The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things(73)

Damn. This is my second conversational gambit that has turned down a depressing path. Maybe I can change that. “What was your favorite thing about her?”


“Her hugs,” he says right away. “You know how, after a while, some people will pat you a couple of times to let you know they’ve got better things to do? She never did. She’d just stand there hugging, like there was nothing more important in the world.”

“I bet she didn’t think there was.” I wish I’d met Shane’s mom.

“I miss her,” he confesses in a raw voice.

I can’t fix this; only time can. But I wrap my arms around him anyway, trying to live up to world-class hugging. He whispers into my neck, “You know when you held me before, that first trip out here, it was first time anybody did since she died?”

“I had no idea.”

“Everyone was afraid to get near me, afraid of setting me off. And then you just showed up with soup and started hugging me. Is it weird that I thought maybe my mom sent you?”

I smile at him. “I hope that’s true.”

“Sometimes when I’m feeling guilty that I’m happy, I imagine her telling me that it’s okay … I’m allowed to have a life even if she doesn’t anymore.”

“That’s how I feel about my dad. Sometimes I’ll go weeks without thinking about him at all … and then I’m, like, this is the guy who pushed you on the swings for two solid hours.”

“It’s such a relief to talk about her. Most people can’t handle this. They get weird and they don’t know what to say.” He pauses. “I have some pictures, if you want to see them.”

“I’d like that.”

Shane gets out a packet of photos, and then his life is arrayed in front of me. Though the point is for me to see his mother, I also meet little Shane with his missing teeth, on the rocking horse, with no shirt on, and one with him holding what I imagine is his first guitar. He’s smiling as he pages through, telling me about what life was like before.

Before. It’s kind of a magical word. Warmth swells up inside me. I’ve never felt this close to anyone in my life.

After that, we eat vegetable soup, which is delicious. Then we curl up with my old iPod, his now. He doesn’t have a dock, so we share the earbuds, listening to a playlist Shane has created especially for this occasion. It’s past nine by this point, and I’m wondering if he ever plans to play me the song he claimed to be working on when he pushes to his feet and heads down the hall to his room. Am I supposed to follow?

No. He’s coming back.

Ah, he’s got his guitar, wearing his shy-delightful smile. By the twinkle lights, he looks so beautiful that it hurts me to see him, and I think in wonderment, He’s mine.

Shane settles beside me. “I wrote this for you, Sage. I hope you like it.”

And I’m too breathless to respond as he starts to play.

“Rock bottom, left for dead, / Furies screaming in my head— / I was off the rails, way off track / Somehow you brought me back.”

This song is soft and slow, his voice deepening, lending the lyrics greater intimacy. He gazes at me as he sings, and I melt. My hands are folded in my lap, and I restrain the urge to throw myself at him. My body isn’t big enough to hold this feeling. God, he wrote me a song.

Shane launches into the second verse, cradling the guitar tenderly. “You’re the one who makes me whole / When I’m broken in my soul The queen of bright and shiny things, Not designer clothes or diamond rings.”

I push out a shaky breath, listening.

“So you’re the calm and I’m the storm; / I’d sell my soul to keep you warm. / You’re the angel in my bed; / You’re all the words I never said.”

My cheeks heat when he says I’m the angel in his bed. Technically, he was in mine, but I’m thinking that will change tonight. But words, which ones? The big three? I can’t stand this. It’s too beautiful and personal. I ache all over.

“Princess, let me fight for you / I’ll go to war if you want me to / But I’d rather take you home tonight / Hold you close and treat you right.”

I remember the way his fist balled up when Dylan was giving me shit. Shane really would fight for me, I suspect, but it’s enough that he wants to. Because of him, I don’t hate that nickname anymore; I used to hear “princess” and flinch, but now it makes me smile.

His voice drops, so intense and heartfelt, and his eyes blaze blue fire as he plays. “Other men could give you more But none of them could love you more They can keep the world if I’ve got you / I’m forever yours, forever true.”

Did he just say he loves me? I’m pretty sure he did. For a few seconds, I’m so overwhelmed that I can’t speak, let alone move.

“Well?” he prompts, looking worried.

“It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I can’t believe you wrote that for me.”

“I’d do anything for you,” he says softly. “That was just a song.”

“That was the best present anyone’s ever given me.” Sliding off the sofa, I take his hand. “Wanna show me your room?”

Shane’s off the couch like a shot. “It’s not decorated like the rest.”

“Doesn’t matter. I just want to be close to you.”