Jessica Martinez - The Vow

“That means you’re a good person.”

I close my eyes and see Reed’s face. “Not really.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” There is a moment of heavy thinking between us before she says, “Do you have any other questions?”

I do. I would like to know how I can love two boys and have two boys love me but be so all alone. And I’d love to know why I’m imagining that I’m talking to my sister when I don’t even remember what talking to my sister is like. “No. Wait, yes.”

“Go ahead.”

“What would you do?”

I hear her breath escape, a slow sigh. “I’m not you, Annie.”

I pinch the skin on the back of my arm and wait. “But if you were . . .”

“But if I were . . . I think I’d stop and ask myself if I wanted to spend my whole life trying to fill a space meant for someone else.”

“What?”

“It just seems like you’re trying to be the right thing for Mo. And I don’t really know about your parents or the rest of your life, but I’m guessing you’re trying to be the right thing for a lot of people. You’re eighteen. It’s kind of now or never. You should do what’s right for you.”

Right for me. Mo is right for me. He’s always been what’s right for me. Sam is looking at a snapshot, the present, without understanding all the years of us being there for each other. She doesn’t know how right for me Mo has always been.

But if she isn’t wrong? The possibility makes me sick to my stomach. Just thinking it feels like betrayal.

Except there’s another kind of betrayal happening now. The kind where I pretend something isn’t happening. Like pretending I don’t notice the way Mo has started looking at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention, that I don’t see him thinking about things before he says them instead of just spouting whatever random crap comes to his brain like before, that I don’t sense him treating me just the slightest bit differently than he used to. Ignoring it is a kind of betrayal too.

And so is sitting here waiting for Reed.

“It doesn’t make you a bad person,” Sam says, and I wonder for a second if I said any of what I was thinking out loud. Or maybe she can read my thoughts. “You’re allowed to be yourself. It means being honest. Sorry. That sounds corny.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m just worried about you. I guess you bring out the preachy big sister in me.”

My breath is gone, sucked out of me.

There is no god. Still. And I don’t believe in an afterlife or souls or reincarnation or that anyone I can’t see is looking out for me. At all. But for this moment only, it seems like it would be okay to pretend.

“It’s okay,” I stammer.

“Really think about it.”

“I will.”

“You know you can call me whenever, right?”

I try to swallow, but my throat feels dangerously dry. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

We hang up and I bring my seat back up. I didn’t notice what time it was when I pulled in, but it seems like I’ve been sitting here for an hour. Maybe more. My stomach growls, a reminder that I haven’t eaten since the Pop-Tart Mo brought me in bed, when I see the back door swing open in the rearview mirror. It’s Reed.

A thrill rushes through me, and I fight not to get out of the car. He doesn’t see me yet. A trash bag in each hand, he’s walking toward the Dumpster, body solid and tight even from this distance. That I can watch him without him knowing, even for a few seconds, seems dangerously sweet. I love his earnestness, how every piece of him is determined, how serious his expression is. It’s just trash, Reed. Except I know his mind is somewhere else. He could be thinking about the restaurant he’s going to open someday, or worrying about having his grandma’s house ready to sell by the end of the summer. He could be thinking about me.

He glances up and sees me. The seriousness in his face breaks for a smile, but only for a second, and in that second the thrill rushes through me again. He doesn’t change his speed, but keeps his movements smooth and deliberate as he tosses the bags into the Dumpster and starts toward the car. He glances around, and I do the same. There’s nobody here to see us. Still, I double-check as he opens the passenger door and slides in.

“Sorry to surprise you,” I say, almost breathless as the smell of the oaks and soil and dampness fills the car. The clouds are thickening, and I can smell the rain coming. “I didn’t want to call from Mo’s phone.”

“Don’t apologize.” He looks around the car, taking in the curled-over Taco Bell bags and half a dozen empty Gatorade bottles.

I shake my head. “None of it’s mine.”

“Sure it isn’t.”

“No, really.”

He grins. “I believe you.” He reaches out and slides his fingers around my wrist. “And I don’t care if his car is a mess,” he says, pulling me into the passenger seat, onto his lap, and my heart is thundering with the absolute rightness of being with him, what I’ve been waiting for, when my brain screams something else.

This is wrong.

“Actually,” he whispers into my ear and kisses me lightly where my jaw meets my neck, “I can’t believe you’re here.” His lips are so soft I’m aching when I have to pull away.

“Wait,” I say, feeling the car spin around me.

He lets go and leans back. “Okay.”

“This feels . . . I don’t know. Sneaky.”

“Okay,” he repeats. “But you came here, Annie. You came to me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He closes his eyes.

I fight the urge to reach out and hold his face, to feel his pulse beneath my fingers. “Can we talk?”

He opens his eyes. Blinks. Pushes his glasses up. “Of course. But we have about two minutes before Flora comes out to see if I’ve been attacked by coyotes.”

“You’re closing soon, though. Right?”

“Yeah, but I’m going to Soup and Vicky’s for dinner, and they’ll be waiting for me. Can I see you later? I’ll be home by eleven. You could come to my place and we wouldn’t have to hide in a car just to have a conversation.”

“But I can’t sneak out in the middle of the night.”

Disappointment flickers in his eyes for just a moment, and then he grins. “Well, then at least let me give you something good to think about tonight.”

He slips one hand behind my head, and I fall back into it and close my eyes. His mouth finds mine, and I’m melting between hands and lips when the terrible thought comes out of nowhere, clear and sharp as glass: This is how Mo wants me?

“No,” I whisper, pushing Reed gently back, my palms on his chest and my eyes down. I glance at his face, hating myself for what I see. Shock. Rejection. “I’m sorry,” I say. “Not like this. I need to talk to Mo first.”

I slide back into my seat. He leans forward, putting his head in his hands, and I know this time he’s not going to touch me again. Not today. “I misunderstood,” he says. “I thought you were here . . .” He trails off, and I let the silence fill with our awkwardness, because I can’t correct him. I thought I was here for this too. “I want to believe that there isn’t anything going on between you and Mo. I do believe it, but if that’s true, why can’t you be with me? Why do you need his permission?”

Why? I know why, but I can’t say it. I can barely even think it. Because I don’t know what kind of love Mo feels anymore.

“Unless that’s not what you want, in which case you’re sending one or two hundred mixed signals.” Reed sits up straight and stares at his hands, so I do too. He turns to me, but I’m too distracted by the memory of what his hands feel like to look up.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he says. “If you don’t want to be with me, you’ve gotta stop showing up and messing with me. If you—”

“I want you,” I interrupt, embarrassed by the force, the volume, the neediness. All of it. I’m embarrassed by everything I’ve done. “I really do,” I say softer. “I’m just doing things in the wrong order. There were things I didn’t realize until sitting here waiting for you, things about Mo and about myself and some of the mistakes I’ve made. I need to fix everything, including this with you, but I have to do it in the right order so I don’t have to hate myself when it’s all over. I’m sor—”

“No.” This time he interrupts me. “I don’t want your apology. I want you.” He leans over, tucks my hair behind my ear, and kisses me on the temple. “Come back when you’re ready to come back. But don’t . . .” He trails off.

I nod. I’m afraid to look at him, so I stare at the maze of oaks in front of me, so thick I can only see a few feet into them. When I’m ready to come back.

I wish someone would tell me which path means inflicting the least amount of pain, but even as I wish it, I know it’s the wrong wish. It’s what Sam was talking about, me doing what’s right for other people and not myself. She said now or never.

Reed gets out of the car, and I watch him walk away. After he’s gone, I call home—no, my old home. My parents’ house. No answer.

The mural is not different. I have to tell myself that several times as I turn circles in the center of the room, because it feels different. I’m not sure how that could be. After all, it’s my baby. It grew in my brain, came from my fingers, swirled around me while I slept, but it doesn’t feel the same. It used to be a cocoon to wrap myself in, a spell to disappear under. Now it’s just paint. Pretty, but not magical, not something to hide away in or disappear into.

I turn off the lights and leave the box of shoes and knickknacks I packed on the bed. This time I’m ready.

Mo