My anger melts away as I flop onto the couch,
Unwrap my burrito.
I sigh.
Everything was less complicated when
I was still with Harris.
Jacey and I could’ve gone to Preference
Without any drama,
She with her boyfriend, and
Me with mine.
“Sorry,” I mumble to my burrito wrapper.
“I screwed everything up when I broke up with Harris.”
I think about how I’ve lost so much more than a boyfriend.
I can’t go back to high school,
I don’t see anyone but Gramma-Linda and Jacey—and
Stupid Trevor, because
He pops over whenever he wants,
Somehow getting himself invited to dinner.
“No you didn’t,” Jacey says.
“You needed to break up with Harris.
I just wish—”
Her eyes go wide, and
She stuffs her mouth with a fistful of tots.
“You wish what?” I ask.
She shakes her head, then
Takes a long drag of my Diet Coke.
She barely has time to breathe before
She fills her mouth with more food.
I’ve known Jacey for years, and
I recognize the signs of
A) her stress-eating, and
B) her tactics to keep a secret.
“Jacey,” I warn. “You’re going to run out of tots in about four seconds.
Then you’ll have to tell me.”
She slows her chewing, but
The inevitable still comes.
When her food is gone,
She sighs and leans back into the couch.
She closes her eyes,
Another method she uses to prolong the silence.
“Spill,” I tell her, and
She jerks her eyes open.
“Okay, but just hear me out, okay?”
She leans forward,
Earnestly.
“So we know Trevor still likes you.
The real question is:
How do you feel about him?”
She holds up her hand
When I open my mouth to speak.
“I know, I know.
You don’t think you guys can be together.
But be honest with yourself, Livvy.
If you don’t like him, fine.
If you do, well…”
She trails off, but
There are too many ways to end that sentence.
“You’re not related.
That’s all I’m saying.”
“HOW ARE THINGS GOING WITH GRAMMA-LINDA?”
My mother sits at the bar in
The Youngblood’s kitchen,
A cup of steaming coffee in front of her.
“Fine,” I tell her as I open the fridge.
I don’t know why I came downstairs when
Dad bought ice cream bars for my tiny freezer upstairs.
Still, I poke around in this foreign fridge
For something good to eat.
I find nothing.
I should’ve known better.
Mom’s never been one to stock pudding, or
Anything that tastes remotely good.
Mom sips from her cup,
Taking little bits of my soul,
As she continues to analyze me.
I’m not facing her, but
I can feel the weight of her stare
As I rummage through kale,
Cabbage, and
Eggplant.
I close the fridge and
Turn to face her.
“Can we order pizza?”
Her eyes pinch for only a moment, but
The photographer in me
Sees it.
“Sure,” she says.
“AND I DON’T EVEN HAVE TO TAKE A MATH CREDIT,”
I finish.
I’ve—surprisingly—
Told Mom most of what Gramma-Linda is making me
Do for homeschool.
Between her,
Me, and
Rose,
We’ve eaten almost two whole pizzas.
Mom even bought soda and
Cookie dough,
Which I’ve just put in the oven.
With Rose sitting between us,
I don’t feel such tension from my mother.
She catches my eye and
Smiles.
I return it before I can stop myself.
I can see it makes her immensely happy, and
I suddenly feel like crying.
Leave the kitchen.
I’m halfway up the stairs when
Rose darts in front of me before
I can wipe my eyes.
“Why are you crying?”
Her face is so open,
Her tone so concerned.
I grab her in a hug, and
Hold on tight.
“I don’t know,” I whisper into her golden hair.
But I do.
I just don’t know how to say it in words, but
I know I’m crying because
I’ve been such a beast to my mom.
I’ve been so removed,
So angry,
So cruel,
That a simple smile from me
Makes her entire evening.
I release Rose and
Sprint up the rest of the stairs and into our room.
I close and lock the door before
Leaning against it,
The tears flowing in waves
Down my face.
YOU STILL UP?
My phone buzzes against my chest,
Waking me from the half-sleep
I’ve fallen into.
I check the text to see who it’s from.
Trevor.
I consider ignoring him, until
I remember the look on my mom’s face, and
The way my attention influenced her.
Unfortunately, I text him.
What’s the harm in a text? I think.
Nothing, I answer myself,
If he wasn’t the guy you used to date, and
Exactly who you want to be alone with again.
You wanna shoot tomorrow? he asks.
No, I do not want to shoot tomorrow, I think, but
I don’t type that into my phone.
My plans for tomorrow are blank,
The whole day wide open for Mom to
Take me shopping, or
Sigh loudly at the shortness of my hair, or
Ask me to clean some random corner of this house I barely live in.
What time? I text,
Wondering if I’m allowed to go back to Dad’s
On my mom’s weekend.
Afternoon, he answers.
I have weight training in the morning.
Can you get my camera gear on the way over?
“YOUR DAD SEEMED SURPRISED TO SEE ME.”
Trevor unshoulders my camera pack and
Hands it to me as I step out of my bedroom and
Into the hall.
“I texted him,” I say, trying not to take a deep drag of Trevor’s cologne.
He smells like his typical musky aftershave, something
I’ve always been attracted to.
Now, my only defense against him would be to
Glue my nostrils shut.
I spend a few seconds admiring him.
His dark brown hair,
His blue eyes,
His football physique.
I turn away before
The situation becomes awkward.
“He should’ve known you were coming.”
“Yeah, well, he didn’t.”
He follows me as I start down the stairs.
“And might I say that I really like the new paint color in your bedroom.”
My step stutters;
I grasp the railing for support, because
The breath has left my body.
“You went in my bedroom?”
I can’t even remember what condition I left it in, but
I know I didn’t clean it before
Coming to the Youngblood’s.
“I had to.”
Trevor moves past me down the stairs,
Glancing at me as he does.
“Your dad had no idea where your camera bag was.”
“What else did you see in my bedroom?”
An image of the stack of journals on my nightstand
Makes my stomach turn.
I’ve been leafing through the diaries every night before
I fall asleep.
“Nothing,” Trevor assures me.
“Your dad came in the room with me,
Hunted around until we found it.”
My cheeks feel hot, and
I have no hair to hide that fact.
I close my eyes in a long blink,
Clench my fingers around the banister,
Until I feel like I can breathe again.
“I’ve been in your bedroom before,” he says.
“What’s the big deal?”
“Stop it,” I say.
“You know what the big deal is.
And—”
I point at him though it jostles the
Already-balanced-precariously camera bag on my back.
“—The one time you’ve been in my bedroom was
Simply to get my phone off my desk.
Nothing happened.”
“Don’t remind me,” he mutters, and
I can suddenly hear him telling me he wants to sleep with me.
The heat in my cheeks is no longer from panic.
I brush past him with my face turned so he can’t see the blush and
Head for the garage.
“You have a car, right?” I call over my shoulder.
“Yeah,” he says, “But I thought we were shooting here.”
I glance up at the vaulted ceilings,
The antique furniture,
The marble, silk, hardwood.
“Too stale,” I declare.
I turn to face him.
“You’re not stale. We need…”
I glance around like I’ll be able to find what he needs here,
In this lousy mansion,
A sorry excuse for a home.
“We need something…more exciting.”
“Are you saying I’m exciting?”
He gives me that sexy half-smile and
Steps closer.
“I’m saying get your keys and
Let’s get out of here.”
“DO YOU EVER MISS HER?”
Trevor won’t look at me, but
Focuses out the window,
On the road, or
Something.
I can’t really see his eyes anyway, because
He’s wearing sunglasses.
“Miss who?” I ask.
“Your mom.”
Instantly, I feel an invisible wall
Go up between me and
Him.
The same barrier that’s been between me and
My mother
For the past year and a half.
His car feels ten times colder, and
The low music from the radio is now too loud.
I don’t answer.
I don’t know if I miss my mom or not.
“I miss my dad,
Sometimes,” Trevor says.
I let myself look at him.
Click, click, click.
The need is raw on his face,
The tension evident in his shoulders.
“I mean, he hasn’t been around for years, but
I still miss him.
Watching you with your dad at dinner the other night is
When I realized it.”
I wish I knew what to say, or
That I could reach for my camera and
Capture this moment in pixels,
Forever.
“Where to?” Trevor asks
After a few minutes of silence.
He’s been driving aimlessly,
Turning right, then
Left, then
Right.
I wish I had long hair like I used to, so
I could hide behind it
Like I used to.
“Wings?” he says
Just as I say,
“I miss her.”
“I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU,”
Were Mom’s parting words to Rose
When she moved out of our house and
In with Darren Youngblood.
I didn’t know until that day that
My mom was a coward.
She waited until Dad left on a business trip
To move out.
She packed all day the first day,
Her face as still as stone,
Her voice mute.
The second day,
The moving van came,
Taking her boxes,
Her wardrobe,
Her jewelry, and
Her photos.
She called in Gramma-Linda
On the third day.
She bent down and hugged Rose.
“I will always love you.”
Gramma-Linda had stood sentinel
Near the front door.
She’d smoothed my hair,
Held me close, and
Told me everything would be all right.
Mom barely looked at me,
Barely spoke.
And then she left.
COWARD
Is what I wrote in my journal
That night.
I knew my mother was one, and
I wondered if I was too.
Why didn’t I say something sooner?
Why didn’t I do anything?
Maybe I could’ve saved my parents’ marriage.
Maybe I could have—
The entry stops there, but
I’m still wondering if I’m brave enough
To do hard things.
Gramma-Linda stayed with me and Rose
For a week after Mom left,
Before Dad returned from his business trip.
She talked all the time,
Telling Rose that Mom still loved her,
That she would always love her,
That just because she didn’t live here anymore
Didn’t mean she’d stopped caring.
Dad called every night and
Told us about Chicago and
How good the hot dogs were.
Rose cried on the phone every night and
Asked me if Dad was really coming home or
If he’d leave us the way Mom did.
I soothed my sister with songs and
Hot chocolate.
I did not lie to her the way
Gramma-Linda did,
The way Mom had.
Because she didn’t love us,
At least not as much as she loved Darren Youngblood.
“THERE.”
I point across my body,
Almost jabbing Trevor’s arm.
“That house. It’s perfect.”
Trevor pulls over and
Squints at the structure.
“It’s one wind storm from falling down.”
“Like I said,
Perfect.”
I get out of the car,
Shoulder my bag, and
Step around the NO TRESPASSING sign.
“Wings, you can’t be serious.”
Trevor hurries after me.
“We could get in trouble.”
“Are you worried?”
I toss him a smirk over my shoulder.
“Yes,” he says.
“If I get in trouble,
I can’t play football.”
I pause, considering.
Playing football to Trevor
Is like breathing.
If he can’t do it,
He’ll die.
The porch of the dilapidated house
Sags;
The paint on the front door is
Peeling;
The brick is weathered and
Crumbling.
“This has character,” I say,
Almost a whine in my voice.
“It’s perfect.”
Trevor comes to stand beside me.
“So you’re saying I have
Perfect character.”
I roll my eyes,
Knowing I’ve got him,
At least for a few minutes.
“I’m saying we better shoot this
Before the cops come by.”
“JUST ONE MORE,”
I tell Trevor.
“You’ve said that at least ten times.”
I’ve taken at least two hundred shots
Of him, but
I don’t have the right one yet.
I got him sitting on the porch, and
Leaning against that blue door, and
Posing in front of the textured brick.
I’ve used the flash, and
Opened the aperture, and
Adjusted his clothes.
We’ve been here an hour, and
He was done after the first thirty minutes.
“I can’t use any of these,” I tell him, and
He glances skyward as if
God will grant him patience.
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Come on,” I say.
“Just a couple more.”
I step toward the front door,
Wondering if it’s locked.
“Whoa, we’re not going in there.”
He moves to block me.
“Yes, we are,” I say,
Swatting his outstretched arm out of my way.
I scan him from head to toe.
“It’s the ideal juxtaposition.
You, all put together and…whatever, and
This house all falling apart.”
“So you’re saying opposites attract.”
I brush past him and test the door.
It swings open, and
I enter.
“I’m saying persistence pays off.