. “Well, if you put it that way.”

  “I insist. If you don’t want to keep it, then at least think about keeping it.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “I’m really sorry, Roni,” I said. “The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable or make you feel like I don’t respect you.”

  “Wow.”

  “What?”

  Roni shrugged. “You really have changed.”

  “I’m not who I was in high school,” I said. “I care about your feelings. I care about you. And I got these gifts to show you that, not to try to get in your pants.”

  “I get that now,” Roni said. “I guess I thought you were trying to buy my affection like you did when we were younger.”

  “I did not!” As soon as the words came out of my mouth, we both giggled like children with a secret. “Ok, so maybe I wasn’t the best with apologies.”

  “But you were really good at picking make-up presents!”

  The wind blew Roni’s curls so that they framed her face like a halo. Even with the look of anger she’d had on her face, she’d still been absolutely beautiful. Damn, I had to see this girl again. I wasn’t letting her get away this time. “Roni?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Want to do dinner sometime this week?”

  Roni smiled. “I’d love that,” she said.

  Chapter 10

  Roni

  I made my way down the hallway leading to my classroom at Arthur Middle School. With just a few days until the fall art show, each trip down the hallway was a new brainstorm session. Should I have the vase sculptures my second period class had made displayed at the end of the hallway, or beside the classroom door? What should go first—the self-portraits or the fall landscape paintings?

  Middle school wasn’t exactly where I’d pictured myself, but I had grown to love working with the students. From my days of working at the local day camp up through nannying in New York, I’d always loved children. Hearing the students talk to one another about how much they loved my class never failed to bring a smile to my face. I wasn’t quite certain whether I was smiling to myself because students waved and chirped, “Hi, Miss Vance” as they walked by, or because of my upcoming date with Jesse.

  I arrived at my classroom, surprised to find two of my advanced art students waiting for me. “Good morning, girls,” I said, wondering what they were doing here. The clock told me that they should be in homeroom, and I knew that my first period was a prep period today.

  “Morning,” the timid one of the two, Vanessa, said. She fidgeted with a hole in her jeans. “We wanted to show you something, if that’s alright.”

  “Of course! What is it?” I hated to admit it, but I was intrigued. I had only been at the school a few weeks, so it was refreshing—and exciting— that students came to school and thought of me. As the girls shuffled to the other side of the classroom to get whatever it was they wanted to show me, I thanked my lucky stars that my mother had convinced me that adding a teaching certification to my degree was a smart idea.

  At the time, I thought it was her way of saying I wasn’t good enough to make it as an artist. In reality, though, it seemed she knew the market for art jobs far better than I did. Besides, it had given me the chance to come back to Linfield, and I was finally starting to get used to this place.

  Vanessa and Ellie made their way back over to me with a large canvas, 20” x 24”, I was guessing, turned away from me. “We really enjoyed the fall landscape project you had us do your first week here,” Ellie said. “So, we sort of took the idea home and made it on a larger scale.”

  Together, they flipped the canvas over to reveal one of the most magnificent pieces of student art I’d ever seen. I recognized it as a clearing in Linfield Acres Park, and they added in the gorgeous oranges and reds and browns of the changing leaves. “Girls,” I whispered. “This is stunning.”

  The two twelve-year-old girls jumped up and down like they just made it to the next round of American Idol. “Really?” Vanessa asked. It was clear to me that neither girl, despite having been placed in advanced art based on their abilities, had any clue how talented they were.

  “Honest,” I said. “You both have such an eye for detail. What are you planning on doing with the piece?”

  The girls looked at each other and shrugged. “We didn’t really think that far ahead,” Ellie said. “We’ve pretty much just been spending all of our spare time painting it.”

  An idea popped in my head, one that I hoped would boost their confidence. I wanted to help them the same way my middle school art teacher had helped me realize my love for art. “What would you think about making this the center focus for the smaller landscape pieces for the art show? We could hang your canvas in the center of the wall and put the others all around it.”

  “Seriously?” Ellie squealed.

  “If you girls are alright with that!”

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Vanessa said, pulling Ellie toward the door. “This is the coolest thing ever! We don’t want to be late for homeroom!”

  The smiles on the girls’ faces gave me the little extra boost I needed to get through the day. In my second and fourth period art classes, I did a small art history lesson with the students. Admittedly, it was harder than I thought to make history, any sort of history, interesting for a group of pre-teens and teens. My third and sixth period students in my advanced art classes continued on finishing up pieces for the art show that they hadn’t yet finished. Finally, seventh period, another prep period, rolled around, and I finally had a chance to breathe. I hung Vanessa and Ellie’s canvas in the hallway, certain that they’d be excited to see it hanging there.

  My days had become admittedly exhausting. I loved my dad more than anything in the world, but working all day then coming home to take care of him was taking its toll on me. I was happy to do it, and I wanted to do all that I could to make him comfortable. I just knew—and hoped that he knew—that it would take some time until I fully adapted to this new life.

  I grabbed the handful of pills in Dad’s afternoon pill container and brought them over to him with a glass of water. “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  After taking a gulp of water, my dad shrugged. “Alright, I guess,” he said. “How was your day?”

  “G
ood. I’ve been busy getting ready for the art show, and I think I’ve really found my stride teaching.” There was something about the way my dad was sitting, in a robe that reminded me more of a hospital gown, that made me feel like I was his nurse instead of his daughter.

  “Roni, I think we should talk,” Dad said.

  “About what?”

  “My diagnosis.”

  I had been fairly certain that Dad’s illness was what he was referring to, but I was content in my own denial. Dad was all I had left in this world. I preferred to go on pretending that everything was alright, and that I’d moved back simply to spend more time with him and work in Linfield. It had been over a week and I’d successfully avoided learning anything beyond what my father had told me on the phone just weeks earlier: he wasn’t well. Nonetheless, I knew this conversation had to happen eventually. I hesitantly sat down at the kitchen table beside my father, who had to have lost a good forty pounds over the past eight months or so, not through any effort of his own.

  “Roni, sweetheart,” Dad started, gently. I knew that tone. It was the same one my father had used when he told me we had to put down my golden retriever Maggie in middle school. “My kidneys are failing.”

  I gulped, the lump in my throat growing larger with every second. “H-how bad?” I stammered.

  “It’s bad, honey.” Dad gripped my left hand in between both of his and planted a gentle kiss on it. “There’s not much that can be done. Recovering isn’t impossible, but I’m afraid it isn’t likely, either.”

  I asked the only question I could think of. “You’ll be ok, though. Right?”

  Dad offered up a meager shrug. “They say it could be weeks or months. Maybe a year or two.”

  Endless tears made their way down my face as my father tried his best to wrap his arms around me. How could this be happening? Dad wasn’t old enough to be dying. He never had so much as high blood pressure or high cholesterol. The declaration made my palms feel sweaty and my heart pound faster. What was more incredible to me, however, was how at peace my father seemed with all of this. He had basically just told me he wasn’t sure how much longer he had to live, and here he was trying to make sure I was ok. I cleared my throat and tried my best to contain myself, at least until I was alone. Instead of letting him worry about me, I asked my father how he was feeling.

  “I have my good days and bad days,” he said. “A few days before you got here, my ankles swelled up pretty good. They’re ok right now. I have less energy than I used to, that’s for sure.”

  I felt so helpless, yet I wanted so desperately to help this man who had given me so much. “Is there anything we can do? Anything?”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. I wish there was.” Dad paused. The fatigue on his face made him look far older than his fifty years. “They just caught it too late. Didn’t know a damn thing was wrong with me until I went to the doctor a few months back when I thought I had food poisoning.”

  “A few months?”

  “Roni, I needed some time to digest,” he said. “I was still dealing with losing your mom, and the thought of leaving you orphaned tore me up.”

  Orphan. The word hung there in the air, like some sort of powerful, forbidden word. I hated it. I pictured little, curly-haired Annie doing chores at the orphanage and singing songs. I was an adult, one who’d grown up with two incredible parents. How could my world be crumbling down? My dad had gone from the guy who ran in the town’s charity 5K each year to a man I hardly recognized who required breaks walking across the house. I was angry at the universe for seemingly punishing myself and my father.

  “Let’s not focus on this, Roni girl,” Dad said, flashing me a smile. “Let’s go watch Jeopardy, just like old times.”

  Maybe this was a fresh start. This was a new chance to rekindle my old, close-knit relationship with my father. This was a chance to reconnect with my hometown and old friends. I supposed, maybe even hoped, that this was a chance to find my way back to Jesse. For now, though, Dad was my priority. I owed him that much. I gripped his arm under his elbow and helped him stand up from the table. Together, we walked into the living room and basked in the sound of Alex Trebek’s familiar voice.

  “Dad, I have to tell you something,” I said. I wasn’t sure what exactly had come over me, but I was certain it had something to do with Dad’s openness with me about his kidney failure.

  “What’s up?”

  I hesitated. “I think I’m falling for Jesse again.”

  “Is that so?” Dad asked without looking up from the TV screen.”

  “Uh huh,” I said.

  “Can’t say I’m surprised.” After what felt like five minutes, Dad finally raised his head and looked right into my eyes. His baby blues pierced mine as I braced myself for whatever lecture he was about to give me. He took me by surprise when he softened his gaze. “I want you to have whatever makes you happy, Roni girl. Just don’t let him hurt you again.”

  Chapter 11

  Roni

  It took every bit of me to work up the nerve to call Kayla and ask her if she wanted to grab coffee. Back in high school, the two of us hanging out had been completely normal. Nowadays, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Lucky for me, Kayla was a chipper and sweet as ever and said that she was thrilled to have the chance to catch up with me.

  I walked into the Linfield Diner in a pink maxi dress, unsure of exactly what the dress code was for coffee with a friend after a few years apart. “Roni, over here!” I heard a voice call. I found Kayla in a booth to my right and greeted her with a polite hug.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said.

  “Of course!”

  I’d practiced what I wanted to say to Kayla—and later to Rachel, Maddie, and Shawna—but the words weren’t coming to the tip of my tongue. “Look, Kayla.”

  “It’s ok,” Kayla said, resting her hand on my arm. “You don’t have to say anything. We all knew how heartbroken you were.”

  “You deserve an apology,” I said. “I was a horrible friend. I abandoned you guys when Jesse broke up with me, and I abandoned you all over again when I went to New York. I’m sorry. You were always so sweet to me, and I treated you like crap.”

  Kayla shrugged, seemingly unfazed by the whole thing. “What’s in the past should stay in the past. We’re here now, and I’m glad. I missed having you as a friend.”

  “I missed you, too.” The waitress came over and took our drink orders. I opted for an iced coffee, while Kayla ordered a chai latte, an item I was surprised our small-town diner even had on the menu.

  “You still crazy for dessert?” Kayla offered me a sincere smile. She was just one of those people who really seemed to care about others.

  I laughed. “Even New York can’t change that about me!”

  “They have these new carrot cake cupcakes here that are just to die for!” Without missing a beat, Kayla called over the waitress and added two cupcakes to our order. As strange as the first few minutes had been, I felt comfortable to be back with Kayla.

  “Can I ask you something?” I said.

  “Sweetie, you’ve been gone for the better part of four years,” Kayla said. “I’d be offended if you had nothing to ask me!”

  I started off by asking Kayla about her job at the bakery. She was so welcoming to me that I knew she deserved more attention than I’d given her at the Rusty Bucket. Kayla loved talking about her job. She spent twenty minutes running through an average day at the bakery, from opening until the last sale of the day, and, to my surprise, I actually enjoyed listening. Being back in Linfield was starting to feel normal again.

  “Do you keep in touch with Georgia’s parents at all?” I asked, feeling guilty that I, myself, hadn’t bothered to reach out to them.

  Kayla shook her head. “Not really. My mom talks to her mom from time to time, but they pretty much keep to themselves now. Never really got over the accident.” She drew in a breath. “Sweetie, I never got a chance to tell you how sorry I am about your mom. She was such a s
weet lady.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  “I was at the funeral, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to you. I’m sure you were busy shaking hands and hugging strangers.” Kayla didn’t look up from her latte long enough to see the look on my face, the look of a guilty daughter who’d never forgive herself for missing her own mother’s funeral. “I think about your mom whenever I eat Twix bars. Remember the year she gave out full-sized candy bars for Halloween? And I was the last one to visit your house for the night so she dumped seven or eight Twix bars in my bag? I felt like I’d won the lottery.”

  The truth was, I didn’t remember that Halloween. I didn’t remember the candy bars. But I nodded like I did. “It took my mom days to convince my dad that they needed full-sized candy bars so they could be the coolest house on the block,” I said, faking a laugh. It was great catching up and swapping gossip with Kayla, but I knew that my mom’s funeral—and maybe even parts of her life—would always be a sore subject for me. All I could do was be a better person, more like the Roni I used to be, and fully immerse myself back into the town, just as my mother would want me to. “So, what dirt have I missed over the past few years?”

  Kayla mischievously folded her hands. “Where do I even start? You heard that Mr. Noble and Ms. Carroway got married?”

  “No way!”

  “And Ashley Hilton’s mom married Principal Olsen last year.”

  “Shut up!” Not only was this information making my head spin, but it was also making me feel, for the first time in a while, like I was back in the Linfield loop.

  Over bites of carrot cake—Kayla was right that the cupcakes were incredible—I learned about who had moved away, who was popular in town, who’d gotten married, and who’d broken up. “So, umm, Jesse came in a while back asking for your phone number,” Kayla said.