by Nicky James
We walked for a long time in silence until we found a bench in the shade, away from other visitors. Iggy tugged me down to sit and dug in his pocket. From within, he pulled out a little Ziplock bag full of seeds.
“What is that?”
“Birdseed. Wanna see if we can get them to eat from our hands?”
I dropped my backpack at my feet and crossed my legs on the bench, facing him. “Yes!”
How did this man make it so hard to keep my smiles contained? If it didn’t slice into my self-confidence so bitingly, I might not hide. Iggy gave me every reason to believe he wouldn’t mock this small imperfection that most days felt larger than life. But what if, for one brief moment, he stared? What if, for one fraction of a second, I witnessed that pity or a flinch of awkward tension? What if he never looked at me the same again?
I’d probably crumble and die inside. Nothing would hurt me more.
I couldn’t do it.
Iggy dug through the bag and pinched a small nip of seeds between his fingers. When he brought it out, he nodded at my hand.
“Hold out your hand and stay as still as possible.”
Extending an arm palm up, I waited as Iggy scattered the tiny seeds down each of my fingers and over my open hand. He shuffled back on the bench and sat perfectly still, only his eyeballs glanced around, searching for winged visitors.
For passing minutes, we both sat unmoving, waiting, barely breathing.
“How long do I wait?” I asked without moving my lips.
“Shh…” Iggy’s gaze fixed on something behind me. His eyes widened, and they flicked to mine. His expression alone told me we had interest close by.
I held my breath and fought the strain in my muscles as my arm grew heavier. It was sad, but I didn’t have the strength to keep going much longer.
Then, something landed on my head, hopped around a moment and fluttered down my arm to my palm instead. I almost yelped, I almost flew off the bench in a panic, but the sheer wonder and joy on Iggy’s face kept me in place.
Turning my head as slowly as possible, I watched as a tiny chickadee nipped away at the seeds on my hand, completely unconcerned with the two giant humans beside him. His little twig legs and gripping feet clung to my skin as he danced about, cocking his head this way and that, intently listening for danger.
I bit my lower lip to contain the burst of joy wanting to tug my cheek into a lopsided smile. However, it wouldn’t have mattered if I let it free. When I shifted my gaze, I noticed Iggy completely enamored by the bird. With slow, precise movements that wouldn’t startle our company, Iggy pinched more seeds from his baggie and held his palm out close to mine.
The chickadee didn’t notice his actions and continued to enjoy his little feast. After hopping about for another minute, his wings fluttered and lifted him into the air where he landed on Iggy that time.
With nature as our sole background music, Iggy and I fed the bird. Back and forth he grazed, emitting a tiny chirp from time to time.
Unfortunately, our tranquil little bubble shattered when noisy children ran down a path nearby. Our chickadee friend flew away to a high tree and hopped along the branch until he soared out of sight.
“That was so amazing,” I said, looking into the swaying branches, searching among the camouflage of leaves to see if I could see where he went.
“I should sprinkle the seeds on your head and try to coax him back.”
I ducked my chin and snorted, shoving Iggy playfully. “No! He’ll use my hair as a nest or poop on me.”
Iggy caught my arm and slid closer, tipping my chin up and tucking my flyaway hair behind my ear. I knew he sought a glimpse of my smile.
That time, he didn’t ask, though.
“Can’t have him pooping on you, I guess.”
The sun caught in Iggy’s amber eyes making them liquid gold as he studied my face. His thumb traced the curve of my jaw before he leaned in and caught my mouth with his. We traded many toe-curling kisses under the trees and among the gardens before breaking apart.
“This feels so surreal,” Iggy said as he trailed fingers through my hair, feeling it, fluffing it, smoothing it through his fingers. “Never in a million years would I have guessed I’d be here kissing little Arden McMillan.”
I scrunched my nose and head-butted his shoulder. “Don’t call me that. I’m not little.”
“Got news for you. You are so little.” Iggy chuckled and drew me against his chest. “But I like you that way. You fit just right into my arms.”
And there was nowhere else I’d rather be.
It was perfect.
The day was perfect.
My life—for once—was perfect.
“Will you show me your drawings?” Iggy asked.
Glancing up into his warm gaze, I looked for any indication he was humoring me. What I found was true curiosity and interest. Hope that I would share something so special with him.
“Sure.”
I pulled from his arms and dug through my backpack. I’d brought a few books and stacked them each on my lap. Toying with my bottom lip, I thumbed through one, flicking pages and scanning before handing it over.
Iggy rested it on his knee like I’d handed him the most fragile piece of china. Carefully, he opened the book, turning each page with a delicate touch. One after another. His lips parted, but he didn’t say a thing. Eyes scanning, fingers hovering over each sketch, Iggy took in my drawings and examined all their details.
“These are amazing. You have incredible talent.”
“They’re okay.”
“They’re more than okay.”
After a dozen more pages, he peeked up. “Question. And please don’t be offended, but why no heads? I know your focus is on the clothing design, but all these pictures are headless mannequins. They almost feel incomplete.”
“Can’t draw heads and faces to save my life. Ask me to create the most intricate design and detail all the little nuances on paper, no problem. My faces come out looking like a preschooler did them. So I quit trying.”
“I bet they aren’t that bad.”
“I bet they are.”
A few more pages and Iggy closed the first sketchbook and opened the second.
“You must draw all the time. There are so many.”
“Whenever an idea strikes me… which I guess is pretty much all the time. It’s calming. I love creating. Starting with a blank page and knowing I can go anywhere, make anything. No limits, no rules, just an empty slate, making something from nothing.”
Iggy took my hand and turned it over, tracing his thumb over the callus on the side of my pointer finger. “That explains why you have smudges on your fingers like this. From sketching, right?”
I pulled away and examined my hand which was tinted a dark gray. “Yup. I was drawing this morning.”
“What did you draw this morning?”
I took the book from Iggy’s lap and flipped to the end until I found the piece I was working on. It wasn’t a unique creation, but a memory I’d been trying to capture. My cheeks warmed as I turned it back, wondering if he’d recognize it.
His head tipped to the side, and his mouth quirked when it hit him. “This is the suit I wore to Phoenix’s wedding. This is me.”
“Yup. A headless Iggy. Apparently, I can’t really draw hands either.”
I frowned, scrutinizing the attempt I’d made at capturing his big gentle hands as he’d straightened his cuffs, anxiously fidgeting while we’d stood outside the church after the service. The sun had lit up his face that day, but I knew I could never do it justice, so I hadn’t tried drawing it. His hands, though, were expressive on their own. It was a first attempt, and I was disappointed. They looked clunky and proportionately off.
Iggy didn’t seem to notice or care. He studied the picture with an eye-creasing smile.
“Phoenix says you’ve been crushing on me since you were ten.”
I ducked my head, wishing I could shrink away. That bastard. Of course he
’d told Iggy. How utterly humiliating.
“Yeah, ‘lil bit.”
Iggy closed the book and handed it back. Warm, liquid eyes moved all over my face before he leaned in and captured my mouth again, kissing me until I was boneless and breathless. Man he could kiss, and he seemed to enjoy it as much as me.
“I’m flattered,” he breathed against my mouth between nips. “This is really good.”
“You think so?”
“I do.”
We breathed the same air, hovering close for many beats before Iggy cleared his throat and pulled back. “Wanna walk more?”
“Sure.”
We spent the afternoon in the garden, sneaking a peek at a wedding party having pictures taken where I shared my opinions on their choices and Iggy listened.
Iggy told me about some of the volunteer work he did around town, about his friend Mickey who he worked with, and about his mother and all the things they enjoyed together.
As much as I would have killed to be somewhere private so we could get to know each other on a more personal level, it was nice to walk and talk and share.
Between Iggy’s work schedule and mine, the week didn’t look promising for another get-together, but we kept in touch, texting constantly. Morning, noon, and a sweet little goodnight every night.
My heart was full to bursting, and I’d never smiled more than I had since Phoenix’s wedding—even if the only person who knew about those smiles was me.
Chapter Twelve
Arden
“Are you coming to Sunday brunch?” I asked Bryn while I squinted at the color selections of embroidery thread all lined up against the wall at the craft store we’d been shopping at for the past hour.
“You ask like I’ve been given a choice. Since when can we not show up for Sunday brunch and not hear an earful?”
“Paisley hasn’t been for three months, and Phoenix skips out all the time. Case in point, last weekend.”
“Paisley is in another country, and Phoenix is the master of excuses and the golden child. Don’t be fooled, though. He won’t get away with it as much anymore. Now that he’s married, he’ll be expected to bring Carrie all the time because Mom and Dad will be anxiously awaiting news of a coming grandchild.”
“I get the feeling it will be a long wait, and they shouldn’t hold their breath. I can’t see Phoenix and Carrie jumping the gun on kids right away. They are both too job-oriented.”
“Um… it will happen. You can’t stop stuff like that.”
“Seriously?!” I flicked Bryn’s ear playfully and rolled my eyes. “You can’t honestly believe Phoenix follows all the rules just cuz the church says he should. It’s the twenty-first century, Bryn. Contraception was invented for a reason: so you don’t end up with nine kids like Mom and Dad! You can be so naïve.”
Bryn shoved me as her cheeks flamed. “I am not naïve. How am I supposed to know these things? I’m a good little Catholic girl. I follow all the rules. Phoenix doesn’t talk to me about that stuff. Besides, that would be… weird.”
Bryn’s innocence was confounding. How she’d managed to make it through high school and college without being tainted by today’s society was anybody’s guess. She was the actual rule-abiding child whereas the rest of us had learned to walk outside the lines and hide it from Mom and Dad.
Or, if you were me, you flaunted it shamelessly in their faces and dared them to take issue.
“Are you telling me you are twenty-two years old and you’ve never had sex?”
“Eww, you are my brother, and we are not talking about this.”
Her face took on another three shades of red, and she hugged her self, glancing around the store like someone might hear us talking about scandalous topics.
“You are so innocent it makes me sick.”
“I am not. How did this turn into a conversation about me?”
I wanted to laugh. I collected three small spools of embroidery thread from the wall and held them together. “Which one do you like better?”
Bryn’s shoulders fell, and she uncrossed her arms looking relieved at the change of subject. She studied the choices and pointed to the middle one. “This one. What’s it for anyhow?”
“I’m going to make a swatch for this new design I came up with. If I can convince Matilda to sponsor the idea and front me the money, I want to make it for the fall fashion show instead of the one I was working on. Then, she can sell it in her shop when I’m done with it, and I can pay her back with the money it earns.”
“Have I seen this design?”
“No. I just drew it up last week while I was out with… doing stuff.”
I ducked my head back to the threads.
“Out with doing stuff?”
“I’m redrawing it to make it perfect for when I show Matilda. I drew the original in the dark, so it’s not that great. I’ll show you on Sunday.”
“In the dark? Out with doing stuff? How about you just cut the crap and tell me who you were with, where you were out, why it was dark, and what stuff you were doing.”
I tossed four spools of thread into my basket and glared at my sister. “Is this Clue?”
“No. This is ‘We never keep secrets from each other and what are you hiding?’”
I bit back a smile. “Okay. Arden did it with Iggy at the park by the river while we were stargazing. And possibly a little bit more on a second date at Riverside Gardens last weekend.”
Bryn’s eyes bugged out, and she hissed, “Oh, Mylanta, you did it with Iggy? As in IT it? Phoenix’s Iggy? Iggy who snuck into the wedding underneath Mom and Dad’s noses? You did it? In public? Twice? Outside? How does this have anything to do with a new design for a dress? Oh, Mylanta, I’m so confused.”
“Shh!” I clamped a hand over her motor mouth because her volume was steadily increasing. Get Bryn going and there was no stopping her. “Not IT it. We didn’t have sex. We just made out a little. We’re kinda dating.”
Bryn peeled my hand back, freeing her mouth. “Kinda? You are, or you aren’t. Holy poop, you made out with Phoenix’s Iggy. He is gonna F-ee-reak!”
“Yeah, he already did. And he’s not Phoenix’s Iggy. He’s my Iggy now.”
Bryn’s eyes darted sideways as a thought occurred to her. When she looked back, they were wider—if it was possible.
“Have you done it yet? How does that work anyway? Not how does it work. I know how… At least, I think I know how. Maybe I don’t want to think about that. What I mean is… I don’t know what I mean. I mean I do know what I mean but… is it, like, against the rules for gay people to do it before marriage too? I mean, since being gay is apparently against the rules already, you know? Or at least in Mom and Dad’s eyes. Are you gonna wait? Can you get married? Is that legal here?”
I pressed my palm over her mouth again. “We really need to work on your brain to mouth filter. A quick rundown, since we’re in the middle of a store and this isn’t really a place to have this conversation. No, we haven’t done it yet. Yes, we probably will, and I can break all the rules I want since I don’t believe in them to begin with.”
Bryn’s eyes grew, but I tightened my grip on her mouth.
“I don’t need to be married to have sex, although, yes it is legal here. And if you don’t know how it’s done, I’m not helping you with that. Google it. You should have paid more attention in sex ed.”
“They don’t teach sex ed in Catholic school let alone the gay version unless you got classes I didn’t.”
“Bryn?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m calling this conversation over. Let’s finish grabbing my things and get out of here.”
“Deal.”
It earned me silence while we weaved up and down the aisles. When we stood in line, she nudged my shoulder. “Are you telling Mom and Dad?”
“Not yet, so keep it quiet.”
“What if Phoenix tells them?”
I’d considered that possibility but felt confident he wouldn’t risk
the backlash I could throw at him.
“He won’t.”
I stacked my purchases on the counter when it was our turn. My hands noticeably shook—which was happening a lot lately, so to draw attention elsewhere before Bryn could question it, I asked, “Will you still be my dress model for the fashion show?”
“Of course. When is it again?”
“Beginning of November. The first weekend after Halloween.”
“I’m in. You need to eat something. You’re shaking.”
So much for diverting attention.
“I’m fine.”
Bryn frowned but said nothing as I paid for my purchases and accepted the bag from the cashier. I directed her out the doors and into the parking lot. What Bryn didn’t know was the shaking in my hands was only part of the problem. An odd tingling happened on occasion too. Right on the tips of my fingers. And numbness. In my hands and feet.
I’d filed those symptoms away along with extreme exhaustion, weakness, and the cluttered thinking I’d been experiencing lately. When I got home, I’d try to eat more. I had to eat more. Maybe I’d make a trip to the grocery store for another jar of peanut butter. A fresh jar. A safer jar.
The thought alone turned my stomach and stiffened my glands under my chin. I swallowed a few times, ignoring the panic sitting at the edge of my mind.
Please, not peanut butter too.
* * *
Sunday mornings were peaceful once everyone escaped the house for the nine o’clock service. I soaked them up. Sometimes, I took my sketchbook upstairs and lay in a splash of sunshine in the front room to draw. The basement was dark, and the few windows at street level only teased me with small amounts of daylight. Another reason I was desperate to move out of my parents’ home once and for all.
Other Sunday mornings, I stayed in bed, absorbing the silence and shifting in and out of sleep until what I called The Chaos returned.
Today, I hadn’t managed to make it out of bed. My sleep was fitful most nights, and I woke up feeling tired. It often made it hard to get up. Without the energy to pull myself out of bed, I stared at the ceiling while I tried to work through my recent design in my head and the steps I would need to follow to bring it to life.
