In This Moment (23 page)

   
“The Miller kid, huh? Is he still giving you a hard time?”

   
I make it a point to be on top of my little sister’s social life. She’s got no mother around and a dad that’s basically checked out. I’m more than halfway across the country, but the least that I can do is play the big brother role when I can.

   
“Well…” Sophie pauses, looks up at the sky. She’s got straight blonde hair and a narrow nose like me, but that’s where the similarities end. Sophie inherited our mom’s dark brown eyes and olive complexion as well as her petite build. “Sort of.”

   
Something in her tone makes me sit up in the bed and bring the phone closer to my face. “What do you mean?”

    “I mean…” Sophie is playing
with the ends of her hair. “Remember that I told you he was being completely obnoxious to me at school?”

   
“Uh-huh.”

   
“We, um, got paired for this group project thingy, and yesterday he apologized for acting like a dickhead and he…”

   
“And he what?” My teeth are clamped together.

   
Sophie lets out a big sigh that blows the bangs from her face. “And he gave me a flower and asked me to be his date to the school dance next week.”

    “Oh.” My insides twist. “W
hat did you say?”

   
“I said yes.” Sophie’s forehead rumples. “And don’t start with the ‘you’re too young’ crap.” She alters her voice. “Because I don’t want to hear it, Cole. Not a single word.”

   
That was exactly what I was going to say but I’m not going to tell her that now. I scoot up so that my back is pressed into Aimee’s headboard and I clear my throat. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

   
“Sure…” Sophie smiles knowingly. “Look, Cole, I actually have to go get ready for Aaron so I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

   
“Uh, okay.”

   
Aimee leans in, her chin pressing into my arm. “It was nice to meet you, Sophie. I can’t wait to hear about what you’re going to wear to the dance.”

    Sophie’s
smile is so wide that it takes up the whole screen. “You too, Aimee. I think I’m going to go shopping with my friend Kylie later this week.”

   
“Get a turtleneck! Long, thick wool pants,” I beg.

   
“Whatever.” Sophie rolls her eyes. “I love you, big bro. Stay fast.” She blows a kiss to the screen.

   
I pretend to catch the kiss. “Love you, little sis. Stay slow.”

   
We hang up and a moment later, Aimee says, “The protective big brother look is a nice one on you.”

   
I turn to her and laugh. “It is?”

   
She nods her head and crawls on top of me—long legs straddling my waist, arms on either side of my head like a cage. Her hair dangles down to gently tease my chest. She lifts one hand and tenderly rubs her thumb over my nose and down to my lips. “How did you get this?”

    “How did I get what?”

    She touches the bump in my nose with her mouth.

    I spread my hands under her shirt to the little dimples above her ass. “I broke it in the fourth grade.”

    “I figured that you broke it, but how?”

    “A bird.”

    She looks skeptical. “A bird attacked you?”

    “Not quit
e.” I give a chagrined sigh. “A bird shit in my eye.”

    She half-laughs. “
Ew. Is that even possible?”

    “Well, apparently it is. We were playing kickball and
I just looked up at the exact moment that the fucker must have been overhead. It freaked me out so much that I tripped and fell over a bench and… Well, I think it was a one in a million chance.”

    Aimee breaks into silent laughter. Her shoulders are shaking, t
ears are building in her eyes, and she’s clutching her ribcage. I raise my eyebrows and make a sound of disapproval, but I’m smiling. “So you think that’s funny? It was horrible—hot and wet bird shit right in my eye. Not to mention that my nose hurt like a bitch and I got made fun of for the rest of the year.”

    She sucks air into her lungs and wipes at her eyes. “
I-I’m sorry, but…” She laughs some more. 

    “It was awful.”

    She gets herself under control and touches my face. “I’m sorry that I laughed, but...”

    “But what?” I run my finger along the neckline of her shirt, pulling it down so that I can kiss the hollow of her neck.

   Aimee gasps and a surge of sudden heat washes over me. “You just keep surprising me.”

   
I grip the backs of her knees and run my hands up her smooth thighs. She shivers and closes her eyes, tempting our bodies closer together as my fingers continue their journey towards her tender flesh. “I could say the same for you.” Holy shit. My voice is strained, needy.

   
She parts her lips and makes a low sound. I pull myself up so that I can kiss her mouth. Fuck. I can’t not kiss her. 

   
“You know that in real life, you’re not anything like the cocky bastard that I first met.” Aimee murmurs against my lips as she rocks her hips into my groin.

   
I roll our bodies so that I’m over her, pinning her down with my weight. “I’m still a cocky bastard. You just bring out the best in me.”

    “Mmmm…” She runs
her fingers through my hair. It feels amazing.

   
“Hey, I’ve got to get something. I’ll be right back.”

   
Aimee lifts her head from the pillow and looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “What? Where are you going?”

   
Before she can work it out, I kiss my way down her neck and pull her panties down her bare legs.

    “Oh,” she says in a very small voice
and it is so fucking hot.

    I laugh and spread my left hand on the inside of her thigh
. “Oh.”

    Each touch, each whisper urges me deeper inside her flesh and w
hen I find the right spot, she grips my hair with shaking hands and swears under her breath and I laugh again.

    I love this. The way that she sounds when she’s heaving for air. The way that she smells. The way that she’s mov
ing her hips up to meet me.

Aimee

Every couple of days I have to remind myself that I’m really okay. And it’s not the pretend kind of okay. It’s the kind that you feel from the inside out. It’s the kind of okay that has me thinking about outfits and coffee first thing in the morning, and homework that’s due later this week, and that I need to call Jodi back, and what Cole’s abs look like when he flexes. It’s the kind of okay that makes life a zillion times more bearable and also has me waiting for the other shoe to drop.

   I lie
in my bed staring at the slowly circling fan and the thin crack in the ceiling that runs from the center of the room all the way to the door. He left over an hour ago to make it to an early morning practice but I can still catch his scent on my sheets and it’s awesome. I roll over and bury my face in the pillow and just… breathe. I’m full of this incredible feeling. It’s like laughter caught in my chest.

   
“Ugh. You are pathetic. You know that, right?”

    
Exhaling, I turn my head, push the hair from my face, and see my sister leaning against the doorway. She’s holding a bottle of nail polish remover and some cotton balls in her hands.

   
“What are you talking about?”

   
Mara rolls her eyes. “Don’t try to hide it, Aimee. I saw you sniffing that pillow like a lovesick fool.”

   
“I’m not—”

   
“Pathetic? Lovesick?” Mara finishes for me. She’s smiling now but she also looks a bit worried. “You are a pathetic, lovesick fool. Really and truly. It’s the worst case that I’ve ever seen, but I think it’s alright.”

   
“Enlighten me. How is it alright if I’m pathetic?”

   
“Because…” She shakes her head a millimeter. “I think that he might be just as pathetic as you are.”

***

I balance the brush on the edge of the paint can and stretch out my fingers. They’re coated in purple latex paint. When I rub my skin together, the dried paint pulls into little balls and scatters to the drop cloth like candied confetti.

   
“Yuck!” I exclaim. “My fingers are so stiff that I think they might fall off.”

   
Jodi turns to me, a slow smile spreading until her whole face is lit up. She’s got purple paint flecked through her hair and her shirt and jeans are ruined. “Have I said thank you?”

   
“Only about fifteen times in the last hour.” I roll my shoulders and pick up the brush. I’m on trim detail which means that I’m going around the edges of Jodi’s bedroom with a thin, angled brush. Jodi and Kyle are following behind with two rollers coated in the purple paint.

   
Somehow I let Jodi talk me into painting her apartment. Actually, that’s a lie. I know exactly how I ended up here. It was self-preservation.

   
Cole’s gone this weekend. He’s at some kind of clinic that’s supposed to make him faster, better, stronger. I knew that if I didn’t get a project going, I’d get sucked onto the couch for a
Law and Order
marathon and I wouldn’t get up for two days. On Friday afternoon I could almost hear my mother’s voice blaring in my head.
Not healthy, Aimee!

   
Jodi mentioned over a text message that she was going insane looking at the boring masking tape colored walls of her place and the light in my head started to strobe.

   
We started in the kitchen with a tangerine backsplash. After a taco run, we painted an avocado green accent wall behind the couch. Two vinyl albums later—because she insists that everything sounds better on vinyl—we moved to the bedroom. The shade that Jodi chose for this room is close to a ripe eggplant. Basically, it looks like a produce stand exploded in her apartment. Jodi loves it. And though I have my doubts, she swears that her landlord will love it too. 

   
When we’re finished with the bedroom, the three of us stand back to admire our work. I’m disgusting—sweaty, speckled in paint, high on the fumes—but at least I feel accomplished.

   
Jodi claps and does a little bouncing on her toes. She’s all about vivid displays of enthusiasm. “So… what do you guys think?”

   
“It’s different,” I say and then I worry that my comment isn’t positive enough. “And fun.”

   
Jodi nods, looks at Kyle.

   
He sets the roller down on the tray and rubs his palms on his jeans. “It’s bright.”

   
“Of course it’s bright.” She stands on her tiptoes, kisses his chin and hooks her fingers onto his elbow. “Don’t worry. It’ll grow on you.”

   
Kyle grins and tells her, “It doesn’t need to grow on me. I like it, babe. I love… color.”

   
I can tell by the way that he’s fingering the blue chunks of her hair that he’s referring to something more than the color of paint on the walls and I suddenly feel like I need to get going. “Hey! I’m going to text Mara and ask her to come get me.”

   
“No way,” Kyle says, cracking his knuckles against his palm. “After you just wasted your weekend painting this place, I’ll give you a ride.”

   
I try to argue but it’s useless. Jodi walks us toward the door where she hugs me tightly and says, “Aimee, you’ll have to think up a way for me to pay you back.” She points a thumb in Kyle’s direction. “I’m rewarding him with sexual favors later but I don’t think that’ll work for you.”

   
Kyle whips his head around. “Jodi!”

   
For someone who works in a tattoo shop and exudes edginess, Kyle is surprisingly reserved about this kind of thing. Last week he overheard Jodi telling me the details of their sexcapades and he looked ready to pass out. His face was redder than a tomato.

   
Confusion loosens Jodi’s features. “What? It’s the truth.”

   
Kyle groans and slaps his forehead. “That’s private. You’re not supposed to tell people about our sex life.”

   
Undeterred, Jodi shrugs. “Kyle, what are you talking about? Aimee isn’t ‘people,’ she’s my best friend. Private isn’t part of the equation.”

   
Two words.

   
Best friend.

   
In the early days of my therapy, Dr. Galindo was always asking:
How does that make you feel?

   
The moment that I think of the answer to that question, I feel myself flush. Because I feel fine. I feel better than fine… I’m freaking
happy
. And I shouldn’t be happy, right? I shouldn’t be thinking happy thoughts and painting apartments to music and falling for a guy and making new best friends. Not when Jilly is decaying under the ground all by herself.

Cole

The transition from
I
to
we
isn’t a conscious decision. It slips in out of nowhere like a freak storm that springs up in the middle of a nice afternoon
.
One minute you’re thinking:
that movie that I want to see is coming out on Friday.
And the next minute you’re telling yourself:
we should get pizza tonight
, or
I wonder what we’re doing for Flag Day two years from now.

   
Maybe you get to a point where you’re so invested and wound up in another person that your brain really has no other option other than to consider them.

   
For me, the realization happens on one of those postcard-worthy Florida days that makes you want to fall back and close your eyes and catch the clean air on your tongue. There’s a blue sky that stretches for miles above a thin roof of palm trees. Everything is perfect. To steal one from Goldilocks:
It’s not too hot. It’s not too cold. It’s just right.

   
Aimee and I both have a break between our classes and she wants to use the time to catch up on a reading assignment. I want to use the time to catch up on her.

   
We’ve both been busy over the past week. Her classes are getting tougher and I had to be at an out of town clinic last weekend so it seems like we’ve barely had any time together. We don’t have classes this Friday and I plan to surprise her with another beach trip. I want to erase the bad memories from her head and make new ones. Maybe I’ll pack a blanket and we’ll stay past dark, lying in the back of the truck staring up at the stars.

    Smiling to myself, I drop my eyes
. Right now her head is resting in my lap and I’ve got my fingers threaded through the dark strands of her hair.

   
My phone buzzes and I grudgingly pull my hand away. It’s a text from Nate asking me if I’m down with poker Thursday night.

   
Without thinking much about it, I ask her, “Hey. What are we doing this Thursday?”

   
Aimee breaks her concentration to glance up at me. “No plans. Why?”

    “I think I’ll
play poker with the guys.”

   
“Hmm.” She’s already back to reading. I watch her finger make a vertical path down the page.

   
What are we doing Thursday?

   
The thought had been as natural to me as taking my next breath. For the briefest instant, I struggle, wondering if this is how things went down with my dad and the rest of the schmucks who’ve had their hearts plucked out of their chests and eaten by a woman.

   
Is that what’s happening to me?

   
The spinning in my head ceases when Aimee shifts her attention to me. “You’re making me nervous,” she says, lightly touching my jaw.

   
I grin slowly, hypnotized by the blue of her eyes through the screen of dark lashes.
I am not my dad.
“How am I making you nervous?”

   
Her mouth twitches. “You’re staring at me. It’s getting weird.”

   
I touch the gleaming freckle on her cheek and lean closer. “I can’t help it that you’re so fucking nice to look at.”

   
“Watch you language.” She laughs, turns her head to the side and presses her lips against the inside of my thigh. The movement is so intimate that a jolt of awareness stabs between my shoulder blades. I brush my thumb over the jagged ridge of her scar.

   
“Will you tell me about it?”

   
Aimee knows what I’m asking. She places the book facedown on the slope of her stomach and looks up. Her bottom lip is caught in her teeth. “Anything that I tell you will be sad and depressing. You don’t want that in your head, Cole.”

    
“How do you know what I want in my head? I want
you
in my head…” My breath snags in my chest. This conversation suddenly feels too serious for the sunny day and the bright blue sky. “And that scar and the story behind it is all a part of you.”

   
Aimee sits up and turns from me so that I can’t see her face. She folds her right arm across her chest protectively. Her left hand holds the book in place against her body. “It’s not a part of me that matters.”

   
“It matters,” I say decidedly. My hand grasps her shoulder and I pull her close so that her head falls to the center of my chest, just beside my heart.

***

I’ve thought of everything. There’s a cooler in the back, a large blanket that I stole from Daniel’s closet and a bottle of decent wine tucked underneath it. I even brought along a Scrabble set that I jacked from Nate because I remembered that she said she liked to play. The best part is that Aimee thinks I’ve got some bullshit all-day practice session so she’s not expecting me. I ran the idea by Mara earlier this week and she said that she’d make sure that Aimee would be home and not doing anything this afternoon.

   
I knock. I know the grin on my face is so wide that it’s ridiculous but I don’t give a rat’s ass. I’ve been looking forward to this too much to hold back now. Earlier, Aimee told me that her plans for the day include boredom, maybe a pizza for lunch, and some more boredom just to round things out.

   
Just as my hand is descending to knock again, a middle-aged woman answers the door. She takes in my crazy-ass smile, black board shorts, worn flip-flops, and frowns. “Can I help you with something?”

   
We haven’t met but I know instantly that this is Aimee’s mother. Take away the crisply ironed shirt she’s wearing and the pearls around her neck, and they look so much alike that it’s a little disconcerting. I take a step back. “Uh, I’m Cole.”

   
It’s obvious that my name means nothing to her and that almost knocks the wind out of me. I know that Aimee has issues and it’s not like I expected her to tattoo my name on her fucking skin or anything like that, but I at least thought that I had earned a mention to her parents. For fuck’s sake, her mom calls her at least once a day.