by Ginger Scott
I turn the page, anxious for the next picture, but the space is empty. Dozens of empty pages fill out the rest of the book, like our story just stopped there.
It did.
I snap the book closed and hold it for a minute, and when I hear my parents walk back inside, I leave it on the table and carry the album bin to my dad.
“That’s all of them,” I say, following along behind them to their car. Every inch of their vehicle is filled with something from my grandma’s house, and I can tell my dad has hit his limit for mementoes.
“You want some lunch or something?” My stomach rumbles at my mom’s offer. I nibbled on some cheese and crackers I found in Nicole’s pantry yesterday afternoon, but other than that, I haven’t eaten a thing. I woke up this morning and came over here, functioning on fumes from two hours of sleep on a hard floor. The offer of food is tempting, but there’s something I have to do first.
“I’ll grab something later. I’m going to check on Nicole. She was really sick still,” I say, ignoring the smirk on my mom’s face.
“Okay,” my dad says, already in the car. His door slams shut, and he starts to tap his fingers on the wheel, a sign to my mom that he’s ready to go.
“Looks like your father’s hungry,” she says, leaning in to kiss my cheek.
I wait while they pull away, then head back inside and grab the photo album I left behind. I don’t bother locking up my grandma’s place, and I slip in through the back door I’ve been using for Nicole’s. She’s still sleeping like a rock when I get to her room, so I push the foot of her bed with my leg, shaking it just enough that she begins to stir.
“Hey sunshine,” I say. Her eyes squint and she rolls to her back, stretching her arms in every direction.
“I feel like the word sour. I’m not sure what that looks like, but I’m pretty sure I look sour, too.”
I laugh at her description and sit on the edge of the bed. Her hair has formed clumps, and I press one of them down, only to watch it stick straight up again.
“I think you might have sour covered,” I say.
“Ugggggg,” she whines, rolling to the side and covering her face with both of her hands.
Not letting her wallow, I tug on her shoulder and urge her back in my direction. She uncovers one eye and looks at me. I hold up the album and smile with wide eyes.
“Found something cool.” I pull my legs up under me and rest the album in my lap, forcing Nicole to prop herself up enough to see the pictures.
“I’m pretty sure this is the flu, Chase. You should just go home,” she says, and I dismiss her with a wave of my hand. Her eyes watch mine, waiting for me every time I glance her way, but I don’t slow down. I keep talking.
“Evelyn had this album, and it’s all pictures of us. There are so many funny ones, like the time you drew on my face with chalk.”
She sits up taller at the mention of that, and eventually I let her pull the photos into her lap. She goes on the same ride I did, and every time she remembers something the exact same way I do, I feel it in my chest. It’s this satisfying feeling, knowing you were never alone.
When the photos stop, she just closes the book and shuts her eyes, her hands folded on top of the cover.
“Thanks for showing me this, Chase. That felt good.”
It did feel good. Being here feels good. It’s also making me think crazy thoughts, like what if Nicole and I stayed close. Would we have ever been more than friends.
“The perfect couple.” She rolls her eyes when I say it, sliding the book from her lap to mine.
“Come on, you have to laugh a little. What would those people we graduated with say if they saw us now—me sitting here next to you. I bet the rumor mill would be in overdrive.”
There’s no picture for that in this album. It happened in the blank space, at the end of our senior year. Everyone was voted to be something, and Nicole and I were elected to be the perfect couple. It was a joke.
“I bet the assholes would be in rare form,” she says, not taking it the direction I was. She stands from her bed and moves toward her dresser, pulling out a large State sweatshirt. It’s about three sizes bigger than she is, which triggers another thought in my mind.
“You get that in college?” I ask.
She looks down and pulls the shirt out at the chest.
“Sort of. I lived here but drove there, free room and board and all.” She sits back down on the bed and pulls the blanket up her legs. She’s missing my point, and it’s kind of cute.
“You date any guys in college?”
Her eyes widen fast, and I wait for the blush I know is coming. I was a little blunt with that, but we have history. I can be blunt with her, or at least—I used to be.
“Ummmm, I never really…went on many dates.” She pulls her knees up to her chest and dips her chin, tugging the blanket closer, over her mouth, so only her eyes are exposed. She shifts her gaze to me, and I can’t help but laugh.
“What?” she squeals, dropping the blanket for a pillow, which she slams into my face. I catch it and hold on.
“Come on, Nic. I know some guy gave you that sweatshirt. He must have been someone special because you’ve hung onto it for a long time.”
Her eyes widen again and she presses her chin to her chest, then pops her gaze right back up to me, her lips bubbling with laughter.
“Oh my god, Chase. No…some guy did not give me this.” She’s emphatic, and I’m surprised I’m wrong. I shrug, and rub my hand over my mouth, still not completely believing her. She did date. Of course she did. She might be dating someone now. He probably builds rockets. Or brains. And he invents cars that drive on nothing but hope and whispers.
“How many is not many?” I’m working my way into her status, taking the long route.
“As in dates?” she asks.
I nod.
“I don’t know, I mean…I could count them on one hand.” Her lips grow tight, and I can tell I’m embarrassing her.
“I would imagine it was hard to date and triple major with a PhD.” I’m being honest, because Nic has always been pretty.
“No, I had opportunities. And oh my god, did I have some doozies. One guy actually invited me to his poetry reading. You wanna know where it was? It was in his mom’s basement. And you wanna know who attended? Me…and his mom!”
I can’t help when I burst into laughter, and Nicole joins me quickly, laughing so hard her eyes water. She lets out more and more bits through her giggling fit, first telling me that the guy took her to dinner first, and made her pay for her meal, then asked her if she had any quarters so he could buy a toy from the candy machine in the lobby.
“Was he trying to be romantic and win you a prize or something?” I ask.
“No, he sincerely wanted a one of those sticky hands that you slap at the window. When he got a bouncy ball, he pouted,” she says.
We both sit quietly and think about it, and it takes me several seconds to pipe in.
“He asked for another quarter, didn’t he?”
She confirms with laughter, the kind that’s so hard it barely makes a sound. She starts to nod and mouths, “yes, he did.”
We laugh hard for another full minute, the joy fading into contentment and eventually exhaustion. Her eyes are so puffy from sleep and being ill. I should let her rest. I stand up and leave the album on her bed, hoping it brings her some cheer, then reach forward and rest the back of my hand on her head. She peers up at me, and her eyes seem to beg me to stay. I let my hand move from her head to her cheek, turning my hand so my palm cups the side of her face. I leave it there for a few seconds and memorize her eyes. So many years wasted not looking at them like this.
“You’re a little warm,” I say, my voice scratchy and my throat suddenly dry.
“That’s not a scientific way to judge a fever.” She sniffles when she’s done.
“Give me the benefit of the doubt,” I say, nodding for her to lie down. She finally does, and I pull the blanket back ov
er her body. Her eyes close fast, and as much as I want to stand right here and watch for a little while, I know that would only make my head more of a mess.
Chapter Six
Nicole
The world is fairly hazy. It takes me five minutes to get my vision straight enough to tell if it’s morning or afternoon. When I make out the nine on the clock and deduct that it’s light out, I declare morning the winner.
I threw my disposable contacts into the trash at some point, and the world has looked like a Renoir panting for a while now.
My phone chirps, and I get excited by the sound, instantly remembering that today is the deadline for my grant funding decision. My heart starts to pound as I feel around my side table for my glasses, grabbing them along with my phone all at once. My eyes adjust, and I press my text messages to find a message from Chase.
My initial reaction is disappointment. I chortle at the irony of me feeling disappointed by a text from Chase Pennington, then I open it up to read.
How are you feeling?
I breathe in deeply and cough from the congestion. My sinuses seem better, but everything icky seems to have found a way to my chest. I’m also starving.
I slip from bed and drag my feet down the hallway to the kitchen, settling on the first easy-to-eat item I find. I don’t even like rice cakes, and I’m out of peanut butter, but I crunch through it with the verve of Cookie Monster.
I dig in for a second one when my doorbell rings. Leaning forward over the sink, I’m able to see just enough to recognize Chase’s profile. I spit out the rest of the cake as my hands fly to my hair which is wild and twisted in knots. When I move my hands to my mouth, cupping and puffing out air, I realize my breath fares even worse.
The bell rings again.
“I can see your reflection in the hallway mirror, Nic.”
I flip around and stare at myself. Shit.
“Ummmm, I just got up. One second.”
“I’ll wait.” I laugh quietly. He’ll wait. What world is this I’ve slipped into? I’m dreaming.
I dig my fingers into my hair, hurriedly untangling the worst of it before cupping a mouthful of water from the sink to swish and spit. He’s seen me vomit now, so I breathe out in a whoosh, straighten my posture and move to the front door.
He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans and a white collared shirt with a black V-neck sweater over it. His hair is soft brown waves that fall in all of the right places. And he’s holding flowers. What the ever-loving hell.
“Chase?” I swallow the panic down hard.
“I decided you needed to get taken on a real date, like…by a guy who doesn’t know a damned line of poetry, and who already owns every toy ever to make it inside a gumball machine.”
My chest caves as the air slips from my lungs in a blink. My heart falls to the bottom of my chest, and it beats so hard that my body must be visibly quaking.
“Can I…ummm…change into something less…” I look down and pull out the pockets of my oversized pajama bottoms. “Sleepwear?”
“You have five minutes.” He smirks then hands me a bouquet of bright pinks and blues. They’re carnations dyed with ink, and perhaps the most worthless flower that grows, but they’re beautiful. They’re maybe the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever held.
“Thank you,” I say, lifting the flowers enough to hide the heat on my neck and cheeks. Chase lifts his arm and pulls up the sleeve of his sweater to read his watch.
“You have four minutes and thirty seconds left.”
“Shit, you were serious!” I move in place for a second, then reach for his hand and shove the bouquet back in his control. “Find something that holds water and put these in it. I’ll be right back.”
He chuckles and starts counting down seconds while I rush into my bedroom and strip away everything I’m wearing. I find a soft pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and I have just enough time to drag a real brush through my hair and another one over my teeth. I grab the State sweater from my floor in case I’m cold and stuff my feet in a pair of fur-lined boots, deciding I’d rather boil than shiver.
“Ten seconds to spare.” He’s leaning on the front door waiting for me, and the man looks like a goddamned GQ ad.
“I feel underdressed.” I’m not even sure if the things I picked up are clean.
“Well I feel inadequate, so we’re even.” He holds an arm out and I shake my head with laughter.
“You’re perfectly adequate, Chase Pennington,” I say, my arm rushing with a million tiny vibrations at the feel of his arm wrapped through mine. My senses are rushed with the smell of his cologne next. It reminds me of Evelyn’s fireplace, and cinnamon and…Chase.
He leads me all the way to his car, then waits to close it while I buckle myself in. My stomach rumbles in hunger, and I’m unable to mask it. Chase’s eyes travel down to my waist, and I’m mortified.
“I’m starving. And this is really a breakfast date, so don’t judge.”
“Right, so pancakes it is,” he winks, shutting my door and joining me in the car a few seconds later.
I’m anxious and unsure of what to do with my hands, so I tuck them under my thighs. Chase leans closer to me, and I twist, a little surprised when his face is so close to mine. “What light through yonder window breaks?”
My mouth twists and I jerk back, but Chase cracks a smile.
“Oh, did I get that wrong. You didn’t like the poetry reading. I’m sorry, I thought you did. I’ll cross that off the list,” he chuckles. “So my mom’s coming along.”
I smack at his chest, and he grabs my hand in his, holding it tight. We laugh for a few seconds, but the air between us grows serious quickly. I wait, watching his eyes and mouth for a sign of what this means. He’s on this constant verge of saying something important. It doesn’t come though, and instead he pulls my hand close and turns it to kiss the inside of my wrist. I feel it all the way to the diner on Main Street.
The cook recognizes us when we enter, and the same waitress who used to give us chocolate milks for free when we were kids boots the teenager who’s table we sat at.
“I got these guys, honey. They’re like family.”
The girl walks away dejected and out of a tip, but I’m glad Rose insisted.
“Well aren’t you two a sight for sore eyes. Nicole, you haven’t been in her for a year, maybe longer.” Rose’s voice has gotten more gravely from the years of smoking, but her hair is still twisted in the tightest of buns atop her head, the color a mixture to match the same red it’s always been.
“I’ve been down at the lab a lot. We’ve had some breakthroughs,” I say, my eyes darting from Chase to Rose as I talk.
“That’s amazing, hon. You know this girl of ours is going to change the world,” she says, pointing toward me with the end of her pen.
“She already has,” Chase says, with barely a second passing.
My attention flies to him, and his eyes wait to greet me.
“Oh, you’ve finally come around I see. You two a thing now?”
“We’re just us,” I say quickly, wanting the attention to go away and not wanting Chase to feel pressured to commit to anything.
“Alright then,” Rose says, flipping the page on her pad. “What’ll it be?”
I catch a glimpse of Chase’s face as I look down to my menu. His mouth is flat and his eyes are dim, and I could kick Rose for making this awkward.
“Short stack for me. Side of eggs, scrambled.” Chase repeats my order and adds two chocolate milks, which makes Rose smile. He leans back into the booth across from me, stretching one arm to the side, and the smile that was there all morning isn’t as vibrant.
“Should I get ready to wash dishes now? Or are you planning to wait for the bill to come before you dine and dash?”
Chase doesn’t react to my joke instantly, and my heart sinks. He leans forward on his elbows after a few seconds and takes in a deep breath.
“I would never dash before getting my pancakes, Nic.”
His mouth tugs up on one side in a grin and I breathe out, hiding my relief with soft laughter.
I knit my hands together in my lap for a few minutes, and Chase spends the time reading out featured menu items from the placard in the center of our table. We’re both nervous, and it’s strange. I’m so desperate for something to say, I blurt out probably the worst conversation starter I can think of.
“Ran into your ex-girlfriend a couple weeks ago.” I feel my eyes grow, shocked that the words actually left my mouth.
Rose interrupts us for a few seconds, sliding plates in front of us and following it up with hot sauce and syrup. She flips the check upside down on the table, and Chase jokingly starts to slide it my direction. He pulls it back quickly, tucking it under the edge of his plate. I pour my syrup while Chase swishes his first bite around in butter. I’m about to ask him about some of the towns he went to for baseball when he pulls us right back to the conversation I wish I never started.
“My ex, huh?” He chews his bite and grins at me, knowing I regret bringing it up.
“Yeah, it was nothing worth mentioning really. I was just making conversation.” I dip an oversized bite into my syrup and stuff my cheeks full.
Chase does the same, talking while he chews.
“Ariana, I’m guessing?”
I look down to my plate and shrug, acting like it’s no big deal. “She’s a cashier now at Paul’s Hardware. She has six kids, and her hair is this round poof, and she’s married to some guy who’s fifteen years older than her. Maybe twenty.”
I don’t know if any of that is true. Well, actually, her hair is a round poof, and she works at Paul’s. The rest just flew from my mouth in an avalanche of lies.
“She’s a lesbian.” I swallow my bite and look up at him.
“Oh?” I say, kicking myself for the entire last five minutes of my dream date.
Chase pulls his phone from his pocket and flips to his Facebook page, pulling up Ariana, who he is friends with, along with maybe twenty-five other people from our high school. He sets his phone on the table and spins it around so I can read her profile, and I let my eyes fall closed slowly after reading that she’s an advocate for gay rights and has even spoken in front of Congress.
