Under Rose-Tainted Skies(54)

‘Does he get it?’

‘Get what?’

‘Your limitations?’

I’m not really sure what she’s asking. ‘I mean, we’ve talked about it a lot.’

‘But does he understand?’ Mom says, her Dr Reeves impression almost perfect. I load my mouth with a spoonful of porridge and nod. Nope. I still don’t have a clue what she wants to know, but a serious note in her voice suggests another ill-timed intervention, and I’m not sure I can handle two of those in one week. I’m still considering the scratching issue. ‘It’s nice to see you smiling,’ she says and I have a sneaking suspicion she’s decided it’s not worth pursuing this line of questioning. At least not yet.

‘So . . . is that a yes?’ I flap my lashes, throw my best grin in her face.

‘Sure,’ she says.



I’m sitting at the top of the stairs, using my teeth to file down the corner of my thumbnail, when Luke knocks.

‘I’ll get it!’ I yell, sprinting down the stairs, excitement level off the charts as I bunny-hop back up the last step before heading to the door. Mom laughs at me from the living room. She’s been swallowed. All that’s left of her is a pair of feet in penguin slippers hanging over the arm of the couch.

‘Hi.’ I’m a little out of breath when I answer the door. Worse when I’m done soaking up his smile.

‘You like vanilla ice cream, right?’ he says, holding up a brown paper bag. ‘Not the vanilla pod stuff. I remembered that thing you said about not liking black bits in your food. Assumed you were being literal.’ See. He does understand.

‘Aww,’ Mom coos from inside the mouth of the couch.

Luke winces like he just coughed too loud in church. ‘I didn’t know your mom was home,’ he whispers. Lately, she’s been doing a great job of making herself scarce.

‘That’s okay. We’re going upstairs,’ I tell him and lead the way.

Tonight we’re watching Mad Mad Mary, one of my favourite horror classics. I’m on my bed, legs crossed, and Luke is slumped on my sill. I didn’t ask him to sit so far away; he just sort of gravitated towards the window.

‘Who does that?’ he says. His eyes are on the TV. My eyes are on him, wondering for whose sake he’s bypassed the bed. I conclude he’s done it for me, but out of nowhere, for the smallest of seconds, I wish he’d done it for himself. ‘Don’t go up. Go out.’ The guy in the movie, the lead, runs straight past the door and takes off up the stairs. Luke starts reciting a list of mistakes the characters in horror movies make, a mental list I’ve made a thousand times before. It feels good to have someone to share with.

‘Don’t move to a house that’s a million miles away from anywhere,’ I add.

‘Yes.’ He almost chokes on a spoonful of ice cream. ‘Switch on the lights the second you hear a strange noise.’ I laugh so hard the urge to pee hits me.

‘I’ll be right back,’ I say, climbing off the bed. He hits pause on the movie. I try not to get teary over how considerate he is.

One relieved bladder and two fresh squirts of Mom’s perfume later, I float back down the landing, so happy I feel like there should be bluebirds frolicking overhead and stems of sweet roses to stop and sniff. Anxiety is forced to trail ten paces behind me.

I stop when I get to my room because I can hear Luke talking and I don’t want to gatecrash his call. ‘When?’ he says into his cell. ‘Next Friday? Are you serious?’ I see him through the crack in my door, pacing. Excitement has erupted on his face. ‘Yes. Awesome. Can you get me two tickets?’ Pause. Face scrunch. Headshake. Someone pulls the plug on his smile. He runs a hand through his hair. ‘Actually, dude, I’m not going to be able to make it. I already have plans.’ He laughs. ‘What makes you think they’re with a girl?’ My heart leaps into my throat. ‘There might be.’ Pause. ‘She might be.’ He perches on my bed, reaches for the antique silver photo frame that sits on top of a wicker table. He smiles at the picture of me blowing out eighteen candles on my seventeenth birthday – had to round the candles up to the nearest even number so as not to upset my psyche. Lame.

‘Trust me. You don’t know her.’

Anxiety catches up to me; I wobble when it slams into my back. Me. It’s me that’s pulled the plug on his smile.

‘Nah. Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch them next time. Thanks anyway, man.’ He hangs up, tosses his phone in the air and catches it. He’s all happy-go-lucky again as he heads back to his safe seat on the windowsill. I push my body up against the wall, count to ten as my finger carves out a crevice in my palm.

We need to talk. He can’t start missing out on things for me. He can’t do that. That’s like climbing into a car with its brakes cut. Disaster imminent.

I head back into the room, watch my feet move, one in front of the other. Everything feels uneven, so I use the furniture to ferry me back to my bed.

‘Norah. Are you okay?’ He sits up, startled.

‘Sure. You know me . . .’ I dismiss the worried expression he’s throwing my way with a wave. ‘Stability of spaghetti.’

‘Is the movie too much?’ He gets off the sill, walks over, sits on the very edge of my bed. ‘We can watch something else.’