The Color of Us

by Jessica Park

  “I can only hope that we’ll make it to our destination in this basic truck. Where are we going exactly?”

  “Michelle’s. It’s the only bar in town, but they have insane jalapeño poppers and endless pitchers of beer.”

  “Those are the only two things I need right now.”

  The engine roars. “Perfect. Because that’s about all they have.”

  A few minutes later, he parks on Wake’s main road and sets his hand on my lower back after he opens the door to the bar, ushering me in first.

  I’m five steps in, the blaring music and chaos of this small bar hitting me, when I turn and stop him, impulsively setting a hand on his chest. “Danny? One thing?”

  “Name it,” he says genuinely.

  I try to lift my touch, but I falter for more than a second. Way more than a second. But how can I not be distracted by what’s under my palm? By what I see when my gaze shifts to his arms? How his T-shirt hugs him so tightly and innocently? Shit, these muscles have come from actual hard work. Not the gym, not any kind of prescribed workout, not an LA trainer. And he has no idea how hot he looks.

  It takes a second, but I shake off my lewd thoughts because he’s with Mary Ann.

  “You’re driving me home tonight, yes?”

  “Yes,” he agrees.

  “That means that you cannot get drunk tonight. You shouldn’t have been drinking the other night when you showed up at my place, and I totally should have stopped you, but I didn’t.” I can hear how my voice changes, how I softly plead. “Danny, you can’t do that. You cannot drink and drive. Even though Wake is not traffic central, it’s still not smart.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. That wasn’t okay.” The tone and stance he takes tell me that he’s serious. “And I’ll have two beers tonight, and then I’m a water man. Okay?”

  I nod in thanks.

  “It won’t happen again.” His hand goes over mine, and it’s only now that I realize that I’m still touching him. He only whispers his next words, but I will hear them forever. “I’m responsible for you. I don’t take that lightly.”

  There’s a squeal from across the room, and both of us are swallowed up in a Mary Ann hug.

  “I brought you more eggs!” she yells. “Danny texted me that you’re a master chef now!” She doesn’t give either of us time to comment before she drags us back to a table. “Callie, meet our besties. Not only do I have two dozen more eggs for you, but I also have two new boys for you, Matteo and Slow.” She flops back into the booth and eyes the table. “Neither of them has to be refrigerated.”

  When I look over, I’m not sure what’s more attractive—the boys or the additional fresh eggs.

  twelve

  The boy she called Slow stands up. “Phil Slowski. Pleasure to meet you.” His shoulder-length wavy curls are not normally something that would make me lose my shit, but I cannot ignore the fact that he’s obscenely gorgeous. He’s all shiny hair and jawline and smiles and hulking shoulders.

  “Tell her your real name!” Mary Ann yells out with tipsy delight. “Your full name!”

  Slowski groans as he shakes my hand. “Seriously? Fine,” he says with a sigh-and-eye-roll combo. “Phillip Stanislos Wachowski.”

  “But does he look like a Phil? Nope. So, we turned his big ol’ name into Slowski. Such a cutie.” Her attempt at a whisper is a colossal failure.

  When Phil stands, Mary Ann turns away to hide her audible reaction. There’s no way that I can blame her for the way she takes a sharp breath, but I put out a hand and coolly introduce myself. “Callie. So nice to meet you as well.”

  “And this is Matteo. Also hot,” Mary Ann says in another non-whisper. “But you and I are not his type, unfortunately. And not because he’s Italian and his mom is dying for him to marry another Italian.”

  Matteo is indeed hot. Olive skin and brown hair that is styled so perfectly and clearly so effortlessly, a sharp jaw, and a brilliant smile. Also, shoulders, which is obviously a trend in this guy group. Not that I’m complaining. All the manual labor pays off.

  “It’s true,” he says with a lovely accent. “We will not end up in a romance, but I’m sure you already have too many of those, yes?”

  I laugh. “Not even close, but I like your positivity.”

  After the second gorgeous one has introduced himself and buys us all tequila shots, Danny winks at me when he passes his off to Slowski.

  He’s keeping his promise.

  I almost duck when I spot Ray the butcher and Jackson from Finley’s Minis shop, but their friendly waves make me reciprocate.

  Pitchers of cheap beer abound, and then the music amps up until we’re all on the dance floor in this tiny bar. At first, it’s all about us jumping around, being silly and fun, but then the music slows, and our mood collectively follows.

  “Ma’am?” Slowski gestures for a dance and then takes me into his arms, respectfully and sweetly, not pushing for anything, simply being friendly, which I appreciate.

  And especially because I’m busy watching how Danny holds Mary Ann with such care. The way he cradles her, kisses her cheek, makes her laugh. She might lust after Slowski, but she’s obviously with this seemingly perfect boy.

  Danny glances up at me. I meet his eye contact before looking away.

  He’s not available. And I’m only here for a heartbeat, I remind myself.

  When we’re all danced out, Mary Ann leads me to the bar and hops onto a stool. “Is Slow not everything? He’s so goddamn sexy. His father is Polish, and his mom is Japanese. It’s apparently the best genetic combination. I mean, look at him.”

  “Um, okay, yes. I totally agree that he couldn’t be hotter. But I mean, what about Danny?”

  “What about him?”

  “Hello? Your boyfriend, Danny?”

  “What?” she nearly shrieks. “What in the hell? Danny?” It’s about all I can do to stop myself from clapping my hand over her mouth. “What? I could never have any kind of a thing with Danny. Oh my God, no. Never.”

  It takes me a moment to reply. “I just assumed you guys were together.”

  It’s only after she orders us tequila shots, which she makes us down, and after she leans forward and lets her curls cover her face that she replies, “I needed a shot after that hilarity. Do you know how Danny and I met? Probably not. God, I didn’t even have to ask him not to tell anyone. That’s so perfectly, beautifully him.” She smiles. “Let’s go outside. I need air.”

  Danny’s watchful gaze follows us, but I nod that all is okay. She’s very buzzed but so, so wanting to talk.

  After we’re seated on one of the benches, she inhales the night air and giggles. “So, no, Danny is not my guy. Not my boyfriend.”

  “But he’s something, right?” I offer.

  “Yes, he’s something.” Her demeanor grows serious. “A big something. Danny didn’t tell you how he and I met?” she asks again. “How we became friends?”

  “No. I mean, I’ve only been here a few days. And you don’t have to tell me anything.”

  “I know I don’t. But I like you. And Danny likes you. And you’re a part of this town. A town that has saved me, like it’s saved so many people. So, I want you to know.

  “About three years ago, I was at the University of Vermont. My freshman year. I was flunking school but in love with a guy. A horrible guy. He had been so charming at first. But I know now that he was grooming me. That’s the term I’ve learned. Grooming. Such a sweet word that we use for talking about prettying up dogs and shit, right? But it’s an ugly word. And he did groom me. Initially made me feel safe and secure. And he sculpted me and my life. Worked it so that I cut myself off from my friends and my family. Until I was alone and isolated with him as the only person in my life.

  “He hit me a few times when we fought, and I blamed myself for being annoying. Out of line. And then it got worse.”

  Watching her hold back tears is crushing, but I let her keep talking.

  “He choked me once, and that
was another thing that was my fault. I didn’t deserve to breathe, he told me. To live.”

  My hand finds hers, and I squeeze.

  Through ragged breaths, she continues, “One night, things escalated even more. Somehow, I stopped him, and I took off. But the worst thing is that even as I was fleeing, I wanted to go back and apologize to him. I drove anyway, sobbing and hating myself. But I knew I had to run. I think he would have killed me if I hadn’t escaped. And I drove until I couldn’t any longer, until I was on the side of the road, crying and screaming.”

  I brush her hair from her face. I know what happened next. “That’s when Danny found you.”

  She nods. “Yes. This was about an hour outside of Wake. Danny was coming home from picking up materials for a job, and I, without knowing what I was doing, was subconsciously heading to my grandparents’ place. He thought I was having car trouble, and he pulled over. Instead of finding someone who needed a tire change, he found me. Someone who could barely talk. Or function.”

  She lifts her head and looks at me. “Both of my eyes were already turning purple. Swelling. Handprints were starting to show from when my boyfriend had grabbed me after he threw me against a wall. And my neck was raw because he’d choked me so hard. Danny tried to get me to go to the emergency room, but even the idea of that made me more hysterical. He talked to me for almost an hour before I agreed to let him take me to his place. That sweet boy pulled out ice packs, frozen peas, whatever he could find. Anything to heal my bruises. I didn’t tell him what I’d been through, but it was obvious.

  “I dropped out of UVM two days later, and I stayed with him for nearly three weeks before I called my parents in Boston and told them what happened. As much as they wanted me to file a police report, they were supportive when I said that I wanted to leave school and stay with my grandparents. The system would never work in my favor. Never. And now, I’m here.” Mary Ann wipes her eyes. “Now, I’m here, and I’m safe. And happy. Danny is the reason that I’m not back with that asshole, and Danny is the reason that I’m not dead.”

  We sit silently for a few minutes.

  “Sometimes, it only takes one person to save your life,” I suggest. “And he’s your person.”

  “Yes,” she agrees. “He’s my person. And he might be yours too.”

  I rub her arm. “No. He’s a boy from my childhood—that’s all. Besides,” I say as I lift her to stand, “I’m not really here.”

  “We’ll see.” Now, she squeezes my hand.

  After I send her home safely with Slowski, I get into Danny’s truck.

  “Does Shallots not like the nightlife?” I ask. “It feels weird that he’s not here.”

  He revs the engine. “Oh, Shallots is all about the nightlife. He so loves the nightlife, and he also loves the boogie. He sometimes boogies by passing out in his bed and snoring in the rudest manner. We all have our own styles.”

  “Well, that’s very true.”

  It’s minutes until he has me home. Well, back at the house.

  I undo my seat belt and open the door, but then I ask softly, “Why does my dad’s car still run? I mean, I don’t know if it’s drivable, but it starts. And why is it clean? Why is the house clean?” It seems that I have chugged-beer-induced questions. “And there’s food in the house. I don’t understand. Who did this?”

  Danny laughs lightly. “Well, the car thing is on me. Your dad was going to teach me how to drive on that Pathfinder, so I’ve made sure to stay on top of maintenance. Changing the oil, filters, all that. I dunno. It was important to me that it stayed in good shape. It needs more work, but now that you’re back, I’ll get it into true driving shape, not solely start-up shape.”

  “I can’t believe you did that.” I freeze up for a second. “And wait, what? Why was my dad going to teach you how to drive? What about your mom?”

  “Oh. It’s nothing. My mom traveled all the time, like I told you. Your dad always talked about how he was waiting to teach both of us.”

  “It was still years away, but—”

  “Then, he died.” Danny lifts his head and shares a sympathetic smile. “After? I had to save his SUV, right? I did the boring maintenance and whatever. It’s nothing.”

  The light from the moon glimmers over the lake as I shake my head. “It’s not nothing, Danny. It’s not nothing at all.”

  “You’ll need to get it inspected and all that, but it’ll pass. I’ll make sure of that.”

  I all but tumble out of his truck. “And the house? The food?”

  Danny is at my side with one arm around my waist and Mary Ann’s egg gift in the other. “You’ve got family here, whether you know it or not.” He looks forward as he tells me what seems unimaginable and too kind, but what I guess is the truth. “Paul and other people have maintained your house over the years. And not only the stuff that your mom asked and paid for. When we all heard that you were coming back? You were obviously going to have a lot to deal with, and nobody wanted you coming home to a mess. To nothing. We wanted you to come back to what could feel like home.”

  “To orange juice that was freezing and icy and perfect?”

  “To that and more.”

  I’m in disbelief. “I’ve always liked my orange juice that way. You all remembered that about me somehow. It’s crazy.”

  He walks me toward the front door and ignores it when I stumble.

  “Danny?”

  “Yeah, Callie?”

  “Do you remember the snowmen and the fascinators? Because I do,” I say with a happy sigh. “Do you still do that stuff?”

  Now, he’s the one who stumbles, and then he stops for a moment to think. “Wow. I almost forgot. No. I haven’t done that in years,” he admits with a laugh.

  “Maybe you should start that up again, Snow Fascinator Boy.”

  “You won’t be here to see it.”

  “You should do it anyway.”

  While I fumble with my keys and Danny’s hand is still protectively against me, I’m hit with another random memory. “You were there when my dad caught an eel.”

  It takes a second before he responds. “Wow! You’re right. I was over here, fishing with your dad, and he freaking caught an eel, and that eel wrapped itself around his wrist. You were going all bananas and screaming, and I was starstruck.” Danny laughs softly and takes a moment. “And he was calm as could be,” he says quietly. “I’ll never forget that.”

  The lock finally clicks.. The door pushes open when I crash against it. “I think he smacked it a few times until it let go. My dad was a cool shit, wasn’t he?”

  Danny nods. “Yes, he was. He was a completely cool shit.”

  I step inside and then turn to look into his eyes. “I had a really fun time tonight, Schroeder. Thank you for making me feel less miserable than I have felt in a very long time.”

  It’s clear that he’s trying not to smile as he hands me the eggs. “My pleasure. But from now on, I’m going to shoot for higher than ‘less miserable.’ ”

  I let my eyes linger while he walks to his truck. “Best of luck with that! I’m not an easy egg to crack!”

  Now, his laugh bellows through the night. “Very punny! We’ll see! But don’t break those actual eggs.”

  My tumbler of ice water and I find ourselves in the living room, lying on the couch and gazing at the shelves that surround the fireplace.

  “Monopoly! Life!” I scream out. “You are some good games!” I point at a specific spot on a shelf. “Pictionary. Damn, Pictionary. You never got the credit you deserve. Who gives a fuck if everyone can’t draw? And how am I supposed to play these games by myself?” I lurch forward from my seat. “Unfair!” I cry out drunkenly.

  What’s totally unfair is that I now find myself face-to-face with photo albums, and it’s equally unfair that they are dusty and that they make me sneeze. My parents printed out photos, even when no one else did, and I can’t decide if I hate that or love that. But I look through photo after photo after photo.

&nbs
p; God, my father was such an incredible father. He whipped up baby food, spotted me on high swings, caught me when I flew off the dock.

  For a moment, I do laugh though because for reasons no one can understand, I used to call out, “One, two, three … coffee!” and then hurl myself into the water. And my dad always caught me.

  I turn to another page of photos. My head is spinning. My dad took me to the aquarium in Boston and fueled me with dim sum from Chinatown. And Red Sox games. Concerts.

  Shit, we saw Prince at an all-ages show when I was a kid.

  And there are pictures of us as a family. Whole. Happy. Before my mother found out that I was nothing. Incompetent across the board. Before Erica and I loathed each other.

  It’s easy to see why my mother left these behind. Every picture would have hurt even more than the next. She ran from every memory because they’re all too perfect.

  I understand now. Maybe.

  All I can think in this moment is that I have to tear everything apart, destroy what my happy past has devolved into. It’s seconds before I remember that Danny’s tool belt is in my kitchen, and when a hammer is in my hands, I am nothing but satisfied because I am gonna bang some shit up.

  And so I do.

  It’s hit after hit after hit. And I scream and sob and swear and pound against the fireplace until the hideous, outdated bullshit brick around the fireplace is shattered. And then I’m in the weird bathroom off the main entryway, pounding away at ugly tiles and smashing the floor until I’m surrounded by broken shards and my arms are beyond sore.

  I scream one thing over and over while I cry and hammer away.

  “I want my dad back. I want my dad back.”

  thirteen

  At what feels like an ungodly hour the next morning, the sound of the unrelenting knocking on my front door is boring through my skull, so I throw on a robe and almost trip down the stairs. It doesn’t matter that I was riddled with anxiety dreams about gross, overflowing toilets and having to drive cars backward. I’d still rather stay in my blanket cocoon, riddled with cliché anxiety dreams.