Page 50 of Yours

I wipe my eyes again, my gaze flicking from the edge of the table to the counter to the picture of a sunset hanging on the wall. Anywhere but at her.

“Look, I know I can’t fix the past. You’re all grown up, and you’ve got your whole life ahead of you, and your poetry. You’re so talented, Darcy. So smart. Not like me.”

Finally, I get the strength to look at her, but I feel like I’m glaring. I don’t mean to, but it’s the only way I can stand it.

“I’m so proud of you,” she says, her sad eyes glistening. “I hope you keep writing.”

I feel a surge of hopelessness because this feels like goodbye.

Sure enough, she stands and watches me for a long moment, her hand rising to touch me on the shoulder. A soft smile lightens her features and it’s at once so tender and so sad that I feel the tears start again. After a soft squeeze, Silvia turns away, scooping up her coat. In a flash, she is gone, blending into the colors on the street.

Seventeen

Darcy

Christmas arrives a few days later, and it’s easy to put aside my meeting with Silvia. I’ve replayed the conversation with Brian over and over in my head, but I didn’t feel like talking any more about it. I’m not ready. When I returned from the coffee date, my dad just held me for a long time, stroking my hair. He didn’t say “I told you so,” but he didn’t have to.

I spend every day with Brian’s that he’s not at work. When I’m alone I write and read. I have homework too, so try to pour my energy into that. But it’s impossible to focus. Every time I try to read my biology text, or write one of the essays I’ve been assigned, my mind starts to drift. I text Tiffany and Willow, but sometimes days pass before I receive a reply. Tiffany is skiing in Europe so is on a totally different time schedule, and Willow is in Florida partying her brains out—at least that’s what I gather from her messages and the selfies with random dudes she sends.

Christmas Eve, Brian and I go out again to the bar to play darts with his friends and their dates. I’m feeling a little more comfortable around them, and it’s not so hard to casually run into kids I used to know growing up. I keep expecting someone to call me those horrible names again, but it never happens.

I make Brian stay at my house that night because even though I stopped believing in Santa long ago, I want us to all wake up on Christmas morning together. I’ve planned a huge breakfast of cinnamon rolls, bacon, and blueberries, my favorite—even even though they are so expensive this time of the year. I want to sit around in our PJs and open presents slowly, the three of us, taking our time because soon enough, I’ll be back at school.

Brian and I haven’t talked about it yet, though he’s offered to drive me. He says if we leave on New Year’s Eve, he’ll be able to take a day in Vermont. I’m excited because this means I can show him around.

On Christmas morning, we open our gifts, taking turns as a fire in the hearth warms the room. I get two new leather-bound notebooks and some fancy pens from Brian, plus a petal-pink, fine-gauge wool sweater that’s so soft. He loves his socks, belt, and flashlight, but I might love the glow in his eyes even more as he thanks me with kisses. My dad gives me the outfit I picked out on our shopping trip, a pair of fancy jeans and a fuzzy, fleece top that’s so cozy I know I’m going to want to wear it every day. I also get a pair of new snow boots, something I’ve needed for months.

The shop is closed between Christmas and New Year’s, so Brian takes me ice fishing up north where I try to write poetry with frozen fingers and he sits there whistling off-key to music. We also visit a car show in Ann Arbor where I get to sit in a Maserati, a gigantic pickup truck, and a futuristic-looking SUV. He takes me to bed every night and even sometimes wakes me with kisses. I stop questioning if we’re weird to do it so much because it feels so pure and passionate. Sometimes I even dream about it.

By the time we’re loading my things into his truck for our drive to Vermont, including snow chains plus road trip snacks in a small cooler, I can’t believe the time has gone so fast.

My dad comes to the door in his slippers and bathrobe to say goodbye. I lean into him and imprint his scent and the feel of his whiskers against my cheek, and when I pull away, we’re both crying. “See you soon, cupcake,” he says, using a nickname he hasn’t spoken since I was twelve years old. “Be good.”

And with that, Brian is leading us out of the warm house to the truck, the air as cold as a finger snap.

Brian opens my door for me, and I climb in, noticing he’s cleaned the inside spotless. “Wow,” I say. He’s not messy or anything, but it looks sharp.

“Can’t be escorting you to greatness in a grunge-mobile,” he says with a chuckle.

I reach for his hand. “I don’t mind a grunge-mobile,” I say.

He leans in for a kiss that tastes like coffee, then he starts his engine, and we’re off.

Brian

Darcy is perfect company during the drive. Sometimes we go long stretches without talking, and it’s nice, just having her close. After making sandwiches, she reads one of her assignments to me. It’s a play but it was written a long time ago so the words are a little hard to understand, but I like hearing her voice. At first I’m surprised in her terrible choice in music, but then remember that she’s younger, plus she’s been influenced by bratty prep school kids for most of her life. When it’s available, we find common ground with classic rock stations.

After everything we’ve been through these last few weeks, I don’t know how on Earth I’m supposed to say goodbye to her. With each mile that we drive, my insides squeeze a little tighter. I know this is for the best, that she deserves this, but the selfish bastard in me can’t quite get there. I want her to be with me always, so I can keep her safe from those nutty thoughts of hers.

We’re just starting to make progress, and now she’ll be back in that toxic world with people who don’t care about her—like her roommate, who seems worthless as far as friendship goes. Why the fuck does she have to go school so far away? I hate the idea of other guys even looking at her, let alone creeps like the ones she got mixed up with before getting anywhere near her. In fact, I have a feeling I’m going to have a hard time controlling myself if we happen to run into either of them.

The day is clear and cold, thankfully no blizzards. By the time we cross the Vermont state line, a light snow is falling, dusting the fields and passing towns in white. The college town has that “old money” feel; even Darcy’s place feels grand. It’s a former mansion turned into separate quarters, four in all. Darcy’s in the back unit. I haul her bag down the hall, taking in the smell of wet boots and some kind of cleaning agent.

Darcy’s roommate won’t be in for another day, so we snack on pretzels and peanut butter while we wait for the unit’s water heater to heat up. After, we step into the shower to wash off the grit of the drive. By the time I get her into the bed she’s come twice, once on my finger and another against the wall of her bathroom. I can’t get enough of her, and for the next day and a half, I plan to fuck her in every corner of her apartment so when I leave, every time she looks around, she’ll remember the way I make her feel.

Darcy must be thinking the same thing because the next morning, after she wakes me with kisses and I take her from the side, we start messing around in the kitchen. She’s so wet and hungry for me that I bend her over the kitchen table, her soaked panties crumpled on the floor and her nightgown rolled up to her shoulders. This time I make sure to prime her with my tongue until she’s on the verge. I shimmy out of my briefs and come back to hold her against me tightly, planting kisses between her shoulders. I can feel her muscles in her arms tense.

“You sure you want this?” I ask in between kisses, sliding my hands to her tits.

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