Page 11 of Honest With You

I still cringe at the memory. AWKWARD.

She releases a long-suffering sigh, straight out of one of those Korean dramas we–shelikes to watch.

I pretend I don’t hear her, nod my head towards my bathroom and open my arms for dramatic effect because I’m nothing if not my mother’s son.

“Mother, unless you want your only son to smell like the garbage disposal after seafood night when your friend comes over and I have to babysit their kid––”

“Babysit? Who said anything about babysitting?”

I raise an eyebrow at her, turning to dig in my dresser for clothes.

“Youdid. You said to entertain your friend’s daughter?”

Mom laughs as she rearranges the pillows back on my bed.

“Do you remember your Uncle Luke?”

I pause, my clothes in hand.

A memory from years ago hits me hard, likeNarutohitting me with aRasengan. Followed by a feeling in my chest, I have yet to experience with anyone else.

Uncle Luke had two daughters... it couldn’t be? Could it?

“Yeah.” That one word comes out raspy and I clear my throat. “What about him?”

“He’s bringing one of his daughters with him, didn’t say who but I’m quite certain both of those girls should be in their teens by now so no babysitting necessary.” She sighs as she rifles through my suitcase, setting my dirty clothes aside in a pile. “Anyways, I hope you’re hungry honey, I thought all the Torres’ kids were coming and made too much food.”

I snort. “You always make too much, Mom.”

Picking up on my sarcasm, my mother shoots me a glare. “See you down in twenty.”

She walks out of my room with my laundry, leaving me in a state of anticipation.

I quickly turn back to my dresser and dump my shirt and shorts back in there. I stride over to my closet and pull one of my favorite blue polos and a pair of dark jeans.

If it does happen to be who I think it is, I should at least look my best.

* * *

It’s her.Ava.

Even though it’s been five years since I last saw her, my memory of her remains intact.

Her profile is in my line of sight and I drink it in because my memories clearly did not do her justice.

She’s sitting with her legs dangling in the pool, her phone in her ear as she listens intently to the person on the other end. Her hair is black against the pink and orange sky. It cascades down her back, past her ivory shoulders, casting her in almost an angelic glow. She shifts and her yellow dress flows just right to show me all the curves she’s grown into.

Ava’s brows are furrowed and her mouth is pinched like she’s forcing herself to stay silent. She looks the same physically, but there is something in her presence that seems different. Like time melted the softness away. She sits hunched over, no longer a little girl but a woman with the weight of the world resting on her shoulders.

It’s been a while since I even thought about those tearful hershey brown eyes filled with sadness and pain staring up at me. Or the way her hair that was smoother than my mom’s silk pillows pressed against me as she cried on my shoulder. I still remember how her small hands managed to grip mine tight enough for them to hurt while she fought against her tears from grief.

Would she recognize me?

I feel a pinch in my chest, remembering the week I spent with her and her family.

I experienced for the first time what it meant to absolutely admire someone. I witnessed this young girl, who was just a few months younger than I was, shouldering so many responsibilities.

She smiled when I could tell she wanted to cry.

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