Page 9 of Moving Forward

CHAPTER FOUR

CAIN

I finish stacking the crates on the counter and make sure to grab my pie before I turn out the lights and lock up. Since I was little, it’s been a tradition that we bake the first peach pie of the season and then immediately eat it. All of it. We never cared about how late we got home or how worn out we were. We’ve always been up for the task. Today is the first day we aren’t. On our ride home, Grams mentioned that she was exhausted. She fell asleep at the halfway mark and when I woke her up at the Orchard Valley town limits, she tiredly asked me to just take her home.

Of course, Grams still kissed me on the head and said, “Eat my half,” basically telling me it was my job to make the pie and then eat the whole thing. After all, leaving crumbs is taboo for the first pie of the season. I waited until the diner closed to drop off the peaches and make the pie.

On my way to the boat, I notice someone sitting on the edge of the dock, feet dangling in the water. Before I can follow my impulse to dash back to the diner, she turns around and looks up at me. And damn. I freeze. Can’t move. Can’t even breathe.

My grandpa, back when he was alive, used to try to give me romantic advice. The one thing that has always stuck with me was about the moment when you met “the one.” Back then, I’d been dating Erin and I always replied that she was the one, but he’d shake his head. “When you first see the one, it won’t be like how it is with you and Erin. It won’t be easy. It’ll feel like you’re about to drop off a roller coaster with your heart in your stomach, beating harder than a kick drum. When you look at her, she’ll be glowing, like you’ve just died and gone to heaven. And once you see her, you’ll realize there isn’t anyone else in the world for you and that you haven’t been really living without her.”

I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Is that how you felt about Grams?” I just couldn’t believe anyone actually had those feelings. They seemed unreal and improbable. Nonexistent.

He only smiled knowingly at me and went back to skinning peaches. I’d always looked up to the man, but at that moment I’d thought that he’d gone five miles past crazy town.

But now? Oh shit. I’ve gone ten miles past crazy town. Everything he said—I believe it now. Unreal and improbable and nonexistent, but of course it would happen to me. Of course I would find “the one” when I’m incapable of love.

In the dim light of streetlights, the first thing I notice is her eyes, twinkling like faraway stars. Even at this distance they send a shockwave through me. There is a serenity to them that gives off a nobody’s-home-vibe. Glassy and broken and just . . . sad. Maybe I recognize that look because that’s what I see in my own. Those eyes are a book you can’t read unless you’ve been a character in the same story.

My heart feels like it’s being ripped open. She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met, and she feels the same way I do. That dark and twisted feeling is ripping her insides like it is mine.

Her mouth is probably what stops people from noticing her sadness. It’s smaller than most but curves up naturally, making her look like she’s smiling even though her lips are in a straight, flat line. Long blond hair is piled atop her head, making her seem taller than she actually is. She probably just reaches my shoulders if she’s lucky. She’s wearing a white dress, her shoes discarded on the dock beside her. That somehow gets to me. I don’t know why. I don’t want to psychoanalyze it or whatever. But for once in my life, I’m looking at someone like me. Finally. All I want to do is wrap her up in my arms, run my fingers through her undoubtedly soft hair, brush her lips my with thumb, stare into her eyes. I want to be broken with her. This loneliness I’ve chosen feels too big to handle on my own now.

She shoots up suddenly, nearly tripping over the edge and into the water. I lurch forward, not sure what I can do from this distance. Luckily she catches herself before I can make a total idiot of myself. She takes a few steps away from the edge, glancing back nervously.

“You alright?” I ask, my voice raspy. When was the last time I talked to someone other than Grams? I don’t even remember. If anyone ever tries to talk to me, which is practically never, I ignore them or give them the don’t fuck with me or I’ll fuck with you look I’ve mastered over the years.

She gives me a quick nod and looks toward the docked boats. I’ll bet she doesn’t like being around people either. Then again, it could be she just doesn’t want to be around me.

I switch my hold on my pie. “Damn,” I grumble, the juices from the pie covering my hand.

“Sorry,” the girl whispers, drawing my attention back to her. She looks on the verge of tears now.

My gut twists, something it hasn’t done in a long time. “No, it’s not you . . . it’s just . . . peaches.”

She blinks. “Peaches,” she repeats, tears gone. Thank God for my inability to be a normal human being.

“Yeah.”

She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, but reaches down for her shoes instead and starts to walk toward the street. When she passes by she looks everywhere but at me. I’m not ready for her to go. I want her to stay here. To stay with me.

“Hey,” I whisper.

She jumps slightly and, finally, our eyes meet. I swear I hear something between us. Like a soft song or hum. With that something comes a jolt of electricity that wakes up every part of me that’s long been dormant. My grandpa’s words come to me again, louder and clearer this time.

“Hi,” she replies nervously.

I hold up the pie for a lack of anything else to do. “Do you want a piece?” It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to anyone that I stumble over my words like a seventh-grade boy asking a girl to a dance. I didn’t even mean to say that, I just opened my mouth and vomited words. Smooth.

When she doesn’t say anything, I clear my throat. “I made it . . . at my Grams’s restaurant,” I explain, pointing over to Ruth’s with my thumb.

She glances back at it and then her eyes roam over me skeptically. “Alright,” she answers with a long breath.

I release my own held breath, relieved and panicked, and walk to my boat, listening to the sound of her steps as she follows closely behind. When we get there she doesn’t make any move to get on the boat with me. She just waits outside while I fix up a plate for her.

As I walk back out, it hits me. What am I doing? Am I possessed or something? I don’t do things like this anymore. I don’t talk to people, let alone women. Sure, she’s probably the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen and I see something in her that I feel inside myself . . . but that doesn’t mean my world is suddenly fixed. It’s always going to be in ruins. I’m not stupid. I know I can never be with another person. I know she won’t ever look back after tonight—not at me. So, what’s my endgame here? What do I expect?

I won’t let there be an endgame. I’ll just give her the pie, and she’ll walk away and I’ll never see her again. I’ll go back to my isolated life and forget all about her. Simple as that. I hope.

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