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Kris waves to a guy at the squat rack and walks around to th
e front of the counter. He gives me a sideways smile before glancing at Susan. “I’m gonna pretend that’s grape juice. And don’t call me Mr. Payne because I refuse to believe I’m old enough to be a mister.”
She nods and sips from her decorated wine glass. “This grape juice is delicious, Kristofer.”
I don’t know what I’m expecting to happen in the first time I see Kris since our unexpected shower make out fiasco, but this isn’t it. Besides that stupid sideways smile that he probably does to make my knees weak, Kris doesn’t talk to me anymore for his entire visit to the gym. He heads into his office, closing the door behind him and still hasn’t emerged by the time my shift is over in the morning.
I drive home from work feeling pissed off and annoyed, but I’m more angry at myself than at him. He’s just being a typical guy. I bet he’d make out with Susan in the showers if she wasn’t married. Or maybe he would even though she is married.
When I reach the turn for my neighborhood, I keep driving. Deep down, I know where my subconscious is directing my car to go, but part of me wants to pretend that I’m just driving without a destination or a care in the world. I’ll save my worrying about where I’m going for when I get there.
Grace Memorial Park is not a real park. That was my first thought when I saw it from the window of the black limo I rode in with my family ten years ago. And I still think it every time I drive past it as an adult. You shouldn’t be allowed to call something a park if there are no swing sets, slides and laughing children.
No one laughs a cemetery. They aren’t parks.
Tyler’s headstone is a large piece of white marble that stands out from the mostly gray headstones marking the graves around him. A permanent glass photo frame is embedded on the top of the headstone, displaying Tyler’s senior class photo for all of eternity. I hate that my parents chose that particular photo. Sure, he looks handsome and sophisticated in this photo, but it doesn’t represent the real him. My brother did not walk around wearing a graduation cap over his shaggy hair and he wore skateboard brand T-shirts, not dark green gowns.
Tyler has a good place in the so-called park. His grave is in the front row next to a sidewalk, which means I don’t have to walk over and in between other graves on a trek across the dead to get to him. The sidewalk has a nearby bench so I have a place to sit down when I visit.
I go to sit on the bench like I always do, but something on the ground catches my eye. I walk to the side of his headstone, not wanting to step right in front of it where I know his body rests six feet below. Not that he could feel it or anything.
Resting in the grass in front of his headstone is what looks like someone’s discarded trash. I’m about to turn into full out Hulk rage mode until I realize the Mountain Dew can is unopened and the stick of beef jerky is still inside the wrapper, sealed as if it was just bought from the store.
I kneel to the ground in front of his grave and rock back on my heels, staring at the food. Mountain Dew and beef jerky were Tyler’s favorite snacks. I can’t believe I forgot that. He used to use Mom’s Costco card to purchase bulk packages of the stuff and then tear through them in a weekend. Who would have left this for him? Cat doesn’t visit the cemetery because she feels that her loved ones are watching over her wherever she is, and that the bodies in the ground are just that—bodies.
Mom and Dad have been so massively busy with school that I don’t think they have time to go to the store to buy junk food, much less bring it here. I run my fingers over the etching of Tyler’s name in the marble. I bet he knows who brought this for him. But he’s not going to tell me.
“So…” I say aloud, feeling exactly as stupid as I always do when I talk to my dead brother’s gravesite. I used to think it’d get easier over time, but talking out loud to someone who isn’t there, who may not even be hearing you from the afterlife, never gets easier.
My cheeks blush with the next thing I say, but, if Tyler really is listening to me then I suspect he already knows this story anyhow. “I accidently made out with Kris in the locker room.” A ton of weight lifts off my shoulders at this confession. I sigh. “I don’t know why I did it, Tyler. And I hope you aren’t mad at me.”
I look away from his graduation photo, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes after confessing that I made out with his killer. My eyes fall to the snack food instead. The soda can has droplets of condensation around it, and I reach out and pick up the can. It’s cool to the touch, despite this eighty-degree weather. Jealousy prickles at me when I think that someone else was here visiting him, not much sooner than I arrived. Tyler is my brother, not theirs. I don’t want anyone else coming to him for unspoken advice.
It’s stupid to feel that way, I know. Tyler had a ton of friends in school so it’s possible that even now, after ten years, some of those friends still miss him and want to visit him. I should be happy that so many people adored him.
I suck in a deep breath and place the can back where I found it. “I wish I knew what to do,” I say, glancing around as a warm wind blows across my face. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…I think I like Kris. But I’m supposed to hate him. I mean, I do hate him.” I snap my mouth closed when I realize I’m babbling to a chunk of granite rock and some junk food.
The silence doesn’t last long though, because being trapped in my mind with my thoughts and emotions swirling around out of control is way worse than speaking out loud, saying only one thought at a time. I stare at Tyler’s graduation picture, almost willing it to move and turn into the real Tyler. It doesn’t, of course, but I can almost imagine the way he probably jumped out of that chair, ripping off the borrowed graduation cap and gown as quickly as possible, happy to be done with his last school photo.
“So…Tyler,” I say, finding my voice again. Out of embarrassment, I glance around, making sure no unseen visitors are near to watch me talk to a dead teenager’s graduation photo. “If you could maybe…give me a sign? Or something?” I shake my head, feeling exactly as stupid as I sound. “Can you use your dead guy heaven powers to show me a sign that it’s okay…or not okay…for me to like Kris? And not just a vague sign either, I need something very real and tangible that I will know is from you and not in my imagination.”
I don’t know what I expect to happen, but nothing is what does happen.
My shoulders fall as I sink into a cross-legged position on top of my brother’s grave. If I’m squishing him, then so be it. This is the closest I can get to a big brother hug now. “He didn’t mean to hurt you, Ty,” I assure him. “I wonder if he meant to hurt me.”
Chapter 14
Crushing on a guy is fucking exhausting. Not only are my every waking thoughts spent daydreaming about Kris Payne, my regular way of life has been given a hard shove out of the way to make room for my stupid crush. Every time my phone makes a noise, even if it’s just to alert me that my battery is dying, I dive across the room or speed to the next stop sign, or ignore the customer talking to me so that I can check my phone, hoping against all odds that it’s a text or call from Kris.
I don’t wake up twenty minutes before work anymore—I wake up an hour before. Perfect hair and shine-free makeup and polished nails don’t come without sacrificing time and sleep. Because of my pathetic crush, my brain is determined that I need to do all of these things every single day.
Because one day, the text or the call I rush to answer might actually be Kris. And one day he might compliment my hair. Or the sparkly clear polish on the tips of my midnight blue nails. One day, unlike the last twelve fucking days, he might actually show up to the business he owns and talk to me again.
I lower my mascara wand and glance at the date on my cell phone’s home screen. Yep. It’s now day thirteen since the day after make out day, and I’ve had no word from Kris. Cat insists that I should text him first, but that isn’t happening. I didn’t run after him when he left me all those years ago. I’m not going to run after him now.
Unlucky thirteen. Tyler was always superstitious about things like that. He would warn not to go out on Friday the thirteenth because something bad would happen. I always told him superstitions are for idiots, but he’d just shake his head and tell me I’d have to learn the hard way. I wonder if anything will happen today. If the sign I asked Tyler to send me will be revealed, on this the thirteenth day after make out day. Honestly, I don’t even care. If the sign is bad news then it’s bad news. I just need to know.
Today is Wednesday and it’s the one day a week I give an adults only dance class. It’s a lot like our other aerobics classes, where we dance to upbeat songs, working the core and butt and thighs, only the moves are more sexual. Most of the dances are equivalent to giving an imaginary lap dance. Some women balk at the moves, but I love this class because it works my backside muscles like nothing else, short of actually being a stripper, can. Occasionally we’ll have some men join the class, saying they want to ditch the weights for an hour of cardio. I always smile and pretend they aren’t here to check us out.
