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“But you shared your sandwich with me, and if you share stuff, that means you’re married. And then you make each other happy.” He shrugs and smiles at me. “I guess I should ask how old you are? I'm eleven.” He sounds like he knows everything. It’s like he’s all grown up and he’s teaching me what the world is like.
"I'm eight." I look at the playground again and wonder just what would happen if I told Momma I am getting married. We sit quietly for the rest of the lunch break, and soon, the bell rings to tell us to go back inside.
“That’s good. I think me being older than you is better because a husband should look after his wife.”
“I like that,” I tell him, giving him a smile. “I’ll be your wife then.”
“Great! I’ll see you tomorrow,” JD tells me. “And don’t forget, we’re sitting together.” He salutes me as if he were a soldier, and I giggle. When he smiles, I memorize it like my teacher taught me to remember things, and I watch him go back inside.
I didn’t even ask him what class he’s going to. But I guess like he said, I’ll see him tomorrow. And suddenly, my day isn’t as bad as I thought it was.
* * *
I race into the house, finding Momma at the kitchen table. She’s looking at papers, and she doesn’t look happy. I stop at the door, my stomach making a strange grumbling sound, and she looks up with a smile.
“Sweet girl,” she says, holding her arms open to me. “Come here.”
I run into her hug and press my head against her shoulder. I love Momma’s hugs. She always makes me feel safe, just like Daddy did.
“Momma, I’m getting married,” I blurt out, knowing that if I don’t tell her now, she’ll never know.
Her laugh makes me shake too. She allows me to stand before asking, “Married? To whom, sweet girl?”
“JD. He’s a boy at school. We had lunch together, and he’s nice. He has pointy hair, and he smiles nice too.” My excitement makes her laugh even more.
“You know you shouldn’t get married until you’re at least forty,” Momma says in her serious voice.
“Forty?”
Even though she nods, I can see her smile brightening. It’s a better one than before when I used to tell her things that happened in my day. And I’m glad I made Momma happy.
“I guess I can wait. I’ll let JD know tomorrow.”
“You do that,” she tells me, tugging on my pigtail, which makes me think of my new friend. I don’t know why he chose me, but I know that I’m happy because I have someone to talk to at school. Even though he is older than me by three years, I’m happy he’s someone I can call a friend.
Maybe life won’t be so lonely.
And maybe Momma will also like him.
I do.
Chapter Two
JD
Thirteen years old
As my father’s town car rolls through the wet streets, my mind is on the girl that’s somehow become my world. I’ve spent the last two years learning about her, getting to see her come out of a shell she seemed to hide behind. But I can never tell my parents about her because they’ll never agree to our friendship.
As the car pulls to a stop, I glance over at Dad who’s on his phone. He doesn’t seem to notice we’re two blocks away from my school. His fingers tap on the screen, and I wonder just what’s going through his mind. When I was young, I thought he was the coolest man in the world, but over the past couple of years, I learned just what my father was like.
With money, with his job, he became cold, as if nothing mattered except the project he was working on at the time. I’m still not completely sure what he does. I know he goes into an office every day, but other than that, I’ve never spent time around him to learn who he is.
Not because I didn’t want to.
But because he never allowed me to.
“Dad,” I call to him, and he finally looks up.
“I have a meeting. You can run up to the building,” he tells me before reaching over to ruffle my hair. He doesn’t mention that it’s raining heavily and I don’t have a coat on. “Big boys can brave this weather.” He looks so happy with himself as if he made a joke, but I don’t find it funny.
My chest aches at the way he’s always treated me. Even though I’m his son, his only child, I’m still not important to him. One day, I’ll move out of his house, and I’ll never speak to him again.
Anger surges in my stomach and I push open the door. I’m too upset to let him look at me again. Because if he did, he’d see me cry. I’m late for school, and it’s lunchtime. I should’ve stayed home, but Dad insisted I come in for the last few periods. Good boys don’t skip school. It’s his fault we’re late, but I can’t tell him that because he’ll only slap me for being rude.
