The You I've Never Known(29)

We opted for subs rather than pizza, which makes me queasy at this point in time. Then she dropped me off at Jason’s friend’s apartment. Jason was there, beer in hand. He’d had a few before I arrived. “What took you so long?” he demanded.

I was only a half hour late, so I’m not sure why I felt compelled to apologize. “Sorry. I had lunch with Tati. She wanted to give me a present.”

“Just so you know, I’ve got something for you, too. Come here.”

“Can I get a beer first?”

“No. Not good for the kid.”

It was the first time he’d ever denied me, and even though he might have had a valid point, it pissed me off. “I don’t think one beer will hurt her.”

“Him. And it’s not up to you. I’m saying no. Now come here.” He softened slightly. “Please.”

Everything about Jason seemed different, and I hesitated to go closer at first. But then he smiled and held out his hand, which held a little box, gift wrapped in blue-and-silver foil. Inside it was a sapphire-and-diamond ring. Small stones, but real, and set in fourteen-carat gold.

“Let’s do it,” he said. “Maya McCabe, will you marry me?”





Ariel



Headed Home Again


It’s almost like nothing unusual happened. Well, except it’s later, and now Gabe and I know a lot more about each other than we did before. Still, we’re both on the hunt for information. Before diving into that dialogue, however, I put in a call to the hospital and ask about Hillary. Whoever’s on the answering end of the phone can’t—or won’t—tell me much

except she’s still in Emergency.

“Maybe I should’ve told her

I was Peg Grantham,” I joke.

“Although the real Peg would probably have me arrested

for impersonating her if she

ever found out.” I give Gabe

a quick overview of my earlier conversation with the shrew.

Maybe she was having a bad day. And, face it, your call wouldn’t have made it any better, you know?





He’s Got a Point


“You’re right,” I admit. “Maybe— maybe—I’m too quick to judge. I think it’s a defense mechanism I designed somewhere back in my childhood.

Better to push people away than get too close and then have to leave them.”

Gabe has skeletal knowledge

of Dad’s and my prior nomadic

existence, but we haven’t discussed it in depth. Now, however, he asks, Why did you move around so much anyway? That must’ve been hard.

Remembering some of the people

I allowed myself to call friends, a fog of wistfulness blossoms.

“I didn’t always mind, but once in a while we stuck around long enough for me to connect with someone and it hurt to know I’d probably never see them again. I can’t really tell you why Dad refused to put down roots.

He said it was itchy feet, but there were times it felt more like he was trying to run from ghosts of his past.”





The Danger


In opening up is allowing too much

to spill out. Because now Gabe feels comfortable asking, What kind of ghosts? You mean, like, your mom?

I take a deep breath, hoping to slow the stumble. “She’s one, I guess.”

You never talk about her. Do you ever see her? Where is she now?

All vestiges of my earlier regret

disappear, blown away by a giant

hot wind of rage. “No, I don’t see her, and I have no idea where she is.

For all I know, she’s rotting in jail or hell, and I couldn’t care less

because the bitch never gave one

good goddamn about me.” Out of

air and steam, I pause and he says,

Hey, take it easy. How do you know?

My temples pulse noticeably.

“How do I know what, exactly?”

How do you know she never cared?

When was the last time you talked to her?

“I don’t know. Let me see. Guess

I must have been two. That’s when

she walked out of my life. Fifteen

years, no calls, no letters, no visits.

Hmm. Wonder why I might assume

I’m not a bullet point on her priority list. I mean, how would you feel if one of your parents up and deserted you?”

I realize my mistake just as he says, Desertion might be preferable to death.

At least it’s reversible. But I didn’t mean to upset you. Let’s change the subject.

Anger cools, dissipates into a reddish haze, and I’m not sure if what’s left is directed toward Gabe or my mother.

Most likely the latter, because now that we’re talking about fast cars again, a small blush of desire paints my cheeks.





I Have a Hard Time


Believing he can

make me feel this

way at any time,

let alone after stoking such an overwhelming inferno of negative emotions. He must

be a warlock, hungry for a bite of my soul.

“I don’t suppose you have a cauldron and broom somewhere?”

That was off the wall.

Are you accusing me of witchcraft or what?