Page 47 of Tiny Fractures

“No, but this piece is huge.” I poke a piece of artichoke with my fork. “And the crust is so thin.”

“You’ve never had New York-style pizza,” he observes as he pushes up the three-quarter sleeves of his shirt. He grabs a slice of pizza, slowly folds it in half, and takes a huge bite. His eyes are smiling at me. “There you go,” he says with his mouth full, and it makes me giggle.

“Okay, I got this,” I say, flexing my biceps at him, and he chuckles. I pick up a slice of pizza, imitating his way of eating, and take a giant bite. He nods at me proudly and I snort a laugh through my nose. I’m having a great time and I can’t believe how much I enjoy my time with Ronan.

We talk about our respective athletic endeavors, and Ronan wholeheartedly admits that he doesn’t know the first thing about baseball or, for that matter, softball. “It just seems… really slow,” he says, glancing at me as if he’s worried that his words have offended me, though I quickly assure him that I don’t have the slightest clue about hockey either. I find out that Ronan started playing ice hockey when he was seven, and I delightedly tell him that, coincidentally, I began playing softball at the same age. Then I spend some time explaining the rules of softball, and he enlightens me about hockey, which actually sounds like a really fun sport to play and watch. I make a mental note to try to make it to some games next season.

When we’re done eating, Ronan declines my offer to chip in for the pizza.

“But it’s your birthday! And you won’t even let me give you a gift,” I protest, amused.

“No way,” he says, shaking his head, “Benito would never let me live this down.” He hands me my ten-dollar bill back.

“Fine, but I will find a way to give you a birthday gift, sir. If it’s the last thing I do today!” I fold my arms over my chest and sit back in my chair, making Ronan laugh.

“You’re feisty. I like it,” he says, his voice gravelly, making me blush.

On our way home, my phone rings. “Hey, are you home?” Vada asks the moment I hit the speaker button.

I look at Ronan, at his handsome features and his hand shifting gears as we merge lanes, nearing my house.

“No. Actually, I’m running some errands. What’s up?”

I’m not really sure what this is about, but I don’t want to tell Vada that Ronan and I went out to eat. I don’t want to tell her about our kiss last night, and I don’t yet want to tell her that I think I’m falling really, really hard for him. I love Vada, but she gets so enthusiastic, and excited, and… pushy, and I just want to keep this little thing that’s developing between Ronan and me to myself for now because… because I just really don’t know how to feel about all of this. It feels so new and precious and fragile that I’m afraid if I move too fast it’ll disappear on me, that if I talk about it, if I tell Vada about how my heart flutters when I’m around Ronan, things will take a bad turn. As far as I’m concerned, I’m just testing the waters right now, carefully, gently dipping a toe into the dark, scary ocean full of sharks and monsters, to see what awaits me. If I keep this quiet, I can back out of it and nobody will be the wiser. At least it’s what I tell myself.

Ronan turns his head toward me, a small smile on his face as he gives me a minuscule nod, understanding.

“Oh, okay. I was just wondering if you think six is good for me and Steve to come get you so we can drive to Shane’s for Ran’s birthday tonight.”

“Yes, six is perfect!” I note, and Vada’s voice is chipper when I promise to ask my mom for a 2 a.m. curfew. I’m not completely convinced she’ll go for it.

Ronan

I drop Cat off at home and walk her all the way to her door, where she gives me a hug. I have the overwhelming urge to pull her into me and kiss her, and I think she feels the same charged energy—her eyes rest on my lips for a second—but before we can act on it, the front door swings open.

Cat’s mom steps outside to take out the trash, smiling at us knowingly, and the moment dissipates.

I remind Cat that I’ll see her later, and I leave her with a sort of tingling sensation in my stomach.

The first thing I do when I get home is get busy cleaning up. The house isn’t in huge disarray, but that doesn’t mean I don’t try like hell to make it even tidier. I start a load of laundry, fold and put away the clothes that have been sitting in the dryer for the last couple days, wipe down the kitchen counter, unload and reload the dishwasher, and sweep the kitchen, hallway, and living room. I look around, and though everything looks clean, I have no doubt that my mother will find something to complain about. But hopefully what I’ve done is enough to keep things civil.

I can’t explain what it is between my mother and me. We just don’t get along, and I have no idea why. It’s been like this for as long as I can remember. The thing is, she doesn’t treat Steve the way she treats me, and I’m glad about that. It’s enough that she gets pissed at me; I don’t want my brother to feel her rage. My mother knows not to lay a hand on me in front of Steve because he will step in. He’s done it in the past, so she changed her M.O. Things really only get bad when it’s just her and me, when there are no potential witnesses, when there’s no one there to stop her. So I’ve gotten good at avoiding her, but, since we live in the same house I can’t always escape her. And the reality is that, try as I might to be the perfect son, get good grades, clean the house, succeed at whatever it is she asks of me, it’s never enough.

But I’ve made it this far. Seventeen years of fear and violence, and I only have to endure one more year before I’m out of here. One more year before I’m free to go wherever, which will be far, far away from my mother. That thought sustains me.

But now there might be something else. Someone else, I should say. And this thing that’s happening between Cat and me is scaring the shit out of me. I’m afraid that if I let it go where my heart so badly wants it to go, she’s going to get hurt. I know that the longer this goes on, the harder and faster I’m going to fall for her because I can already feel it in every fiber of my being.

I’ve successfully rebuffed every attempt by any girl to get close to me ever since I moved back to New York, staying removed and closed-off. But it’s different with Cat. I’m so completely drawn to her. I think of her constantly, crave being around her, which is crazy because we only met each other mere weeks ago. It’s just so damn easy with her, like I can rest around her, which is an insane feeling. I’m never not on edge, never not on guard, never not anticipating, preparing for a battle because my life is a battle. I can’t drag Cat into this shit; I can’t expose her to the darkness; I can’t fucking ruin her like I do everything else.

But maybe Shane is right; maybe I need to let Cat be the judge and decide if being with me is something she would want. And maybe, if I try hard enough, I could keep her safe? Ugh, why does this shit have to be so confusing?

The house is quiet. Steve isn’t home, and it’s only half past one, meaning my mother should be sleeping for a while longer in preparation for her nightshift. I’m careful to be as noiseless as possible, lest I conjure up her wrath by waking her too soon. Honestly, I hate being at home when I know it’s just her and me; it puts me on high alert and it’s exhausting as hell.

I decide to wander into the small dining area where I open the sideboard and pull out a half-full bottle of Jack from the back, like I have so many times before. I take a second to make sure no sounds are coming from my parents’ bedroom upstairs, then unscrew the lid, put the brown bottle to my lips, and tip my head back. The liquid warms my throat and insides as I work it down.

“Happy seventeenth birthday, Ran,” I mutter. I don’t do this all the time, only when I feel particularly on edge, which for some reason I do today, even though I just got to spend a couple of really nice hours with Cat—or maybe it’s because of that.

Shane is right: I’m too fucking stuck in my own head.

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