Page 9 of Tulips and Lost Time

I draw a deep breath until my chest grows. Until my lungs stretch and my throat hurts. Then I release it again, securing Billy against my heart. “She was always quiet, Bill. Always watchful. She idolized every move Marc made. Every single thing he did, she was nearby to watch. To catalog. But she never, ever complained. She refused to interfere or whine. She just wanted to be near him, and he…” I sniffle and shake my head. “He didn’t mind one bit. They weren’t like regular siblings. Daddy loves Aunty Jess and Laine with his whole heart. Always have. But back then, a sister was a sister, and most often, they’re annoying. But not Uncle Marc. Not Mommy. They had this whole new family with the Turners. They had security. Food on the table. A bed to sleep in at night. They were never gonna be kicked out or anything, but I swear, they were always on edge anyway. Especially Marc. Acted like it was just him and Kari against the whole world.”

“You don’t want to watch the girls’ track team?” I wander by the bleachers and shake my head at an eighth-grade Marc, who stares across the field, past twenty-something babes in tiny shorts and push-up bras. Because he’d rather watch the little-kid side of the school and his sweet baby sister who sits on a log and reads a Babysitters Club book, instead of playing hopscotch with the twins. “Dude. She’s fine!”

“She’s not fine.” He walks with his shoulders hunched. His hands in his pockets and his eyes, dark because of how his brows shadow them from above. “She’s having a rough time because some Becky-bitches aren’t being nice to her in class.”

“She’s not with the Becky-bitches right now. She’s with the twins. And they’re gonna sweep the floor with anyone who wants to disrespect her. You know that.”

“Kari’s not like the twins.” He meanders in her direction. He doesn’t storm across and save the day. He doesn’t intrude. But he watches the way a hawk watches its babies. “She’s not even gonna tell me half the time when something is bothering her. She takes it, like she thinks it’s her job to be the world’s fucking dumpster, accepting everyone else’s trash and carrying it on her own.”

“Did you ever stop to think you’re a tad… codependent?” I flash a wide grin when he turns, his eyes glacial and cutting. “She’s a big girl, Marc. She’s okay.”

“She’s not okay. She just won’t admit it. Not to me and not to the twins.”

“Hey, Marcus.” Sassy St James and her bee-eff-eff foreverrrrrr strut along the track, their hands on their hips and a rosy, red blush working along their chests after a solid run in the sun. Sassy only has eyes for me. She has since… I don’t even know. First or second grade, I guess.

Seems she found her hormones long before my sisters did. Thank fuck.

But Lauriana—her name, far more exotic than the person herself—smiles and searches for my best friend’s attention. She’s a preppy little blonde with big eyes, big lips, and an even bigger chest.

Nevertheless, Marc is the unattainable one. The silent, serious, broody guy all the girls swoon for because of his quiet mystique.

Not really a personality quirk I ever managed.

I’m the louder in our bunch. The one with the mouth and nary a filter. Sam is often introspective. Thoughtful. And Ang is… well, he’s abused.

“Are you guys heading out to Piper’s Lane this weekend?” Lauriana asks. She knows she has tits. In fact, she knows she was the first in her entire grade to fill out. So she juts her chest forward and searches desperately for Mr. Mystico’s attention. “My brother is racing,” she simpers. “He said he could get us beer if we wanna come along.”

Dun, dun, dun. Wipeout!

“Her brother is out supplying his kid sister with booze,” Marc rumbles, turning his back on Sassy and Lauriana and meandering Kari’s direction. “Meanwhile, I won’t be buying mine alcohol until she’s fifty.”

“You’re a bit overprotective though, Macchio.” I leave the girls in our wake and match his steps, my shoulder brushing his as we walk. “It’s all fun and games to love your sister, bro. But you’ve gotta cut the cord and live at some point.”

“I will.” He slows near the end of the bleachers, tilting his head to get a look at his sister. “When Becky-bitches aren’t making her hate herself every time your sisters aren’t within listening range. Hey, Kari!” He frames his mouth with his hands and shouts loud enough to get both sides of the school’s attention. Little kids skip rope on the elementary side. Others play tips, and giggle about… whatever little kids giggle about. But they all skid to a stop when his shout echoes the fifty yards from where we are to where his sister is. “Hey!” He lifts his hand in the air and waves.

I drop mine in my pockets and look over our shoulders to the track girls. Then to the bleachers, to every other person in our school—except Sam and Ang—who watch on.

I’m not a shy guy. Not really. But hell if the back of my neck doesn’t warm because my best friend is shouting at a bunch of little kids.

“You okay?” Lifting a thumb in the air, he wiggles it up, for I’m good, and down, for come kick these bitches’ asses. Kari, of course, gives him a thumbs up and looks back down at her book.

“See?” I clap his shoulder and smile when Jess and Laine laugh. At us. At Kari. At this entire spectacle. “She’s fine.”

“She’s not fine.” But he lowers his hand and digs it into his pocket. Turning on his heels, he meets my slow stride and drops his head. “She says things to make me feel better.”

“Because she loves you. She wants you to worry less.”

“Telling me she’s okay when she’s not, doesn’t make me worry less. It just means I can’t trust her to be honest when something is bothering her. She’s a fuckin’ martyr who will lie and say whatever she thinks I want to hear.”

“She’s a good girl. And you both have severe codependency issues after a highly traumatic period in your life.” I flash a wicked, playful grin as we approach Sassy and Lauriana again. But Sassy isn’t staying back this time. She saunters forward and ducks under my shoulder, wrapping her arm across my back and hitching her thumb in the belt loop of my jeans. “Hey there.” I lower my nose to the crown of her head and take a long whiff.

I’m not sure why I do that.

I have never, ever, no matter who snuggles into my side, found a girl whose scent makes me smile. But I continue to try anyway. It’s a bit like Cinderella’s shoe, maybe. Someday, I’ll find the right one. But in the meantime, I’ll keep sniffing.

I’m not a creep, I swear.

“Your mom says I’m a creep.” I rock in the chair in Billy’s nursery and watch as she guzzles milk to the bottom of her stomach. She drinks too fast. Too greedy. Which is why she gets chronic stomach aches and explosive poo. But I’ll be damned if I tell her to stop.

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