I pulled out the rice cakes, and she squealed.
She actually squealed.
I frowned, looking between Mel and Naomi. Naomi, who was famous for being in a perpetually bad mood, was actually beaming.
“Are you drunk?” I asked.
“Drunk?” Naomi repeated, offended. “What kind of question is that?”
I took a step closer to them, and that’s when I smelled it. I gasped.
“You’re high?”
“On life!” Mel said, then giggled. “And a wee bit of medical marijuana. No biggie.”
“No biggie,” Naomi echoed, and they burst into laughter again.
I couldn’t believe it. I shook my head, then went to the kitchen to grab some plates and peanut butter. While I was in there, Sydney scampered into the kitchen, and I set down everything I was carrying to play with her. Sydney and I had our little games. One of our favorites was when she stood on her hind legs and I took her front legs and pretended we were waltzing. Another was when I lay flat on the ground, playing dead, and she ran around me frantically, licking me back to life. I always tried to stay in character, but within seconds I’d be giggling at the ticklish wet feel of her tongue. That day, I knelt so we were eye to eye, and she slobbered all over my face.
“Hi, pretty girl,” I said in the baby voice I reserved just for her. “Is it just me, or have Nay and Mel completely lost it? I know! They’re freaking me out too!”
As I spoke, she licked my top lip and I backed away, laughing. Maybe it was because of how often we played dead, but Sydney seemed to believe that mouth-to-mouth resuscitation was her life’s calling. One of Mel’s (bad) jokes was that Sydney had taught us three kids how to French kiss.
“I love you too, girlie,” I said, still laughing. “But not like that.”
I wiped my lips on the collar of my shirt, washed my hands, and picked up the things I’d come into the kitchen to collect.
“So, which of my sons are you here to see?” Mel called as Sydney and I reentered the living room.
“I’m here to see you!”
“I thought for sure she’d say Luke,” Naomi said in a fake whisper.
“That’s whatIwas gonna say!” Mel cried. She scooched over on the couch so I could sit.
“Ugh,” I groaned, sitting beside her and trying my best to keep my expression even. “What’s that supposed to mean? Don’t be weird.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mel said. “I thought we were talking about three teenagers. I love y’all fiercely, but it’s already weird.”
I stared between her and Naomi as they kiki-ed all over themselves and dug into the rice cakes. What the hell did she mean?
If Naomi hadn’t been there, I would probably have forced Mel to tell me, but right then I couldn’t face the possibility of either of them saying out loud the words I’d never admitted to anyone—that I had a crush on Luke—and giving them more to cackle over.
I liked Naomi, but sometimes she brought out a side of Mel that I liked far less than all the other sides of her.
The good news was that I knew for sure that Luke and Ro were both at their jobs and not at home. The key was to not make a big deal out of it, not to draw unnecessary attention to myself by freaking out about what they’d implied. But for the rest of the afternoon I felt like a bottle that had been shaken up and was close to exploding. It took me a while to figure out what exactly it was about Mel’s and Naomi’s behavior that bothered me so much, and it wasn’t until I was on the bus back home that I figured it out: they had made my feelings for Luke seem like a joke, like some childish crush. I didn’t think they intended to be malicious, but it had still hurt. And maybe they were right and I had no clue what it was like to be in love, but I desperately wished I’d defended myself, told them that nothing about the way I felt was silly or trite.
I had never told anyone that I liked Luke, and it suddenly felt vital that I got it off my chest, that I got to express exactly what it felt like to secretly love someone you’ve known nearly your whole life. Normally the ideal candidate to tell would have been Mel, and if I thought she would be alone or any less high by the time I got there, I would have gotten off the bus and turned around and walked back to her house. As it was, for one of the first times ever, talking to Mel wasn’t an option.
So I did something I’d never done before.
When I got home that evening, I passed my dad, where he sat at the dining table doing paperwork for the clinic, and made my way upstairs to my parents’ bedroom. I knocked once, and when I didn’t hear a response, I pushed the door open and crept inside. For once, the curtains in the room were open—definitely Dad’s doing—but Mom was fast asleep anyway, a satin sleep mask over her eyes to block out the light.
I sat down on the carpet at the foot of her bed and pulled my knees up to my chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, and then I spoke.
I told her what I’d kept buried for so many years. I told her all about the boy who was my first real crush: Luke Cohen.
NOW
