It witnessed my first kiss, and how awful it was.
But it’s also the first place I ever saw my best friend’s brother as anything other than their brother, and as I hear clunky footsteps behind me, I know they belong to him. I don’t know how, I just do. He sits beside me on the blanket I brought from home. It’s another loud and hostile night between my parents—much like it always is—and I couldn’t take it, so I came here. Georgia’s away at college, and both Gemma andGrace are out with their boyfriends. For the last hour, it’s just been me and these flowers… Until now, I guess.
Graham doesn’t say anything for a moment, and neither do I. We don’t even bother looking at each other, but instead, straight ahead, at the fading sun turning the horizon into a swirl of pinks and oranges and reds. The silence is oddly comforting, even if I still feel awkward about what happened. It’s been a week since I blacked out at a party and woke up in ripped tights and a shirt that didn’t belong to me next to Graham. I still don’t remember all of what happened, but little bits and pieces have come back. It’s been such an unsettling thing to wrap my head around. To know somebody did that to me, and knowing it could’ve been much worse had it not been for Graham. If he wasn’t there, who knows what state I would’ve woken up in the next morning.
We haven’t talked about it; he’s given me space, and I’ve taken it.
Any time I get overwhelmed, or anxious, or even embarrassed—all of which I’ve felt over the past seven days—I bury my head in the sand. It’s my go-to. I’m no psychologist, but if I had to guess, I’d say that stems from years of watching my own parents avoid their problems. All my life, I’ve had a front-row seat to them bickering and screaming at one another, which then turns into my mother ignoring my father for days at a time, only for them to move on the next week like it never happened. Nothing ever gets resolved, and I’m ashamed to admit, even to myself, that one of the things I hate most about them and their marriage—avoiding conflict and ignoring any real, tough feelings—is something I’ve unknowingly picked up myself.
I’ll be graduating and going off to college soon, which is a good thing. Maybe I can somehow unlearn every unhealthy thing they’ve taught me and become a better version of myself.But knowing this field won’t be right outside my bedroom window eventually has a lump forming in my throat. Just like knowing I won’t be down the road from my best friends fills me with dread. For years, this place and their house have been my safe haven.
And now, I can’t help but feel that safeness with Graham too. He didn’t have to do what he did. He could’ve turned the other cheek, like every other person in that house did, but he didn’t. That means something to me.
After a couple of minutes, I watch in my periphery as Graham turns to face me. Clearing his throat, he asks, “How’ve you been, Sunny?”
Swallowing thickly, my tongue feeling twice its normal size, I look over at him, meeting his soft, warm gaze. “I’m good, thanks.” I’m, in fact, not good, but I’m not going to say that. “How’ve you been?”
He nods. “Good, too.”
A moment passes, the air thick between us, and I know I need to say something about what he did. I’ve wanted to all week, but whenever I think about it, my throat gets tight and dry, and my heart beats uncontrollably, kind of like it is right now. If my arms weren’t wrapped around my knees and my hands weren’t clasped together, they’d be trembling. Why does talking about this with him give me the same unnerving sensation in my belly I get when I find a spider in my room or when I drive over a tall bridge?
Somehow, despite it all, I manage to choke out the words anyway. “Thank you, Graham.” My voice is rough as I look straight ahead. “For what you did last weekend.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Sunny,” he says.
“Yeah, but I want to.” Turning my head, I meet Graham’s gaze again, my pulse roaring in my ears. “You stopped that creep from doing god knows what twisted, perverted thingshe had planned for me, and I need you to know how much I appreciate that. How much I appreciateyou.”
Pressure builds behind my eyes and there’s an ache in my throat I can’t relieve, no matter how hard I try. I haven’t cried about this once, and I really don’t want to start now. Especially not in front of Graham, who’s already seen me at my lowest.
Lips parting, like he’s about to say something, he closes them again before reaching over and—very timidly—covering my knee with his warm, rough hand. The touch is innocent and meant to be comforting, but it’s also electric. I feel it everywhere. Furrowing his brow, Graham says, “Charley, I will never, ever stand by and let something happen to you. Not only is it just basic human decency, but I also care about you way too much to allow anybody or anything to hurt you. I hope you know that.”
The conviction weaved through his every word is what finally brings tears to my eyes. With our gazes locked, I lean in, and he does too. Our foreheads meet, breathing in each other's air. Some of the tension I’ve been carrying all week melts away being this close to Graham. My heart races, and I’m moving on pure instinct alone as I press my mouth to his. The softest touch of our lips. A kiss that’s meant to be a thank you.
I’m kissing Graham.
And he’s kissing me too.
It’s slow and gentle, his tongue licking into my mouth and rolling against mine. My insides burst with a flurry of butterflies, but everywhere. This kiss feels like the ones you see in the movies. It’s not awkward and disjointed, his teeth aren’t clashing with mine, and I can tell he’s not trying to be anything he’s not. It’s not meant to lead somewhere else, and there aren’t expectations in the way his plush lips move with mine, in the way he tastes and explores my mouth.
This kiss is pure.
It’s everything.
And it doesn’t matter that I probably shouldn’t be kissing my best friend’s brother, that I know it can never go anywhere. This kiss is exactly what I want—and need—right now, so I’m doing it.
I don’t know how much time passes, but when it ends, my lips tingle, my head is dizzy, and when Graham looks me in the eye, I swear he can see straight into my soul. Then he presses a quick, comforting kiss to my forehead, as if telling me everything is going to be alright. A shiver rolls down my spine, a fresh layer of goosebumps popping up, and a million thoughts are shared without either of us saying a single word. Resting my head on his shoulder, we watch the rest of the sunset together.
With his arm around me and the taste of his kiss still on my lips, I want to live here forever.
With him.
Surrounded by the flowers and the cotton candy sky and his safe, gentle touch.
7
Graham
With Zach Top blasting from the old boombox on my workbench, I take a swig from my second Bud Light of the night before setting it down beside the baby monitor that shows my daughter cozy and fast asleep in her crib, as I get back to the task at hand. This chicken coop has been my after-hours hobby for the last couple of weeks, and I’m finally starting to make some real progress on it. The exterior is almost finished, and then I can paint it. Thinking maybe a soft cream with a dark wood trim. This bad boy looks like a mini farmhouse.Only the best for my birds.Honestly, it even kind of resembles my house. If someone were to tell me two years ago that I’d be doing woodwork in my new-to-me shop at ten o’clock at night for half a dozenchickens, I would’ve thought they’d lost their mind.
