by Lind, Valia
"Look," she replies in a rush of air. "I know how you feel about Chance and I respect that. He's an amazing friend to you and I appreciate that. But you know our history. I'm just not ready for us to be anything but frenemies." With that, she opens her notebook and focuses on the front of the room.
“So I’m just supposed to leave it at that when you won’t leave my situation alone?” I keep my voice low, but firm. She’s not the only one who gets to speak her mind. Not when it comes to our friendship.
“I’m sorry, Brooklynn. I know I’m not being fair. I just—I can’t think about this right now. I like concentrating on you better. Can you pretty please just drop it for now? Please.” The little begging motion she makes with her hands adds a punch to the words.
“Fine. But only because I’m an amazing friend.” For now, the conversation is over.
For now.
As I sit in class, my mind drifts to the prospect of tonight. I haven't seen Grayson's parents since science fair in eighth grade. They were always nice to me and my family, despite what their son used to do to me. I don't know if they even knew. I know I never told my parents. It would've been a show of weakness, and Dad would've told me so the moment I uttered the words.
I wonder how his parent's feel about his dreams of becoming a full time photographer. He mentioned briefly that they support him, but there was something in his eyes that told me there was more to the story than he let on. Maybe I'll ask him about it one of these days.
As my teacher begins talking about scientific names for different type of flowers found in North America, my mind drifts over to my clothing options. Am I supposed to dress up for tonight? Is there some kind of a code when it comes to these types of things? Do I bring flowers or desert? They don't exactly teach the "rules of going over to your non-boyfriend's parent's house for dinner" at school. I wish they did.
A tap on my desk snaps me out of my daydreams and I glance down to find Dakota's notebook turned my way.
Are you freaking out? She wrote in pretty cursive. I give her a nod.
You know, they have medicine for people like you. I really don’t feel like I’m getting support over here. Channeling my inner child I stick my tongue out at my friend and she puffs in irritation.
Why are you so nervous? I turn my own notebook to a clean sheet of paper and write out the answer.
I don't know what I'm supposed to do when I come over. Do I bring something? What do I wear?
She scribbles a reply almost furiously, as I sit waiting. Whatever the teacher is saying is lost on me. I'm going to have to go over today's work on my own later on.
I'm not sure about what to bring, but you should wear something pretty. First impressions are important and they haven't seen you in years. I know, you should wear that autumn ensemble you sketched out a few weeks ago. The yellow top and blur pants, with the vest you sewed together. I'll let you borrow my boots.
I'm not wearing that!
Why not? I think it'll be perfect. The colors are pretty against your reddish hair and that vest is pure genius and you know it. I know you finished it so don't even lie to me.
I don't think it's a good idea, D.
It's a great idea! You haven't worn anything besides black, blue or gray in months. Even during summer. It's about time you start dressing like yourself.
I don’t hear anything my teacher says for the rest of the class, my mind mulling over that last thought. She’s right, but it doesn’t take the fear away. The bell rings then, making us both jump. We scramble to put out stuff away, and stand to leave the classroom.
"You know I'm right," Dakota says as we make our way through the crowd. "I truly believe this is a perfect opportunity for you to show off some of your talents in a safe environment." She added that last part for my benefit because she knows how much I'm afraid to let people see what I create.
"Grayson’s been telling me the same thing," I mutter the words and she grabs me before we can go anything farther. I still can't believe he's been bringing it up, especially after what happened when we were younger. But for some reason, I truly believe he's genuine when he tells me that I'm talented and should wear what I've created.
"What?"
"He's been trying to get me to start wearing my own creations for a week now. I just don't know—"
"Brooklynn, this is great!" she squeals, "Do it! And please have a camera ready for his reaction when he sees you because I'm pretty sure it'll be internet worthy." I open my mouth to argue but she'll have none of that.
"No, you are wearing that outfit even if I have to get Chance to hold you down while I put it on you."
"Well, that would be awkward."
"Your choice. I'm sure he'll agree with me on that one." She looks plenty smug, and I believe her. Chance has been bugging me to start wearing my own clothes for the last two years. Plus, I'm sure he'll enjoy torturing me a little.
"Fine," I grumble, knowing I’m fighting a losing battle. "I'll wear the outfit." When she squeals again, hugging me, I feel butterflies start their crazy dance in the bottom of my stomach.
For the first time in years, I will be wearing my own clothing.
TWENTY - ONE
I'd luv to kiss ya, but I just washed my hair. - Bette Davis
I'm a mess of amorphous emotions.
I'm leaning against the customer service desk while Dakota chats with one of the library guests and I try not to fidget. I'm having major second thoughts about this whole deal, like second thoughts that have been dumped into a bucket of green goo and are now about to go all Hulk on my body.
"This is a bad idea," I say as soon as Dakota comes back over to me. "A horrible, tragic, no way will it end well idea."
"Dude, do I need to call Chance to come sit on you? "
"I'm going to his house for crying out loud. That's like a serious step in every teen movie we've ever watched. It's like getting engaged in the teen world. What if his parent's hate me? Awkward right? And look at what I'm wearing. I need my jeans and T-shirt back! They're still in your car right? I—"
"Brooklynn," Dakota snaps, grabbing me by the arms. "I'm not allowed to call the ambulance because it disturbs the patrons too much, and I'm so not having you pass out on this gross floor in your cute outfit."
"You're not allowed to call the ambulance?" That momentarily stops me in my hyperventilating.
"They frown upon the disturbance of peace."
"That's dumb."
"Tell me about it."
I slouch against the counter, my heart racing. I'm not exactly sure why I'm freaking out this much. It's not like Grayson and I are dating; we're business partners. Business partners can have dinner at each other's houses with no awkwardness right? Well, maybe not in my house considering my dad and I are pretty much avoiding each other. He'd flip if he saw me dressed in something that didn't come from the store. In his eyes, that's a huge rebellion.
"He's here." Dakota's quiet voice interrupts my musings. I'm half hidden by the desk and Dakota, but I can see Grayson make his way toward her. He hasn't noticed me yet and I take the moment to calm my nerves as I study him.
He's dressed in a black button down shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His jeans are on the lighter side and his hair is mussed by some invisible wind, since Arizona is anything but windy. Taking a deep breath, I step from out of the shadows.
I know the moment he sees me because whatever he was about to say freezes on his lips. His eyes grow just a little rounder, piercing me to the bottom of my soul. I see appreciation there and maybe a something like awe. I feel myself grow hot under his scrutiny and I have to will my feet to move toward him.
"Hello, Grayson." I’m about to give myself a high five because my voice comes out even. He continues to stand there, and I fight the urge to reach over and close his mouth a little. Instead, I settle for waving my hand in front of his face. He blinks, as if coming out of a fog.
"Hello, Brooklynn." The look still hasn't left his eyes and I let myself
bask in the appreciation. I took care with my make up and even curled my hair, to compliment my outfit. When his gaze sweeps over the rest of me I feel it like a physical caress. My skin begins to tingle and it takes everything in me not to close the mere inches gap between us and let him wrap me in his arms. If I wasn't red before, I'm bursting with color now.
I turn to Dakota and find her amused eyes on me.
"You two have fun now," she says wiggling her eyebrows. With a small wave in her direction, we turn and make our way to the front of the building. Grayson shocks me by being a complete gentleman and opening the doors for me. I try not to be too pleased with that, considering I'm having a hard time staying neutral when it comes to him.
"You—" Grayson begins taking his place in the driver seat of his car. "You look beautiful."
I whip my head in his direction, wondering if I heard him right. The last part was said almost under his breath. The pleasure of his quiet words washes over me.
"How's your family been?" I say, searching for a safe topic as I settle a little more comfortably in my seat.
He signals a turn."Well, you've met my dad. He's still larger than life and thinks he's funny. Noah is almost six now."
"Noah?"
"Right, my brother. I don't think you've ever met him."
"I didn't know you had a brother."
"He was born pretty much right before we left." He doesn't say anything else, almost lost in his own head. “My family... It hasn’t been easy, these past six years. I’ve—I don’t really talk to people about this.”
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I understand.” I definitely do understand family drama, and Grayson knows this. Maybe not to the complete extent, but I told him my parents aren’t very supporting of me. He’s seen how that hurts me.
We pull up in front of his house and he turns the car off but doesn't get out.
I sit for a moment, letting him make a decision before I finally ask. "Want to tell me about it?"
At first, I don't think he's going to answer. He grips the steering wheel, his knuckles white. But maybe because of the understanding that came from years of experience, he decides that I’m trustworthy enough to tell. Or maybe it’s the look in my eyes just then; I can’t hide the compassion in them. He studies me for a second, before taking a deep breath.
"Mom didn't want to be pregnant," he begins, the bitterness in his voice evident. "She most definitely didn’t want another kid. Her and dad used to fight about it all the time. She kept saying that I was enough and we didn't need anyone else. I know you may ask why she just didn't get an abortion, but she wouldn't do something like that. They fought about options, but for my dad, there weren’t any other than keeping the baby. The closer it came to the due date, the more she resented it all. She started drinking and eating unhealthy. Dad tried to control her but he could only do so much.
When the time came for her to have the baby, she went to the hospital without us. Dad found out from our neighbors and took off after her. He got there right on time. They were going to let the adoption agency have him, but dad intercepted the paperwork and the exchange. Apparently, she was deemed unstable, dad had been trying to get the legal papers processed. Since her state of mind placed the child in harm’s way even before he was born, dad had the final decision. From what I heard later, they fought and he said he was keeping the baby and she could do whatever she wanted. So she told him she’d do the one thing she'd wanted since they day they got back from their honeymoon and leave him."
He stops for a second, a tremor racing through his body.
Tentatively, I take his hand in mine, wrapping my fingers tightly around his. He glances down at our joined hands in surprise, then his eyes meet my own.
"Noah became my responsibility. Dad had to work a lot because mom took most of the money in the divorce, but we made it. We had to make some sacrifices and that's why we left. We went to live with my grandmother in this tiny town in Connecticut."
"Why did you come back?"
"It was time." He's still staring down at our hands and I can't read his expression. I’m not sure what to say, I can’t find the right words. I wish I could.
His thumb makes small circles against my skin and I suppress the shivers that travel over my body. However, Grayson doesn't miss the goosebumps that race up my arm. Playfully, I punch him in the shoulder, releasing his hand. I reach for the door, but he catches me before I can make a move.
"Hey," he says. I look at him. "Thank you." I'm not sure what he's thanking me for, but I don't ask because he's out of the car and coming to my side next.
"Ready for—" he doesn't finish because a child runs toward him, screaming loudly. The next moment, the little blur of movement is wrapped around Grayson's legs.
"I thought you were going to sit out here forever," the voice says from somewhere below. Grinning, Grayson disentangles himself from his brother before kneeling down.
"Noah," he says turning the boy to face me. "This is Brooklynn." I kneel down as well, but the boy shifts, hiding behind Grayson.
"Hi Noah, it's nice to meet you." I hold out my hand for a shake and after a moment he takes it. I smile at the little boy's shyness.
"You're pretty," he whispers before ducking back behind his brother.
"Why thank you, handsome. Would you like to escort me for dinner?" I ask, rising to my feet and reaching a hand out. He glances at his brother for a second, his chubby face shining like a bright tomato at my compliment, before grasping my hand in his. I throw a triumphant look Grayson's way but he only shakes his head, following close behind.
"Brooklynn!" Mr. Banks greets me warmly as we step into the house. I guess they've been watching us out the window for a while now. Mr. Banks wraps me in a hug, before leading us to the kitchen. "It's good to see you. I made lasagna. I hope you like Italian."
"Yes, I'm a fan. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. Wait till you try it. It'll be another few minutes."
"Would you like some help?" I ask, because the manners my mother instilled in me are ever present.
"No, but thank you. Just take a seat at the table." Grayson leads me to a chair, pulling it out so I can sit down. He really needs to stop with the gentleman-like moves. Noah is still holding my hand, so he settles beside me.
"Hey shorty, that's my seat," Grayson grumbles and I smile.
Noah turns to his brother and says with a completely straight face, "I don't see your name on it." Then he squeals as Grayson lunges for him, his hand dropping swiftly from mine as he runs to the other side of the table. I laugh at their antics, while Grayson mutters under his breath and takes the now empty seat next to me. Mr. Banks comes into the room before anyone can say a word, placing the steaming dish of lasagna in front of us. He takes his place at the head of the table, arms outstretched and his boys each take a hand. Grayson gives me a small smile, reaching for my hand and I clasp it tightly in mine.
We bow our heads. After a quick prayer, we dig into the meal, but my hand still tingles from where Grayson touched me.
As I listen to the conversation playing out around me, I think back to what Grayson told me in the car. Mr. Banks has every right to be a bitter old man, but he's not. He's just as lively as I remember and he obviously adores his two boys. I don't remember the last time my family talked this much during dinner. To us, family dinner has become more of a ritual than an opportunity to spend time together.
I try not to let the sadness set in, but it’s hard to keep the emotion from blossoming within my heart. The sweetness of the picture this family paints is beautiful. Grayson catches my eye and an unspoken question hangs in the space between us. I do my best to void my face of all emotion, but gratitude. He takes that in at face value, not asking anything verbally. Over the last weeks, he’s become acutely attuned to my emotions, and that makes him very dangerous to my heart.
TWENTY - TWO
Flattery is like cologne water, to be smelt, not swallowed. - Josh Billings
>
"And he ran right into the tree as if it wasn't even there!"
We're laughing so hard, I'm gasping for breath as Mr. Banks tells yet another embarrassing Grayson story.
"He thought he was Superman, so of course the tree wasn't supposed to be an obstacle. Needless to say, he wore a big shiner for weeks after that."
"Hey, you told everyone you got it while taking care of some thugs who wanted to steal the groceries from an old lady!" I accuse, suddenly remembering this from fifth grade. He came into school like he owned the place, proudly displaying his injury. I, of course, was staying away from him, but I heard the rumors. Dakota made sure of that.
"I can't believe you remember that."
"I can't believe you thought you could run over a tree and walk away from it without a scratch." Something passes between us as our eyes meet and I'm the first one to look away. I can almost feel the satisfaction radiating off Grayson's body, as if he scored a winning goal at state championship. I glance up to see Mr. Banks smiling in our direction.
"You know Brooklynn, Grayson talked about you a lot growing up. Actually I don't remember him not talking—"
"Dad!" Grayson exclaims, pure horror on his face.
"Shh, Grayson," I wave a hand in his direction, "your father is speaking. Please continue." I place my hands under my chin, my full attention on Mr. Banks.
"No, Dad, really don't." Grayson stands, grabbing for one of my hands, "If we can be excused, I'm going to show Brooklynn around."
"But Grayson!" I protest. He drags me out of the room, the sound of laughter following our steps.
"Hey, I was looking forward to that story!"
"Here we have the living room and Dad's room is through that hallway," he says, leading the way, my hand still tightly in his. "Let's go upstairs."
"So, you talked about me?" I’m determined to get an answer.
"Here is Noah's room." He points to the open door and I see a typical little boy's room, blue walls and cars thrown everywhere. A crayon scribble on the wall.
