by Jay McLean
She nods, presses her lips to a line. “Well,” she starts hesitantly, “I’m going to stay with Bradley, so you can have the bed.”
“Do you have to?” I ask, my words rushed and loud. I get to my feet, face her completely. “I mean, I thought maybe…”
She raises an eyebrow. “Maybe what?”
“Maybe we could…” I shrug again.
She takes in my stance, my words, my nervousness, and her features soften. “What’s going on, Andie?”
“I thought maybe we could have a night in… together? Like we used to when we were kids.”
Her smile is slow, soft, a contrast to the Milky from only a few hours ago. Her shoulders drop, her defense fading with the anger that had built inside both of us. Moving toward me, she says, “I think I’d like that.”
“Yeah?”
She takes my hand and tugs. “Come here, you big goof.” And then I’m in her arms, the absolute last place I thought I’d find peace. But I do. Because Noah was right. This—what we have—it’s so much better than the alternative. “Let me just text Brad quickly, let him know I’m not coming over. I’m sure he’s already sporting a semi, at least.”
“Milky!” I laugh out, taking my blankets from the couch and moving them to her bed.
She types away on her phone while she raids our fridge and pantry for snacks so we can sneak-eat them under the covers—something we used to do as little girls so we could hide it from our grandmother.
Milky returns to the room with a tub of ice cream, two spoons, and a bag of popcorn. “It’s the best I could do.”
“It’s perfect.”
She hands me the ice cream and drops the popcorn onto the mattress. Then she strips out of her shorts, leaving her in a half top and panties, and climbs into bed. Her phone sounds with a text, and she smiles as she reads it.
“Is he mad?” I ask, removing the ice cream tub lid and dropping both spoons in there.
“Nah. He says he’s glad we’re talking and told me to apologize to you even if you don’t.”
My lips tilt with my smile. “Well, I am sorry… I shouldn’t have said what I said. I had a bad day at work.”
Milky frowns, tearing open the bag of popcorn and dumping it in the ice cream. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. Someone found out I was part of the program, and now everyone’s seeing me differently.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “That sucks, but fuck those people. They don’t know shit about you.”
I offer the best smile I can muster.
“And about not telling Grandma and Grandpa. It’s just… honestly, Andie, I think it’s better this way. For everyone. And besides, it’s not exactly the easiest conversation to have, you know?”
“I know. I get it. I overreacted.”
Milky stirs our ice cream/popcorn mixture and giggles to herself. “Oh, man, if Bradley could see us now.”
“What do you mean?”
“You and me, half-naked and in bed together? It’s like his dream.”
“Oh my God.”
“You want to mess with him a little?”
I giggle. “Okay.”
Milky pulls down the straps of my tank top and does the same with hers, then we get under the covers just enough to leave our bared shoulders revealed. She holds her phone above us, ready for a selfie. “Kiss me.”
“No way!”
“Just on the cheek, you brat.”
I kiss her on the cheek while she takes the picture, licks the spoon more seductively than any sister should ever witness. Ever.
A second later, he sends back a text.
A dick pic.
“Jesus Christ, my eyes!” I squeal.
“What? It’s a nice peen,” she laughs out, patting her phone. Then her voice changes to one used for speaking to a pet. “Such a pretty peen.”
“There’s something wrong with you two.”
We giggle harder, louder, like two little schoolgirls, and I wish we’d had more of these moments when we were younger. When we were actually school girls.
“Milky?” I ask, my mood sobering.
“Yeah?”
I ignore the ice cream and get more comfortable in bed, turning on my side so I can face her. “Bradley… he treats you right, doesn’t he?”
She sets the ice cream on the nightstand and mimics my position. Now we’re face-to-face, closer than we have been in years. She smiles, and I find myself doing the same. “He does, Andie. He treats me better than any guy I’ve ever been with, and yes, the sex is good, but… I don’t know.”
“You like him?”
She nods. “Yeah, I think I do. At first, I thought that getting him that job at the club would ruin us, you know? It felt weird being on the stage, knowing he could see me. I for sure thought he’d want nothing to do with me after that.”
I drop my gaze, guilt kicking me in the gut. “Maybe you should quit.”
“I’m not going to quit,” she says, nudging my foot with hers. “The money’s good, and we have to look at the bigger picture here. Besides, that’s not the point. The point is, afterward, he didn’t mention what I was like on stage. He opened the car door for me, waited until I was seated, and when he got in the car, he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me to him. He stayed that way the entire drive home. Like we were on a date or something.”
“Or he could just be nice.”
“That’s the thing, most of the time when guys are nice, they’re nice for one reason and one reason only. Bradley’s already had that, and he’s still nice.”
“Maybe you have a magical pussy,” I joke.
Her eyes widen. “Oh my God, Andie! Never in my life did I ever think I’d hear you say that word!”
I shrug.
She sends Bradley a text: Andie just said pussy!
He sends back another dick pic.
“Hey,” she says, shoving the phone under her pillow. “Did you talk to Noah tonight?”
I nod, my smile fading, memories of his words causing an instant ache my chest.
“He kinda went off on us for no reason…”
“He had a reason,” I say with a sigh, rolling to my back so I can stare at the cracks in our ceiling. “It’s his sister’s birthday today.”
“Oh yeah?” she asks. “Is he missing her or something?”
“Something,” I mumble, turning my head to hers. She’s watching me, her eyebrows knitted. “She killed herself two years ago. He’s the one who found her.”
“Jesus,” she whispers
“They were really close. He called her his best friend.” I focus on the ceiling again. “Why weren’t we ever best friends, Milky?”
“I don’t know,” she croaks, reaching for my hand under the covers. “But you’re my best friend now. That’s all that matters.”
“That’s because you left your old life behind for me.”
“I have a lot of regrets,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “But choosing you is not one of them.”
I squeeze her hand, my way of saying thanks.
Silence passes a beat, two, and then she’s gripping my hand so tight, I don’t know if she realizes it. “I worried about you… I worried you’d have those same thoughts…”
“I did,” I tell her honestly.
“God, Andie, I’m sorry.”
“But then if I did it, I wouldn’t serve my purpose. I wouldn’t get my reward.”
Releasing my hand, she nudges my foot again. “Noah’s nice.”
I can’t help but smile. “He is.”
“It’s a shame you didn’t meet him when we were sixteen, huh?”
“Well, he would’ve been thirteen, so that would’ve been super creepy.”
We fall into a fit of laughter and spend the night that way, talking about boys, life, love, choices and regrets. When the sun begins to rise, my twin wraps her pinky around mine, whispers the words I hadn’t known I’d been missing. “It’s just you and me now, Andromeda. BFFs
forever.”
In this room, on the first of what I hope will be many nights, my twin and I are how we should’ve been at sixteen. “Forever ever, Milky Hyphen Way.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Noah
A week has passed since I’ve seen Andie. Since I sat next to her and felt the thumping and aching of my chest from reliving that moment. Felt the warmth of her tears as she wiped them away on my shoulder.
I spent the majority of that night tossing and turning, trying not to think about the moment, the one that led me to a downward spiral of what my dad classifies as “depression.”
“It’s okay, son,” he’d told me. “It runs in the family. Your sister…”
He spoke as if he knew what was going on with me, but he had no idea. Neither did my mother. They weren’t the ones who walked into the garage that morning, discovered Christa’s limp body hanging from a rope. They weren’t the ones with the eleven missed calls. Calls for help. And they sure as hell weren’t the first one to look into her lifeless eyes, eyes that were still open—eyes that haunt me. Haunted me so badly I needed answers to the one question that kept me up at night—the question that had me afraid of what happens when the darkness clears, and the light comes on. Why, Noah? Why? And when the police confiscated her phone, said it was part of an “ongoing investigation,” I went straight to the source. She’d backed up her phone to the cloud, a cloud I set up for her. A cloud I knew the password for. Every photo, every text, every piece of her life was in those digital files, mixed among the snapshots of happiness and lies, lies, lies. More lies than my parents could comprehend within the minds of multiple psychology degrees.
Maybe that’s why they checked out. And maybe that’s why they push me away. Because bringing me closer might suffocate us all.
By the time 4 am rolled around, I had the pillow held tight to my ears, the sounds of screaming making my pulse drum, causing my body to sweat in ways that only happened when I relived that moment. The pillow was useless, though. The screams weren’t echoed in my eardrums. They were in my head, deep in the most unlit parts of my soul.
I gave up an hour later and reached into the drawer of my nightstand, fingering the orange plastic cylinder containing a few hours reprieve from those thoughts. White pills to match the white label with my name printed in ink as dark as my memories.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Andie
“Thanks for letting me buy the Doritos,” Milky says as I unload our groceries from the trunk. Milky’s wage covers our rent, the bills, the groceries, and the car payment. My wage barely covers the cost of breathing. I should know; I’m in charge of our budget. She gives me her entire pay, and I give her an allowance. We save every penny for greater days, for when the bars of the prison I’ve been living in finally slide open. “We had the money in the budget.”
“Where did we find the spare change?”
“Laundromat money,” I tell her. “Now that we can use the boys’, we have a few dollars to spare.” I carry more bags than I’m physically capable of and follow Milky up the path and toward our house, jumping when a horn sounds from behind us. Noah’s behind the wheel of his Honda, moving at a snail’s pace to accommodate our speed. He doesn’t bother waiting, though. He gets out of the car, engine idling, and rushes over to free me of the weight of the bags hanging on my forearm, the straps digging into my skin, turning my flesh an array of pinks and reds. Lips thinned to a line, my mysterious boy doesn’t speak when he runs his fingers along my arm, rubbing gently to recirculate the blood. His eyes meet mine, concern growing, and I smile. I can’t help it. “Hi,” I say, the boy in front of me causing all other thoughts to disintegrate into nothingness.
Noah’s lips curl up, up, up, until his teeth show, and the red from my arms is now on his cheeks. Our connection breaks when Milky kicks our front door, attempting to push it open. It’s no surprise that Noah jumps into action, a hero—my hero. He effortlessly, and wordlessly, guides Milky to the side by her shoulders and moves to the door, pressing with his hand flat against the timber. He rattles the doorknob, pushes, rattles again.
“It gets stuck,” Milky tells him. “It’s been like that since we moved in. We’ve told the landlord but...”
Noah nods, never once looking at her. He lifts the knob slightly and pushes again, this time allowing us entrance to our home. Chivalrous as always, he holds open the door for us before walking inside to dump the bags on our pathetic excuse for a kitchen counter. Then he returns to the door and spins his cap backward. Guh! He studies the hinges, tugs at the frame. Milky and I stand side-by-side watching his muscles flex beneath his threadbare t-shirt. “Work it, playboy,” Milky catcalls, taking a dollar bill from her pocket and throwing it at him. Milky nudges my side while Noah shakes his head, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth to contain his smile. He releases the door and turns to us, his gaze somewhere between my sister and me. “Do you have a screwdriver?”
Milky snorts. “I think the closest thing we have to a tool is Brad.”
Noah shakes his head again, then pulls out his phone, starts typing away. “Got any matches?”
Milky scoffs. “Have you seen us?” she says, wrapping her arm around my waist and pulling me to her side. “This house is hot enough.”
Noah’s eyes meet mine for a split second before moving to his hands. “I’ll be back.” He runs out of the house, to his car, parks it properly, and then disappears into his own house. Milky and I make quick work of unpacking the groceries, and a few minutes later, he’s back, a screwdriver in his hand. Milky winks at me, whispers, “This is going to be so much fun.” And then she strides over to him, hips swaying from side to side. “You need any help?” she asks. “I’m good at screwing.”
I pretend not to see Noah’s reaction: eyes wide, a slight tremble in his hands as he unscrews the hinges. Milky and I sit on the kitchen counter, watching the boy who flips my heart with his presence while she makes provocative remarks, and I simply stare.
Once the door’s removed, he pushes matches into the screw holes and then reattaches the door by its hinges, his biceps working overtime as he twists the screws in place. It’s a glorious sight, really. And I’m not the only one who notices. Milky’s eyes are trained to the strip of taut skin revealed between the bottom of Noah’s shirt and the top of his jeans, her smirk turning from teasing to lust. After Noah tests the now perfectly working door a few times, Milky jumps off the counter and sidles up to him, her arms going around his neck and pulling him down to her embrace. Noah stays frozen, everything but his eyes. Eyes on mine. Eventually, his arms move around her, not returning her embrace, but offering a single tap to her back.
Back down from the tips of her toes, Milky pulls away from our friendly neighborhood handyman and asks, “How did you know how to fix it?”
Noah shrugs. “I just looked it up.”
“Just like that, huh?”
Noah nods.
“Well,” Milky begins, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers. “One of the drawers in the kitchen sticks and one of the cabinet doors is on its last leg. Also, the tap in our bathroom leaks.”
“Milky!” I laugh out. “He’s not the maintenance guy or our landlord.”
“Put me to work,” Noah says, dropping the screwdriver into his back pocket. “I don’t mind.”
My sister skips over to the pantry and pulls out her bag of Doritos. She rips it open, throws one in her mouth and turns to him. “And trust us, playboy, we don’t mind watching you work.” So that’s what we do, Milky and I. We stand next to each other while we watch Noah look things up on his phone and then masterfully repair everything on the list we’d created to send to our landlord. Occasionally, Milky delivers scandalous, inappropriate quips toward the boy who wears a blush more than his natural tone. I expect the pang of jealousy to hit. It never does, because I know it’s just innocent teasing. Every few minutes, Noah looks up from his task and makes eye contact with me, his shy smile flooding my senses.
/>
When the list is complete, I offer him a soda from our scant supply, and he uncaps it with ease, pulling at the liquid with his head tilted back, his throat rolling with every swallow.
I suppress my moan.
Milky exaggerates hers.
Noah wipes his lips across his forearm. “If the door sticks again, let me know right away. It’s dangerous. There could be a fire or an intruder—”
“If the intruder is you, I’d welcome it,” Milky teases.
Noah shakes his head and leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, focused on the drink in his hand. “You and Bradley are on the same shifts now, right?” he asks her.
Milky nods. “Yeah, why?”
He doesn’t lift his gaze when he says, “Just wondering when it’s safe to be in my house and when I should wear earplugs,” he jokes. He jokes! The boy’s got jokes, and I aim my smile at him. Not because it was funny, but because I feel like I’ve unwrapped another layer of the Noah Mystery and I’m one step closer to the gift that is he.
“Ha ha,” Milky says, her tone bursting with sarcasm. She flicks the brim of his cap, causing it to hang loose on his head.
He adjusts it, spinning it forward again, his eyes catching and holding mine.
And I realize now, in this minuscule of moments, that Noah Morgan isn’t an enigma or a paradox or a complete and utter mystery.
Noah Morgan is a gift-giving, soul-sharing, heart-stealing boy next door...
And he only has eyes for me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Noah
Being in such close proximity to Andie does insane things to my body. And I’m not just talking the obvious things like the color in my cheeks or my inability to form a decent sentence right off the bat. I mean the thumping in my chest, and the pounding in my ears, and my hands... fuck my hands—because they seem to have a mind of their own and they want to do things to her—sweet, dirty, filthy things that keep me up at night. It’s bad enough that she’s literally sixteen steps away from where I sleep, alone, every single night. And yes, I’ve counted. But now we’re in our laundry room—together—and she’s sorting through her “delicates” while I creepily watch, waiting to show her how to use the machines.
