The Wish(68)

My dad and Aunt Linda also shared stories about growing up in Seattle when the city still had plenty of undeveloped land. Once in a while, Gwen talked about her life in Vermont, and I learned that her family had six prized cows that produced a rich butter used in some upscale restaurants in Boston.

I appreciated what Aunt Linda and Gwen were doing, yet even as I listened, I found my thoughts wandering to Bryce. The sun was going down and had my parents not been here, he and I would have begun playing around with the camera, trying to capture the perfect light of the golden hour. In those moments, I realized, my world shrank to nothing but the task at hand while expanding exponentially at the same time.

I wanted more than anything for my parents to share in my interest; I wanted them to be proud of me. I wanted to tell them that I’d begun to imagine a career as a photographer. But then the subject turned to Morgan. My parents talked about her grades and her popularity and the violin and the scholarships she’d received to Gonzaga University. When I saw the way their eyes lit up, my gaze dropped, and I wondered whether my parents would ever glow with pride in the same way when talking about me.

*



On Sunday, they finally left. They were flying out in the afternoon, but we all caught the morning ferry, went to mass, and had lunch before we said our goodbyes in the parking lot. My mom and dad hugged me but neither of them shed a tear, even as I felt my own forming. After pulling back, I wiped my cheeks, and for the first time since they’d arrived, I felt something resembling sympathy from both of my parents.

“You’ll be home before you know it,” my mom assured me, and though all my dad did was nod, at least he looked at me. His expression was mournful as usual, but more than that, I detected helplessness.

“I’ll be okay,” I said, continuing to swipe at my eyes, and though I meant it, I’m not sure either of them believed me.

*



Bryce appeared at the door later that evening. I’d asked him to come over, and though it was chilly, we sat on the porch, in the same spot that my dad and I had a couple of days earlier.

I poured out the story of my parents’ visit, leaving nothing out, and Bryce didn’t interrupt. By the end, I was crying and he scooted his chair closer to mine.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t the visit you wanted it to be,” he murmured.

“Thanks.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?”

“No.”

“I could drop Daisy off and you could snuggle with her tonight.”

“I thought Daisy wasn’t supposed to get on the furniture.”

“She’s not. So how about I make you some hot chocolate instead?”

“That’s okay.”

For the first time since I’d known him, he reached over and placed his hand on mine. He gave it a squeeze, his touch electric.

“It might not mean anything, but I think you’re amazing,” he said. “You’re smart and you have a great sense of humor and obviously, you already know how beautiful you are.”

I felt myself blush at his words, thankful for the darkness. I could still feel his hand on mine, radiating warmth up my arm. He seemed in no rush to let go.

“You know what I was thinking about?” I asked. “Right before you got here?”

“I have no idea.”

“I was thinking that even though my parents were here for only three days, it seemed like an entire month.”

He chuckled before meeting my eyes again. I felt his thumb teasing the back of my hand, featherlight.

“Do you want me to come by tomorrow to tutor? Because if you need a day to unwind, I completely understand.”

Avoiding Bryce, I knew, would make me feel even worse. “I want to keep going on my reading and my assignments,” I said, surprising even myself. “I’ll be okay after I get some sleep.”

His expression was gentle. “You know they love you, right? Your parents, I mean. Even if they aren’t too good at showing it?”

“I know,” I answered, but strangely, I found myself suddenly wondering whether he was talking about them, or about himself.

*



As we eased into February, Bryce and I fell back into our regular routine. It wasn’t quite the same as before, though. For starters, something deeper had taken root when I’d sensed he wanted to kiss me and had grown even stronger when he’d taken my hand. Though he didn’t touch me again—and certainly didn’t attempt a kiss—there was a new charge between us, a low-level and insistent hum that was almost impossible to ignore. I’d be doing a geometry problem and I’d catch him staring at me in a way that seemed unfamiliar, or he’d hand me the camera and hold it for an instant too long, making me pull, and I felt like he was trying to keep his emotions in check.

Meanwhile, I was sorting through my own feelings, especially right before drifting off to sleep. I’d get to the point of no return—that brief and hazy period where consciousness blends with the unconscious and things get swimmy—when all of a sudden, I’d picture him on the ladder or remember the way his touch had set my nerves on fire, and I’d immediately wake up.

My aunt, too, seemed to notice that my relationship with Bryce had…evolved. He was still having dinner with us two or three times a week, but instead of leaving immediately afterward, Bryce would sit with us in the living room for a while. Despite the lack of privacy—or maybe because of it—he and I began to develop our own secret nonverbal communication. He’d gently raise an eyebrow and I’d know that he was thinking the same thing that I was, or when I impatiently ran a hand through my hair, Bryce knew I wanted to change the subject. I thought we were pretty subtle about the whole thing, but Aunt Linda wasn’t easily fooled. After he’d finally gone home, she’d say something that would make me reflect on what she was really trying to tell me.