Page 62 of Lighting the Lamp
She’s not okay, and Aunt Peggy knows it, but she’s doing everything she can to help Alise calm down. Alise flinches back so violently she knocks over a tray of cupcakes, and frosting smears across the gym floor. As the noise gets louder, heads turn, and the whispers start.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s always like this.”
“She’s so weird.”
I want to throw something at them. Scream in their faces and tell everyone to shut the hell up, but I don’t. It won’t help anything, so I wait until the whispers fade and the crowd moves on, distracted by the next shiny thing. Wait until no one’s looking at her like she’s broken.
Then I move, dropping to my knees beside her, letting the chill of the floor seep into my jeans like a penance. Alise is still curled into herself, shoulders shaking. Her hands are over her ears, but they’re not doing enough. I can feel the panic radiating off her skin, so I reach out, moving slowly before gently laying my hands over hers, helping to cover her ears. My palms cup the sides of her head, warm and steady, and I lean in until she knows it’s me. Until she feels that she’s not alone, and then, like a whisper in the middle of a storm, I hear her voice.
“I know I’m weird.”
My heart clenches as something sharp and heavy lodges behind my ribs.
“I know I’m no fun. Or easy. Or normal.” Her voice cracks, but she keeps going. “But weird people should still get to have friends, right?”
Tears sting the back of my eyes, but I swallow them down. I shift a little closer, arms still cradling hers, keeping my hands firm against her ears like I can shut out the world for her.
“You’re not weird, not even a little.”
“You don’t have to lie.”
“I’m not lying.” My voice wobbles, but I don’t care. “But even if you were, I’d still be your friend.”
She doesn’t answer, but her hands relax slightly beneath mine.
“I’ll always be your friend, Alise, even if everyone else is too stupid to see how incredible you are.”
Then she finally looks at me, and it’s like the entire room falls away. Her eyes are huge and wet like she’s trying so hard to believe me, but she’s never let herself before. I can’t explain it, but a part of me knows this isn’t just about being her friend. It’s about so much more because in this moment, Alise Moore has become the center of my entire universe.
“I’m not going anywhere, I swear. You never have to go through this alone.”
And then I say it, the only other thing I know might bring even the tiniest flicker of light back into her eyes.
“I brought gummy bears. The red ones are still your favorite, right?”
Her brow furrows like she’s not sure she heard me right, like the idea of someone remembering something so small and soft feels too far away from the chaos inside her. But I see the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth.
I felt it the second she called me. Of everyone in the world, she knew I’d come. And I’ll keep coming, every time from now until forever.
I blink hard, jaw tight, throat like sandpaper. I’ve been saying the same thing to her for fifteen years in a thousand different ways. But maybe this time, I need to say it louder. I need to show Alise, even if she doesn’t want to hear it yet. Because if anyone deserves to be loved loudly, it’s her, and I’m done waiting in silence.
Chapter Twenty
Alise
The couch creaks as I sit, tugging the blanket higher and trying and failing to make myself disappear. I haven’t moved in hours, maybe longer. Time seems kind of irrelevant since I left Ramona’s house after spending the night at Beau’s.
The sun dipped behind the trees a while ago, leaving the house in that bruised-blue dusk that makes everything feel a little too quiet and still. The TV’s playing something—I think it’s a cooking competition—but I haven’t heard a single word. My brain is full of static because I can’t stop looking at my phone sitting face down on the coffee table, screen untouched, like I’m punishing it for not lighting up with his name.
Not that I should expect it to. He told me he wouldn’t chase me, that he’d give me space to think things through, but isn’t my lack of answer enough? Beau and I haven’t gone more than a few days without texting each other. Well, not counting when he was avoiding having to tell me that something was seriously wrong with him, but that doesn’t count. I’m the one who asked for space, asked him to stay away, so why the hell does it feel like my chest is caving in on itself because he hasn’t so much as sentme his usual goofy emoji? I don’t get to be upset about any of it, right?
But goddamn it, I am, because it’s Beau. I thought he’d show up anyway, like he always had, but that’s not the type of man he is. He’s steady, respectful, and a heartbreakingly good man, and it’s fucking killing me.
I could stop being a coward and just pick up the phone. I could send him a message like nothing happened that night and things are business as usual, but I don’t know how to do that. And that is the crux of the situation. I have no idea how to act like Beau didn’t change my entire genetic makeup with that kiss.
I press my knuckles to my mouth to stifle the sound building in my throat. It’s not really a sob, but grief that’s settled in my chest and is expanding by the second, blooming like a bruise I can’t hide.
