by Lindy Zart
“Babysit? Where's Rivers?” She looks past me.
“I don't know.” The irony of not knowing where my charge is or what he is up to hits me and I clear my throat. “So...did you need something?”
Face reddening, her mouth pulls in. “Yes. I'd like to see Rivers.”
"I thought you broke up." Whoa. There was a snarky undertone there. Where did that come from?
Her eyes narrow. "Is it any of your business what goes on between the two of us?"
"The two of you," I repeat slowly, "as in you're a couple...even though you aren't."
Riley's mouth thins as she takes a step closer. "Are you going to get him or not?"
“Does he want to see you?” I know I'm being a bitch, but I have to embrace these little moments of perfection as they come along. Riley, deferring to me as though I am her superior, is classic—and about time. Plus, I don't know why, but I sort of want to rip her apart right now, solely on the basis of her wanting to see Rivers. Not cool for me, not at all.
“Look, Delilah,” she begins in an icy tone, her voice faltering as she looks up and beyond me.
I glance over my shoulder and connect gazes with one of black storms. My stomach swoops and I quickly look back to Riley. “Here he is. Have fun.”
I leave the room, my feet not moving fast enough. They could never move fast enough. I feel like my body is encased in lead and is moving as such. Have fun? Really? Like I want them to be having any kind of fun together—ugh times infinity. What was that swirly feeling in my gut when he looked at me? Nothing. It was nothing. Absolutely nothing. The denial seems lame, even to me. It was something. It was something and that something is not a good idea. Do feelings ever care whether it's a good idea or not to have them? Nope.
Reading has lost its appeal, so I spend the next few minutes pacing the length of the sun room, gnawing on my thumbnail as I wait—for what, I don't know. I guess for Rivers. Or maybe for Riley to leave. And then what? And then the careening of my pulse and the pounding of my heart will relax. I wonder what they're saying to each other. I wonder what Rivers is thinking as he looks at his ex-girlfriend. He has to have lingering feelings, right? I mean, she is amazing to look at, so there is that.
I freeze in the middle of the room. What the hell am I thinking? Since when do I care about Rivers or anything that involves him? I want to say since we started sleeping together at night, and oh, how innocent does that not sound? But it really is. There has never been a moment where the thought of taking it further than actual sleeping has reached me. Well, I mean, it's maybe in the back of my head, but I would never act on it. It's more of a curiosity thing, like wondering what it would feel like to be kissed by Rivers Young. But then, why do I seem almost...jealous? This is insane.
Because Rivers and me? No.
A car door slams and an engine purrs, fading into the distance along with headlights I spot out the window. Riley is leaving. It isn't relief that hits me as I fall onto the couch because there's no reason for it, or any other emotion, to sneak up on me. And I do sort of feel like I am being sporadically pummeled by things when I least expect to be. But really, how can you prepare for something you don't see coming? I rub my face, dropping my hands at a thought. Maybe Riley didn't leave, but took Rivers somewhere with her. Maybe they went off on a date, or to reconcile, or...have sex.
I gasp from the discomfort that shoots through me, angry with myself for thinking what Rivers does or doesn't do has anything to do with me or that it should affect me in any way. Wanting to distract myself, I decide stuffing myself with ice cream is a good way to go about it. I do not pause when I reach Rivers' closed door and I do not hold my breath in hopes of catching a sound from within the room. And I do not falter in my steps when his dark visage is the first thing I focus on as I enter the kitchen.
“The jig is up,” I tell him, nodding to his bowl. “I know you don't like ice cream.”
He wordlessly grabs another bowl and spoon, scooping chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream into it. The mint chocolate chip was gone days ago. He pushes it across the counter top toward me, one eyebrow lifted as he looks at me.
“Thanks.” I scoop some of the cold deliciousness onto my tongue and swallow.
“I have no idea why I ate the ice cream,” he murmurs. He looks up, a small smile on his face. “I guess I didn't want to put all your effort to waste.”
“Effort? I took apart a wall of frozen peas. It didn't entail a lot of muscle work.”
He shrugs. “Maybe I wanted your company so I suffered through eating the ice cream in silence.”
I laugh. “Why would you want my company? I mean, I know I'm fascinating, but you seem a little slower to have that inevitable epiphany."
His eyebrows lift. "Big words."
"What can I say? I'm super smart." I'm not, but it sounded good.
"Humble as well."
I wink. "It comes with the territory." We both become silent until I pipe up with, "So eating ice cream is considered suffering to you? Clearly you have been spoiled.”
He looks down.
I realize maybe he thinks I'm minimizing his accident. I set the spoon down in my bowl. “Sorry. I mean, I know you haven't had it exactly easy lately. I didn't mean anything by my comment.”
“I know. But you're right.” Rivers' eyes take me in and I feel like he is sucking me into him with those dark, dark eyes. “I was pretty spoiled. It isn't that I didn't have to work at what I got, because I did, but a lot of it also came easy to me. Most of what you say angers me, but once I decided to think about it, I realized why it bothers me so much. Because you're right.”
“I'm right that you secretly love ice cream? I knew it.”
“I don't love it or hate it. I can do with, or without.” He shrugs again.
I widen my eyes at him. “You're not normal.”
He glances at me before walking to the table with his bowl. “And you know a lot about that, right?”
“Enough.” I take my ice cream and sit across the table from him.
“What's up with you and Riley?”
I quickly swallow a mound of cookie dough and wait for it to dislodge from my throat. “What's up with you and Riley?”
“We dated for a long time. It didn't work out. She won't let go. And now that I'm partially helpless, she thinks I need her to baby me, which only makes me even more glad that I am no longer dating her.” The intensity of his gaze singes me. “And you? She's always been particularly nasty to you, more than to anyone else. I never stopped to think there might be a reason for it.”
“Do you even realize how sad that is?”
He ignores that, asking, “What happened with you two?”
“Why did you two break up?” I shoot back.
He won't look at me as he answers, “We grew apart. I realized I didn't like a lot of things about her, or how I was when I was with her, or even why I continued to be with her. I guess maybe I matured. Why did she shove you into the lockers sophomore year?”
“You saw that?” My voice is faint. I can't believe he remembers that. It was over two years ago. And there's the whole idea that I thought I was invisible to him.
Rivers nods, his eyes down as he mashes his ice cream into a melting blob. “Yeah. Saw it, didn't do anything about it, didn't care.” His tone almost sounds remorseful but that can't be.
“She called me a freak, so I called her a slut. Her reaction was to shove me and I landed against the lockers. The principal decided to make an appearance right after that so I couldn't retaliate.” Even now, my fingers tighten with the memory of humiliation and anger.
He squints his eyes at me. “Her tire was flat that day after school. Was that you?”
My bowl of ice cream becomes mesmerizing.
A gruff laugh escapes him. “What else?”
“Freshman year she wrote on the bathroom wall in the girls' locker room that I would screw anything that walked. I wrote back that she already had.”
“Not bad. I mean,
not exactly great for me, but not bad.”
A smile slowly curves my lips and Rivers returns it. This moment, right now, is going to end up being a bad thing. I can already tell it will mean something to me. I will look back on this moment and I will remember how I feel as he smiles at me and I will miss it. But for now, I just enjoy it. I shove another mouthful of ice cream into my mouth so I don't have to talk.
"You wanted to know why I was named Rivers," he begins, his gaze scorching as it connects with mine.
I nod, waiting.
"My legal name was Benjamin until I was ten months old. Now it's my middle name."
"What?" I scrunch up my face in confusion. "Why would they name you something and then name you something else?"
A faraway look enters his eyes—a touch of sadness with it. "I was born in California and spent the first years of my life there. I guess I was obsessed with water. I wanted to be in it every day and I screamed when my mom or dad took me out of it. I was swimming before I was walking. They didn't want to name me Lake or Ocean or Sea, because those aren't really names, so they settled with Rivers. Most rivers either begin or end with other bodies of water anyway. I was supposed to be a merging of all things watery."
"They could have called you Bathwater," I tell him.
He shakes his head, the hint of a smile softening his face. "That's two words."
"Okay. First name Bath, second name Water. It totally would have worked. They were being selfish, really, taking that possibility away from you. You would have been famous for that name ingenuity. And I like Lake. Lake could be your name. Can I call you Benji?"
"Don't even try it," he warns.
I laugh and shove another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth. "I wouldn't. You're definitely a Rivers. Tumultuous, consuming."
"What about peaceful and calm?"
I snort. "Yeah. You're that all right."
He watches me, his head tilted, a curious gleam in his eyes. “I don't know if I deserve you,” he suddenly murmurs, and I go still. I am frozen and he is frozen, our eyes locked. “I mean, we—I don't know if we deserve you. You do a better job than the normal cleaning lady,” he quickly corrects. Rivers' face lowers as though he wants to hide himself from me.
I hastily change the subject, my heart pounding in a frighteningly fast way. “We used to be friends. Riley and me,” I specify when confusion enters his gaze. “We grew apart too.”
He puts his chin on his hand, studying me. “I think there's more to it than that.”
“Isn't there always?” I ask lightly, standing up. “I'm done. Are you done?”
“You're going to ask this time, huh?”
“Last time your behavior didn't warrant you being asked.”
Rivers walks over to where I am standing, quietly taking a dish towel and drying the dishes as I wash them. After a while, he says, “We have a dishwasher.”
“I don't like dishwashers. They're lazy.”
He smiles. I tell myself I can't get used them. They are magical and I slowly unravel a little more each time he graces me with one of them. “The dishwashers are lazy or the people running them are?”
“Either.”
“Are you...do you...” He closes his eyes, shaking his head. Rivers takes a deep breath and starts over. “Want to watch a movie together?”
If I didn't know better, I would think he is apprehensive, but that is ludicrous and I quickly chuck the thought aside. “Sure. What kind of movies do you like to watch?”
Lowering his voice, he says sinisterly, “Scary ones.”
I drain the water from the sink and turn around, crossing my arms as I meet his gaze. “I can handle scary.”
“I'm counting on it.” He walks from the room, his movements a touch closer to smooth than unsteady. He is healing, getting better—emotionally and physically. I won't be needed here much longer, not for him anyway.
I look out the glass panes that lead to the deck and pool, searching for the nightlights in the sky and finding none. For the first time in months, I feel the weight of an unknown future pressing down on me. I have to balance the future with the present. I have to take what I can of the happy moments because, eventually, they will become less and less. I have to remember instances like this, right now, when a broken boy found something in me to smile at, when I went from being just me to him to someone who can make him smile—someone he wants to smile at.
And that is why I skip from the room and sing 'Into The Great Wide Open' by Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers as I spin in a circle in the foyer, laughing when Rivers pops his head around the corner to give me a strange look. I don't mind. He doesn't join me, but he also doesn't leave. He quietly watches me in that smoldering way of his. I can read his eyes and what they are saying is that he is trying to figure me out, that he finds me interesting enough to want to figure out.
The wink I aim at him tells him he'll never solve the complex being that is Delilah Bana so he should just enjoy me while I am here. When he grins at me, I grin back. All we are given as a guarantee, are instances of perfect freedom to say and do exactly what we want. I've realized this. I think Rivers is finally realizing this.
Why let them pass us by?
IT ISN'T EVEN A QUESTION. He stands and looks at me, waiting, and within seconds I am following him from the sun room and into his bedroom. I wonder what his mother and father would think if they knew about our sleeping arrangement. I wince. We're not doing anything wrong. I continue to tell myself this, but I still feel guilty. With any luck, I won't have to worry about Monica's reaction to it. Because I'm hoping she doesn't find out, which also means we should stop before she does find out. And yet, still I follow him.
I wonder what this means to him. A small part of me wonders if he is using me because I am close in proximity, but if that was the case, I wouldn't be here and Riley would. He would be talking to Riley and not me. He would be opening up, smiling and laughing, with her instead of me. I don't think he simply needs someone. I think he needs me. I am seeing him in a different way than I used to—I have to think it is the same for him.
His eyes linger on mine longer than they should and when he touches my arm, my heart reacts by pumping extra hard. Every time he looks at me, I feel scorched from the emotions I see in his gaze. Something has changed. I don't know what. I don't know when it happened, but it has.
“Did the movie scare you?” he asks, moving around his room as he gets ready for bed.
My eyes trail after him. “'Saw' isn't scary. It's just gross.”
“You wouldn't be scared if that stuff happened to you?”
I narrow my eyes. “That wasn't the original question.”
He smirks and my eyes are drawn to his lips. Part of me wonders what it would be like—to be loved by him. Or even just desired. To be with a guy like Rivers has got to be unforgettable. Everything he does is done with such intensity that being loved by him couldn't be any less than overwhelming. I think it would be comparable to continually trying to catch your breath and failing.
We take turns brushing our teeth in the bathroom. When I return to the bedroom, he has the blanket pulled down and is idly watching television as he waits on the bed. It seems so domestic, like we're playing at being a married couple. Only there is no commitment, there is no love, there is no happily ever after—or some idea of it. My eyes mold to the construction of his bare chest and I turn the light off to halt my staring. Ignoring his protestations about the sudden dark, I get into the bed. The television goes blank and the remote thumps as it falls to the floor. The silence is heavy, but this time it is not peaceful like it usually is. We need to talk about something, anything, so this tension abates, or at least dims.
“With your grandma the way she is...I'm surprised you didn't insist on going with your parents. Don't you want to be with your grandma right now?”
A full minutes passes before he answers, “No.”
My mouth pulls down. “Why not? She's dying. Why wouldn't you want to be with her
right now? I mean, aren't you sad?”
“I don't know. I guess a little.”
“Wow.” I can't believe his coldness. Where did it come from? What caused it?
“She's not my real grandma,” he tells me. He shifts in the bed and our faces are now inches apart.
“Oh?” I ask, suddenly breathless.
“No. She's my step-grandma and Thomas is my step-dad. Other than when I was a baby, I've only been around her twice, I think—both times before the age of ten. She's basically like a stranger to me.”
“But...” I sputter, my mind still stuck on the father revelation. “You look just like him.”
“I look like my dad.” Rivers' voice is ice as he faces the ceiling. “He's dead. Thomas is his first cousin.”
“I...oh...wow,” I say again, realizing how lame I sound.
“I didn't know him. I was a year old when he died. Freak accident at the factory he worked at. My mom's been with Thomas since I was three.”
“How did your mom end up with your father's cousin?”
I feel him shrug next to me. “I don't know. Sometimes I think she wanted to replace my dad as best as she could and he fit in the looks department.”
“But not in any other departments?”
“He's an ass. He won't exactly ever win any awards for best husband or father of the year. He...”
“He what?”
“Nothing. Never mind. What about your dad?” The topic was changed a little too hastily, proof that Rivers is upset.
“My dad...hmm...that's a good question. What about my dad,” I muse. “I don't know my dad.”
“What do you mean, you don't know your dad?”
I purse my lips. “Well...my mom didn't know my dad, hence I don't know my dad.”
“Oh.” I can hear the confusion in that one word.
“It was a one-night stand. I think she was grieving over her ex-husband or something. She's always been sort of vague about the details. She didn't know him, didn't know his name, he wasn't from the area. So, you know, a few months later she finds out she's pregnant. No dad.” So many questions could be answered if I knew him, but there is no point in thinking about it, because I don't. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes.
