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It’s more dear and more beautiful.
More mine somehow.
I want to tell him that he’s not a fool.
He was a dreamer, and he still can be.
But it’s as if he senses it, my intention to turn around, and steps even closer.
So much so that I feel his hard chest grazing my shoulders. He even raises his arm, his left one, his bicep brushing against my cheek as he rasps, “And that, over there, is my mom.”
It’s so hard to focus when I’m surrounded by him.
When he’s actually made it so that I’m surrounded by him.
When he’s actually made it so that every breath that I take is that of the sweet roses and prickly thorns.
But I do.
I focus and I promise myself that once I’ve shown him that I’m that girl and I’ve filled his life with joy, I’m also going to make him a dreamer again.
I will somehow make him dream.
Somehow.
“Your mom,” I whisper and I feel his short nod on the top of my head. “She’s beautiful.”
His mom has the biggest, most beautiful smile ever. She’s grinning at the camera as her children surround her.
Well, except for the man behind me.
As with all the photos here, I think he’s chosen to take a back seat and be the sibling behind the camera. And my heart just bursts with all the tenderness for him.
All the warmth.
“She is,” he agrees, his arm still raised and his fingers on the picture.
“She looks like Callie,” I whisper, rubbing my cheek on his bicep that flexes at my touch. “Or rather, Callie looks like her.”
“She met my dad in high school,” he says, his chest shifting with a breath. “They were both seniors when they fell in love. And before the year was out, she got pregnant with me and dropped out. My dad dropped out as well. They got married, got jobs, had me. I think we were happy for a little while, or maybe I’m just making things up because I want to believe that. But then they had more kids, and my dad started drinking. He started cheating on my mom. He’d flake out on his job too. He’d get fired, get another job, do the same thing and get fired again. So my mom had to pick up the slack. Which means as amazing as she was, she didn’t have much time for the kids. And so I had to step in.”
A pause here.
I’m afraid to move. Breathe even.
I’m afraid to blink lest he stop. Lest he realize that someone is listening to the story that he’s telling. That someone is hanging on his every word, cherishing it like a treasure, a gift.
“I was happy the day he decided to leave,” he continues. “I know my mom wasn’t. Even though he was dead weight, an asshole, a drunk, a cheater, my mother loved him. My mother not only loved him, she gave up everything for him. Her school, education. Chose to have five kids with that piece of shit. Chose to have me. Do you know why that was?”
“Why?” I ask on a whisper, my body still strung tight and immobile.
“Because she was a teenager.” He lowers his arm with that. “When she met and fell in love with the wrong guy. And teenagers usually don’t know what they’re doing. They fall in love. They dream. They make mistakes that sometimes affect everyone around them. So Callie doesn’t just look like my mother. She is my mother.”
He steps away then and I spin around, finally getting to see his face.
And it jars me in the chest. In my stomach.
As if I’m seeing him after years.
Those jutting cheekbones that are slightly flushed and those shining eyes. His red lips that look wet and parted like he’s been tracing them with his tongue all this time.
Even though it feels like I’ve just woken up from a dream, I lift my chin and frown at him, ready to defend my best friend. “You’re right. Callie is like your mom. Which means she’s going to be an amazing mother and her baby is going to be like one of her siblings. Hopefully like you. Because you’re wonderful. Not so much right now, but still. And you know what else?” I widen my stance and fist my hands. “Maybe your mom made a mistake picking your dad, but I think Reed is different. Reed is going to be an amazing dad. And I know that because Callie fell in love with him once. And I know they’re having problems now but Callie would never have picked him if Reed wasn’t worthy. And so I trust her decision. Even though she’s my age, a teenager. So you should cut them some slack. You should probably give them a chance to show you that they can be more. That they are more. Because apparently us, teenagers? We can surprise you sometimes.
