The Weight of Rain

by Mariah Dietz

  “Lo, I haven’t been able to forget that night either. I think about it all. The. Damn. Time.” His words are punctuated, driving his message much further than just my thoughts. “I spent weeks trying to figure out who you were.” I feel slightly guilty that his admission makes me so happy. For so long I have thought he avoided me, lied about his name and identity so that I wouldn’t find out who he truly was.

  “Why did we wait so long to be honest with each other?”

  King’s breath is a snicker. “We’re only admitting a fraction of anything.”

  His words run through my head, lacing into several variations of what he actually means, still, I nod. “This conversation needs to happen. We need to figure shit out because I’m tired of trying to avoid you, and I’m really tired of you ignoring me.”

  “Aren’t we kind of doing that now?”

  King shakes his head as he closes the distance between us, then grips the table with his left hand and bends so his face is level with mine. “If I stay in here any longer I’m going to do something that would probably make me deserve getting slapped, so I am going to say this and then leave.” King pauses. I can smell the scent of beer and peppermint on his breath, along with the warmth of his skin as his shoulders roll forward. His eyes are wide and bright, demanding me to pay close attention to his words. “I know you’re tough. I know you can draw better than any damn person I’ve ever met in my life and most likely ever will. I know you love Mercedes and would never risk changing that relationship. But we like each other, and I don’t know what in the hell that means exactly, but I know I want to find out. The question you need to ask yourself is, do you?”

  King’s throat moves, swallowing words we both know he’s fighting with. Ones that would make things both better and worse. He reaches forward, his chest grazing my shoulder. I hate that I don’t want to move. That I want to absorb the feel of King’s warmth and convince him to admit truths we both know and bury on a daily basis in a sea of general politeness and attempts to avoid one another. But the truths are laid open with the innuendos, silent stares, and capitalized when we go out of the way to cross the other’s path. King has become an exhausting and thrilling addiction that I don’t know how to consider stopping or even changing at this point.

  A long breath runs through my nose as King’s dark eyes meet mine, exposing he’s fighting his own battle: silently pleading with me to bring things up by making a cutting remark or joke about our night. I know he wants it because it’s the only way we can both talk about it and relive it. It’s apparent by the way his jaw locks and his eyes waver from mine that he also doesn’t want me to respond. He’s waiting for me to consider his words and come back. His arm flexes as he holds the table even tighter. Then he stands and stalks out of the room, leaving my heart beating so fast I feel like I just went down the largest ramp in the shop.

  Holy shit.

  I WAKE up to two missed calls and a dozen texts from Charleigh, the last one saying she’s on her way.

  Last night is still fresh in my thoughts, likely because I obsessed about it for hours before texting Charleigh and asking her to come get me and finally falling asleep.

  Before moving to sit up, I wrap my hair into a knot that I know is accompanied by a halo of fuzzies since it air dried without any product. My mouth feels dry and gross from only having my finger to brush with, and my clothes all feel slightly stretched and worn from wearing them consecutive days. Clean underwear is officially at the top of my to-do list for when I get home as I stand up and hobble around the bed, working to straighten the duvet, though I’ll need to wash the sheets.

  “Hey, Lo, how are you feeling?” Kash is standing at the stove, a large bag of instant pancake mix beside him, confirming King isn’t up yet. Summer turns from where she’s perched at the island. A book of pictures sits in front of her with a rainbow of sticky notes protruding from the pages.

  “Pretty good, actually. The swelling’s gone down a lot.”

  “How’s the burn?” Summer asks.

  “It’s not bad. That cream is amazing.”

  “She’s a good liar,” Summer says teasingly as she looks to Kash. She takes a drink of her coffee before shooting me a smile.

  While mine is smaller than hers, I return the gesture.

  “Do you want to make a list of things you want and I can run by your place and get them?”

  I question if she’s offering out of guilt or concern that Kash is still upset with her, even though it was my own decision to go down the ramp. Either way, her face only holds compassion. “That’s okay—”

  “Why didn’t you wake King up, Dad?”

  Mercedes stumbles into the kitchen, her hair looking similar to how I’m sure my own looks currently. Her eyes are still puffy with sleep, and her voice extra whiny.

  “They’re pancakes. They all taste the same,” Kash says dismissively.

  “Wrong.” King’s single word is like a small firework going off, lighting the entire house, creating more beauty, emitting bright colors, and making me fear for my personal safety.

  Kash rolls his eyes and returns to the stove, but Summer’s attention has completely left her book. She’s staring between King and me as though she was present for our conversation last night. Maybe he told her?

  “Why don’t you take a seat and we’ll get you some ice packs and pancakes, Lo,” Kash offers.

  I’m grateful to move my attention back to him. “That’s okay, Charleigh’s on the way.”

  “Right … Charleigh,” King says, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

  I’ve been told before that the expression I’m giving King—with my eyebrows raised and my eyes wide—is condescending, and for once, I really hope it is.

  “Are you still coming tomorrow to watch Daddy?” Mercedes’ word choice makes me flinch slightly, but I still smile in confirmation.

  “Yeah, crutches and all.”

  “Are you bringing Charlie?” Summer’s voice is cautious and far quieter than her usual tone.

  The doorbell rings before I can reply. King tilts his head, the outside corners of his eyes strain as he stares at me. Then he moves purposefully toward the front door and swings it open. As I walk up behind him far more slowly with my crutches, I notice his rigid shoulders fall slightly.

  “Hi. Is Lauren here by chance? I think I’m at the right place. She said it was out in the middle of nowhere, but this place is really in the middle of bloody nowhere.”

  My lips tip up and down like a see-saw as I work to fight my laughter at King’s reaction. He’s staring at her with such intensity I can tell she’s confused.

  “You have neighbors, right? Or mates? Someone nearby in case I scream? Cause you’re kind of freaking me out.”

  “Hey, Charleigh.” I step up beside King and grab my bag that I deposited by the door last night.

  “You really did get all banged up, didn’t you?” Her eyes leave King and travel over me. There’s little to be seen since my clothes cover most of the damage, and the Ace bandage covers the rest.

  “Are you concerned about the stairs? Or is that just me?” she asks, the lilt in her voice a refreshing song, promising me the comforts of my own house.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  Charleigh’s eyebrows go up, and they stay stretched as she lets out a deep sigh. “Alright, you ready to go then?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wait! I want to meet Charlie!” Summer’s voice is right behind us. I turn because I want to see the look of surprise on her face as well when she realizes the error.

  I take a step back and extend my hand to Charleigh. “Charleigh, this is Kingston, Summer, and Kashton. Everyone, this is Charleigh.”

  “And me!” Mercedes calls, sprinting in from the kitchen. “Hey, Charleigh!” She smiles brightly, and I notice King, Kash, and Summer all look at her with surprise. Clearly they never considered asking Mercedes if she knew anything about Charleigh. She doesn’t know much, only a few stories that I’ve shared with her,
but still, they would have known she was only a friend, and a female at that.

  “It’s really great to finally meet you, Charleigh. We’ve heard a lot about you and it’s nice to put a … face to the name.” Summer elbows King in the gut. The move is subtle, nearly undetectable, but King releases a huff to validate it happened.

  They have been talking about me.

  King finally turns to me, his lips are pursed, his eyes bright with humor and something else that has him digging for his phone.

  “I’ve heard loads about all of you as well. Though, I sort of knew what you all looked like.”

  “You did?” Summer’s question makes the muscles between my eyes clench tighter. Leave it to Charleigh to reveal everything—to everyone.

  “Sure,” Charleigh replies, unaffected. “Haven’t you seen her sketches? She draws nearly everyone she meets. It’s amazing and awful, really.”

  “You’ve drawn me? I want to see! Do you have them here?” Summer’s voice is higher, her eyes brighter.

  “Easy there. Don’t you have enough pictures of yourself?” King teases. He releases the door handle and takes a step back, opening the doorway.

  “Not a hand-drawn one!” Summer’s response isn’t defensive or teasing. I know that if I don’t bring one over, she will never drop it, likely because it’s not the drawings of her she is interested in, but the few of Kash that I’ve done. I will have to dig through my notepads and bring a couple for her.

  “I’ll bring some over next week,” I say, nodding forward, indicating to Charleigh it’s time to go.

  “It’s really nice to meet you, Charleigh!” Summer chimes.

  “You as well.”

  “We’ll see you guys tomorrow!” Mercedes calls.

  “Definitely,” Charleigh says with a nod.

  “Thanks for the care and help. Sorry again for being such a klutz.”

  “I’m thinking it was for the better,” King says, a knowing smile spreading wider across his face.

  “Alright, well, I guess I’ll see you guys tomorrow, then. Thanks for the night off.”

  “I told you at the hospital it wasn’t a big deal. It’s still not a big deal. If you want next week off, just let me know. Or we can come get you and take you home. It’s your call,” Kash explains.

  I give a small smile filled with appreciation and move to Mercedes. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “I’ll text you later.”

  “Sounds good.” With that I move forward, shooting Charleigh a look to tell her to get moving.

  “Who put a bee in your bonnet?” My eyes are wide as they wait for Charleigh to glance in my direction. “What?” Her voice is alarmed, genuinely surprised by my look that is intended to say you know why.

  “You told them I draw them!” I hiss.

  “You do draw them!” she exclaims. “Besides, I told them you draw everyone. Really, Lauren, you need to stop hanging around me and this angsty kid so much. Americans are supposed to be smiley and happy about nothing, and you’re rarely happy about anything. It’s not normal.”

  She doesn’t look at me as we approach her car. It’s probably best that she isn’t because her words serve to do nothing more than remind me of what I’ve been told for most of my life: I’m different.

  “Sorry I had to call you. I know you were out on a date last night. I hope I didn’t make you cut it short.”

  Her face radiates with a smile as she maneuvers her car into drive and starts heading down the long driveway.

  “I’m taking that look to say the date went well. What’s he like?”

  Charleigh’s shoulders shrug like she’s trying to remain indifferent, but her lips are pulling up at the corners as though she’s stuffed the last piece of candy in her mouth. I don’t push her for details. As much as I enjoy Charleigh, and like being around her, it’s been clear to me since our friendship began that Allie is her confidant, the one that keeps her centered, her best friend. I try really hard to not be hurt by this since both of them are so accepting of me, and I know genuinely enjoy our time together; it just stings when moments like these occur.

  GETTING READY with crutches reminds me of how blessed I am to have been healthy for most of my life, regardless of being too tall and lanky.

  Charleigh and Allie knock on my door thirty minutes early with matching faces of concern about me going down the stairs with my crutches. I assure them a half dozen times that I’ll be fine before they stop encouraging me to go down on my hands and butt like a toddler. I’m on the last landing when the Suburban pulls up and King jumps out of the back with a similar expression.

  “Lo, let King help you!” Parker yells from the driver’s window.

  “I’ve got it!” I yell back, my focus remaining on the stairs with determination.

  King stops a few steps short from me, his chin twists, and the look of indecision mars his brows before he takes a step back, closer to the railing. He keeps pace with me, his hands precariously close to reaching out to me, though he never does.

  I don’t object when he opens the door, though my pride wants to, regardless of how inconsequential it seems. Before I get in, I turn to ensure Allie and Charleigh are still with us and go through a brief introduction before lifting myself into the car and watching King take my crutches around back to the trunk.

  The girls are both restless, their smiles wide. I can tell they’re excited to be riding with Parker and King, and while I hadn’t been able to see their expressions when they arrived, I continuously notice them both looking from him and me and then to each other. It’s worse than high school.

  “This is crazy!” Allie says with a happy sigh. Her eyes are dancing over every exposed chest and bicep painted in tattoos. “I’m in heaven.”

  Parker laughs loudly only a few inches from her shoulder, sending her hand to her chest in surprise, leading his eyes to crinkle with an even deeper, heartier laugh. He leads us through crowds and teams that are gathered, discussing strategies and triple-checking everything with the bikes. I’m thankful we’re inside because I can’t imagine navigating through the Oregon mud, but even indoors is proving to be difficult with the large number of people.

  I’m trying to focus on watching the event. Parts of my mind are even mystified, making my jaw drop and my eyes grow wide, though most of my thoughts are preoccupied with trying to understand King, and working to recall every minute detail of last night. Did I imagine the way lust danced in his eyes when he told me he was tempted to do something that would make me want to slap him? He did say that … right? Between my painkillers and his obvious drinking, maybe neither one of us can clearly recall what transpired last night. I thought we did when he arrived and was so valiantly ready to assist me with getting into the car, but now he’s several seats and people away from me, and his attention hasn’t veered from the stadium once. I know, because I’ve been staring at him so hard everyone between us has looked over at me at least a few times.

  A throat clears from behind me, getting louder as they lean in close. “Take it easy. This is his passion. King belongs out there. He isn’t ignoring you; he’s just lost in his other world right now.” I look back at Summer and she gives me a small smile, her lips pressed together with both apology and comfort, and I’m pretty sure it isn’t all for King ignoring me.

  I try to hide the vast relief her words impart on me, but her growing grin confirms it’s apparent. This crush that I’ve had on King since a night that was laden with flirting, revelations of each other, and eventually a shared intimacy that I haven’t been able to shake—or willing to move past—has torn off every cover I’ve tried to bury it under, revealing my feelings have been much larger than a mere crush for months, maybe since that very night if that’s possible.

  Her assurance grants me the ability to see the athletes more closely. I watch and listen as tricks and maneuvers are completed that stun me into silence. I am lost as I watch the joy and love for their craft pass over each of their faces, and absorb e
ach expression as they finish. Though each is different, some filled with regret, others with pride, and a few with disappointment, I recognize the same fuel of energy and passion. Some have performed several times now in different events, allowing me to recognize their faces and expressions to where I know I’ll be drawing them for days to come.

  “Want some paper?” Charleigh reaches forward as she asks, gripping my bag before I can reply. She hands me a pad and a handful of charcoal pieces that I select two from before depositing the remaining pieces back to the bottom. She gives me a smile and then turns, gifting me with the attention to move forth and draw.

  I sketch expressions of hopefulness, failure, excitement, anger, blissfulness, and camaraderie before I delve into the bikes and pedals, the irregular angles of their bodies, and gravity-defying stunts. Eventually, I stop drawing faces and simply draw figures, shades, and movements that equal each of the expressions I started with.

  Summer’s foot knocks against my chair, breaking me from my trance, and I hear the rustling of seats and greetings and turn to see Mercedes, accompanied by an older man who I recognize from his acknowledgments and waves that are directed my way a few times a week now: the man from the green house.

  “Hey, Lo!” Mercedes’ greeting doesn’t divert my attention from staring at the man, wondering who he is, and how he fits into this picture.

  His face warms with a smile that doesn’t hide his amusement. “Nice to see you here, Lo,” he says with a nod.

  I blink several times, biting my tongue to tell him how strange it is to see him here of all places, since he obviously knows everyone, making a statement like that borderline rude. My eyes widen several times as different questions and things to respond with cross my mind.

  “Lo, you know Robert?” I’m thankful to turn my attention away from the man and look to Summer.

  “Sort of.” I sound less sure of my words than the time I got caught sneaking out of my room in the middle of the night by Alan, Nell’s husband and my father’s right-hand man. That time I had been dressed, makeup done, shoes carefully gripped in my fingers so I could make as little noise as possible, and still I smiled at him without a trace of guilt or fear. At least initially I had.