Damsel Distressed (34 page)

“Well, I've been thinking about that day a lot lately. And I've been…worried.”

“You shouldn't. I mean, don't worry. It's in my top five most embarrassing moments, for sure.”

He looks down and chuckles to himself. “No. I'm not worried about it happening again. I'm worried that it won't.”

I know what it sounds like he's saying, but I've been wrong before. I want to feel joy, but I'm shrouded with doubt.

Our tangled hands are the only things I see, and then he's moving his thumb across my palm and then his fingers intertwine with mine, one on top of another on top of another. We're not “holding” hands anymore. We're capital-H “Holding” hands. I clear my throat to cover the sound of my heartbeat, which I'm sure he can hear from where he sits.

“God,” I say. “I'm freaking out thinking that I'm misunderstanding something in a really major way because…you definitely pushed me away last December. So I'm obviously confused, and things are about to get really embarrassing.”

He laughs at me, and I smile.

“Then I'll say this as clearly as I can.” He grabs my knees and turns me even further around in my seat. “We were little kids and your mom walked in on us, all of six years old, playing on your kitchen table. Do you remember?”

I shake my head. “I don't think so. What were we doing?”

“You had begged me to play Sleeping Beauty. And you were lying on the table, it was so cute, and you were holding this clump of weeds like they were flowers. And I climbed up on the dining chair, right? And I'm looking at you, laying there with your eyes closed, and I'm just about to kiss you, you know, to wake you up, and your mom walks in.”

“What?” I ask, with a breathless laugh. “Why don't I remember this?”

“Well, she comes in, and she scoops me up and tickles me and whispers to me, ‘It's not time for her to wake up quite yet, Prince Charming,' and then you sat up crying and told her she'd ruined your game.”

“Oh my God, no, I didn't.”

“Oh, yes, you did. You had a flare for dramatics even then.”

He's still looking into my eyes, and he reaches up and draws his finger down the top of my nose.

“So last winter, you're lying there, and you're such a mess. You're so sad and empty, and you'd spent so much time with your eyes and your heart closed to… everything. And I just kept hearing your mom's voice. And I knew that it wasn't time yet. I knew that I didn't want to be something that you just did because you were sad and didn't know what else to try. I didn't want that moment to happen while you were still…asleep.”

My heart stops beating. The silence of it fills my head.

His thumb sweeps a rogue tear from my cheek, which causes me to breathe in abruptly as my heart thuds back to life. Slowly, sweetly, he brings his face so near to mine that our noses are almost touching.

“Grant.” I exhale his name so softly, I'm not even sure I said it. “It's time for me to wake up.”

My lips drift into a smile and brush against his, and then we're pressed together, and I feel heat and tenderness and hope rushing through me. My lips and my heart soften and melt. All I can smell is his hair and it's all over me and settling on my skin like dew. His arms lower, and soon, they're all around me, holding and comforting me as they have so many times before. And his lips on mine soothe my fears and assuage the ache that follows me around like a shadow.

The ebb and flow of his mouth and mine is the exact sort of thing that would inspire the stories I constantly resist.

But it's better than those stories because this one is real.

My whole body aches as I pull away from him.

“Gen…” He wraps his arms around me tighter, but I hold up my hand and stop him from speaking.

I reach up, run my fingers through his hair, and say, “I have never not loved you. Never.”

I start to laugh because it's like neither of us considered that there would have to be a follow-up in a scenario like this one. He giggles too and brings his face closer to mine.

“But—” I start.

“No buts!” He keels sideways, feigning exasperation, and I pretend to punch him in his ribs.

“Who's being dramatic now?” I grin as he sits back up and envelops me in his arms. His nose is buried in my hair, and as he exhales, my skin catches fire and ice and I'm only flesh and nerves.

With his arms around me, it's hard to think, but I collect myself enough to whisper in his ear as I swing my arms around his shoulders and bury my head in the hollow of his neck.

“But…I'm scared,” I say. “Like, tonight was a good night, right? And I've got all this makeup on and there was dancing and serotonin, but tomorrow's coming, and it really might suck.”

“You're right. It might suck. And if tomorrow doesn't suck, then next month might or next year. Suckiness will probably be a part of life until the day that we die.” He runs his thumb across the lace of my sleeve. He places his forehead on mine and continues with a grin, “But, I mean…if I'm too late, I understand. I guess, technically, Andrew got to you first.”

“What?” I search his face for the glow that seems to be leaking like water down a drain.

“Well, I mean, he was your first kiss.”

Just hearing Grant say the word “kiss” makes me feel like I am going to spontaneously combust. I sit up straight and say, “Well, according to the first kiss charter documents, there is a loophole that applies to delicate situations just like this one.”

His eyes shimmer with mischief and fire. “Oh, is that so?”

“Yes. According to paragraph thirty-one, a first kiss is null and void if only one side does the kissing. And technically, Andrew kissed me. I certainly did not ‘kiss him back' because I wasn't even paying any attention to him. I was trying to remember my next line. So it would seem that, in accordance with the law, his kiss must be stricken from the record.”

“Well, I definitely want to uphold the law,” he says.

“Definitely.”

The breeze stills, and the quiet is floating between us again. Every molecule in the air shudders to a stop and time itself shrinks into this tiny, meaningless thing.

His hair looks almost blue in the moonlight, and I reach up and run my fingers through it again until my hand is on the back of his head, and those eyes—more green than brown, but definitely both—cut me and cure me so completely.

I lean forward, mustering every ounce of trust, bravery, and hope I have within me, and I push myself close to him. His eyes sparkle as I close mine just before I pour my lips onto his.

Kissing…even better than being kissed.

35

T
he sunlight warms my face as it pours over me through the window. My skin flushes as the heat creeps up my neck and covers my head.

For a moment, I allow my eyes to remain closed.

I focus on the softness of my pillow and the gentle hum of my ceiling fan. I stretch my legs out, tightening my muscles and bringing life to my sleepy limbs.

My lips are soft and filled to the brim with new memories. For a moment—just a second, really—I fearfully consider that it might have just been a dream. I reach up and touch the side of my face and feel a grin pull my cheeks higher, and I know—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that it wasn't.

My eyes open, and as I sit up in bed, I look around my room, waiting for the world to present itself in a completely different way…but it doesn't. I notice all the familiar shapes. The curve of my squishy chair and the angles of my bookshelf—these are the same. I take an inventory of my feelings, recognizing instantly the same ones that walk beside me every day.

A little bit of sadness? Check.

A little bit of fear? Check.

A little bit of anxiety? Check.

And something new.

A little bit of joy?

Check.

Looking in the mirror is a strange experience for me. It always has been. Today is no different. I still see the roundness of my face, the sagging of my arms, and the dimples on my butt.

I know that I'm supposed to love myself as I am, and I think that I understand what that is supposed to mean. The girl in the mirror in front of me is the same me I always see…and I know that. But it would be so great to look in the mirror and get even a tiny glimpse of what she might be like if she weren't self-imposing the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Would she still have dark circles under her eyes if she didn't spend so much time crying?

Would she have the wrinkles across her brow if she didn't do so much scowling?

Would she weigh two-hundred pounds if she weren't constantly trying to alleviate her anxiety by sticking her hand into a jar of pre-made frosting?

Would she have captured his heart if he hadn't watched her fall apart?

I don't think I knew it was possible to feel so totally different and so totally the same in a single moment.

Predictably, I hear Evelyn bustling around in the kitchen even before I pass through the doors. She's standing at the kitchen table sorting through piles of clothes that she's setting gently into a box perched on the glass top.

“Are you packing stuff up for Goodwill? I have some shoes I can't wear,” I say as I head to the cabinet to grab my pills.

“I'm glad you're up. We have to talk.”

With my back to her, I'm startled at the sound of her voice. I've never heard it so deep or somber. I turn around and see her lift the box off of the table. Under it are a half a dozen crumpled pieces of pink paper which have been flattened out. She turns them over, and I feel the blood drain from my face.

“Evelyn, where—”

“While I was cleaning Carmella's room last night, I found these as I was emptying the trash.” Her skin looks slack, and as she sits at the table, I barely recognize her without a smile and an obnoxious glint in her eye. “When I asked her to explain these this morning, she said, quite frankly in fact, that she had violated your privacy, made these cruel copies, and posted them on your locker at school…”

I bring my hand to my chest so that I can keep my heart from poking through my skin. My heartbeat is so heavy; my eardrums are vibrating.

“So the only thing I can't figure out is why you didn't tell me about this?”

I look at the tile floor and my eyes follow the grout like a maze. “I don't know,” I mutter like a scolded child.

“Imogen, this is a big deal. Do you know that?”

“I know,” I say. I feel brave for bringing my gaze from the floor to the tabletop. “I shouldn't have written those things. And I'm sorry.”

“No.” She stands and walks around the table until she's standing in front of me. “Those thoughts are yours. What Carmella did was unacceptable. Do you understand that? It is
not
okay. I knew that things were strained between you, but honestly, I didn't know that things had gotten so bad because you never told me.”

“She's your daughter. Why would I tell you? Why would you
ever
take my side over hers?”

“Imogen, I want you to hear what I'm about to tell you. When I married your father, I signed up for the whole package. That means that, if you'll have me, I want to make it my job to be a mother to you, just as much as I'm a mother to Carmella. That means that it is now my job to love you and protect you, even if that means protecting you from someone whom I love with all my heart.” Her eyes gloss with tears, and she turns her back to me and returns to the cardboard box. As she sets it back on the table and resumes sorting the clothes, she says, “Carmella and I had a long conversation this morning, and we both agreed that she should return to Austin.”

Oh my God. She's going back?

This is crazy.

Evelyn reaches up and runs a hand over her hair.

“Evelyn, please. Just so you know, I don't need her to go. I'm fine. I'm really fine.” I gather my thoughts with a breath and try to speak more concisely. “She doesn't have to leave on my account. I know things have been really hard between us, but I've got to be stronger. And at least things are out in the open.”

Evelyn smiles at me sadly, but she just keeps shaking her head. “That's nice of you to say. But Carmella is not going to come into this house and treat you with the same viciousness and cruelty that she's been on the receiving end of. And yes, she knows what it feels like. She has to be
better
than that. And if she can't find a way to be a loving and supportive part of this family, then she's going to have to decide if she's going to be a part of this family at all. She's not going to take her problems out on everybody else.”

Evelyn's eyes are soft, but her words are intense. I can't believe what I'm hearing, and I can't remember ever hearing a parent speak so sternly to or about their kid. It almost makes me feel bad for Carmella. Almost.

“Wow,” I say with my eyes averted. “That sounds kinda harsh.”