The Enemy of Time, page 7
If I weren’t harboring my own resentment for Kayla, I would have yelled, Kiss her, you big idiot at my brother. But I didn’t. I stayed silent and pretended I didn’t just hear their heartbreaking conversation.
Kayla opened her mouth to respond, but as she hesitated, the doorbell rang, its chime cutting through the heavy atmosphere like a bolt of lightning.
“Saved by the bell.” I put my damp cloth on the dining table.
I bolted to the front door, partly to escape the second-hand embarrassment but mostly because I was starving. If there was any luck in this world, that doorbell would have been the announcement of freshly baked pizza, ready to whisk me away with its cheesy bliss. I yanked open the door, hoping to be greeted with the sinful smell of grease and pepperoni, but instead, I was met by the beady green eyes of an unexpected visitor holding my dinner hostage.
A sly grin spread across my face as a strange mix of amusement and delight filled my cells. “Look, Kayla!” I yelled down the hall to the kitchen, “Your past has literally come knocking.”
“What?!” Kayla yelled back. She marched down the hallway to see what all the fuss was about.
I stepped aside, giving Kayla a perfect view of our guest. Her reaction was instant, eyes wide, shoulders snapping back, one hand darting to her hair, smoothing it down like it might save her. She plastered on a smile that looked about as stable as a wet napkin. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning.
“Annalise …” Kayla choked out in a light squeak as if her larynx was being squeezed by an invisible hand. Kayla approached the door, her still-wet hair lightly dripping down the back of Lucas’s baggy T-shirt, which hung tent-like on her wiry figure.
Annalise eyed her disheveled ex-girlfriend up and down. “Hey, Kayla, it’s nice to see you. Are you in town because of Saturday?”
Of course, she’s here for Saturday. What a ridiculous question, I thought as I lingered close behind Kayla, not wanting to miss any of the show before me.
Kayla replied, “Partially, yes, and also because I just moved back home …”
Annalise’s eyebrows furrowed, but there was a slight upturn at the corners of her lips. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
Kayla cut her off, “It’s fine. I mean, you get it.” She gestured to Annalise’s pizza delivery uniform. “Adulting isn’t as glamorous as it was advertised to be, am I right?” Her voice wavered between defensive and self-deprecating.
Annalise shifted the extra-large pizza box in her hands to the side, resting it on her bony hip. “I own Mikey’s Pizzeria now. And the movie theater and the bowling alley next door.”
Kayla’s face turned a deep shade of burgundy, her embarrassment bringing a sting to even my eyes.
I contemplated allowing Kayla to continue standing, mortified and wordless, but my better instincts took over. Damn, my conscience can’t let me have anything. Cursing at myself for not allowing Kayla to die of self-loathing, I stepped forward to grab the pizza from Annalise. “I would say it was nice to see you, but we both know that’s not true.” I began to close the door.
Annalise huffed. “What, no tip?”
Through a four-inch gap in the door, I said, “Sure, here’s one: If you have to brag about your life to feel superior, then maybe it's not as great as you think.” Before I could hear the gasp from Annalisa’s mouth, I slammed the door and quickly locked it behind me.
Kayla wrapped her long arms around my shoulders like I was the last lifejacket on the Titanic. “Thanks, Alex.”
I felt my arm hug her back, a reflex I refused to believe was anything more than muscle memory. I broke from Kayla’s grasp. “Don’t get all sappy on me. It’s not like I gave you a kidney.”
Kayla’s face drooped.
“You’re welcome,” I said to break her wounded puppy expression. “But honestly, that was the most fun I’ve had all month. I hated Annalise in high school.” I shuddered.
“I second that,” Lucas said from down the hallway, leaning against the kitchen’s archway.
I brought the pizza into the living room, Lucas and Kayla following, and laid it on the coffee table. “You only hated her 'cause she dated Kayla before you did.”
Lucas gasped, two red circles forming over his tanned cheeks. “Everyone dated Kayla before I did!” he shot back.
Kayla slapped his massive shoulder, eliciting a booming laugh from Lucas that I hadn't heard in years. “What is this? Gang up on Kayla day?!” she said through a whimper.
I opened the pizza box and snatched a pepperoni-covered slice, shoveling its greasy end into my mouth. “Can we make that a national holiday?” I said with a marinara-covered smile.
A piercing yelp blasted from Lucas’s phone. He swiftly dug it out of his pocket, probably worried it was a text from work, but it was unfortunately not a job crisis. Lucas’s eyes shot at Kayla’s face. “Annalise posted to the alumnae’s Facebook page …” He gulped.
“What did she post?” I swear I could see Kayla’s heart racing through her shirt.
Heavy tension filled the space as we gathered around Lucas, who promptly pulled his phone close to his chest, obscuring the image from our eyes.
“Lucas, let me see,” Kayla barked.
“Don’t overreact. Annalise is just being her normal viper self. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter." Lucas's voice switched to his soldier boy tone. Damn, it must have been bad; he only sounded like that when he needed to talk Kayla down from a ledge.
“Lucas Adonis Drakos, show me that post right now!” Kayla pulled out the middle name … this meant war.
Lucas slowly unclenched his hands, his breath still paused in suspense. “Just please don’t throw my phone when you see it.”
Kayla ripped the phone from his grasp. “Oh my god!” Kayla's hand swiftly slapped her mouth as she sucked in a gasp of mortification.
I snatched the phone from her clammy hands to see the damage. “Oh my god …” I echoed Kayla’s breath. “When did she even take that photo?”
The post was a meme made from a picture of Kayla talking, her mouth wide open, her wet braids dripping over Lucas’s tattered shirt, next to a photo of Annalise on a yacht drinking a fancy drink with a frilly tiny umbrella, embellished with the caption: “When you run into your ex, and they’re living with their parent, but your bank account is six figures.”
The post had already gotten 200 likes, all from former classmates and even some teachers. I didn’t dare open the comments section. There was already a 70/30 chance Kayla was going to have an aneurysm from the photo; I didn’t want to risk the odds of her seeing the biting words of teenage-brained adults who didn’t have anything better to do than mock a former classmate.
Kayla hastily flung herself onto the couch, burying her face in her hands. Through pillow-muffled cries, she screamed, “Oh, God, please let the floor swallow me whole!”
I tried to offer some comfort. “Come on, Kayla, you’ve survived worse. Remember the time you forgot to wear underwear to the homecoming dance? I’m pretty sure you twirling around in that ridiculous tulle dress, commando, is worse than a little post.”
Kayla turned her head, still fused to the couch cushion, to glare at me. “Thank you for reminding me about that. I feel so much better now.”
I said, tried. I tried to offer comfort. But comfort was not my job in this friend group.
“Lucas.” I tagged him into the ring.
“Yeah, yeah, I got her.” He went to the couch and gently lifted Kayla’s head off the cushion before softly placing his body where her face used to be. Then, as swiftly as a ballroom dance, he returned her head to his lap, and his long arm wrapped around her. Lucas moved so effortlessly around Kayla that it seemed his body responded before his brain reacted to pull away. Kayla didn’t flinch or acknowledge his presence; she exhaled slowly and quietly, as if his touch had steadied something fragile within her. They seemed to be on autopilot, programmed to respond to each other's touch.
I bit the crust off my pizza violently. “We need alcohol.”
I dragged my weary body up and walked over to the locked cabinet next to the fireplace. Squatting down, I reached under the cabinet door, running my fingers over the slightly splintered wood until they found a piece of tape holding a metal key. I quickly removed it and pulled it out from under the furniture. “It's been fourteen years, and they still haven't changed their hiding spot.” I inserted the key into the cold brass lock and turned it clockwise until I heard the familiar click. I opened the doors and took out the vodka.
“Monica and Dad are going to kill you.” Lucas rolled his eyes.
“Why? We’re old now. This is the first time I’ve broken into this cabinet when I’ve been legal.”
Lucas’s eyebrows rose, and his mouth parted, ready to rebut my statement, but then he stopped and nodded slightly. “You’re right.”
What did he say? I can one hundred percent guarantee that my jaw hit the floor. “Could you say that a bit louder, please?” I pressed my hand to my ear, urging him to inflate my ego further.
“Just hand me that before I change my mind.” Lucas reached out for the bottle, which I handed him with glee. He opened it and took a huge gulp. “Here.” He lowered the bottle to Kayla, who was still resting her head on his lap. “You need this more than me.”
Leaning up slightly, Kayla chugged the clear liquid, gulping it down like water out of a fountain. Then she passed the now backwash-infested drink to me and sighed. “High school was like five years ago; why does it feel like I’m fourteen again?”
I wiped the spit off the bottle’s rim before sucking the liquid down, the burning sensation causing my chest to heat like a pressure cooker. “Because high school was a battlefield of hormonal social climbers clawing and killing each other to fit in.” I swigged the stinging liquid again. “And now we all have PTSD.”
Lucas reached for the largest slice of pizza in the box. “What did you all want to be before the world told you who to become?” he asked as his fingers ripped a slice of burnt pepperoni off the cheese.
Kayla was the first to answer. “Travel Photographer.” A little smile turned her lips up, but it wasn’t happy—it was almost pitiful. “That’s what I wanted.” She gazed at the ceiling. “I wanted to see the world and for the world to see me.”
Lucas gazed down at Kayla, his eyes holding hers as if they were the only two people on earth. “Why didn’t you do that after high school?”
“Because my dad always said a degree was the only way to succeed. I guess I didn’t want to let him down.”
I almost hacked on the vodka, burning my tongue. “Your dad must be really proud of me. I have an English degree, and the only job that answered my resume was from an adult toy store looking for a D-cup sales lady.”
Lucas choked on the cheese of his pizza. “Please tell me you didn’t interview for that.”
“I’m on their schedule for Wednesday.” The absurdity of the situation caused me to topple over in a heap of self-deprecating laughter, which was quickly joined by everyone else. “What about you, Lucas? What did the little soldier boy want to be growing up?” I asked, hoping not to be the only loser in the room.
“I wanted to be a foreign correspondent.”
Kayla shook her head. “What child dreams about that?” She chuckled.
“I’m not sure if I ever dreamed it. It just seemed like a smart, logical job that would pay well and allow me to travel. It was practical.” He paused, reflecting. “But now that I look back, I wonder what I would have wanted to be if I had allowed myself to dream.”
The vulnerability in Lucas’s voice was sobering. He never doubted his decisions, and honestly, I never doubted him. He wasn’t a rock, he was a boulder—a forever solid, unmovable force, yet right now, he looked like a little boy, the same little boy I met for the first time after his mom died, and we had moved in. I suppose even those who seem to have it all figured out are just as lost as those who wander.
In trying to divert the spotlight from himself, Lucas spoke again before we could respond, “So, before the adult toy store, what was your childhood dream, Alex?”
“I didn’t really have one,” I whispered to the floor. “Jamie was the one who pushed me into writing after he stole my journal that first day of freshman year.” A wistful smile crossed my face. But then, my expression fell, and I admitted, “Obviously, it was a pipe dream because the only thing I’ve written in the last year was a bad review of my Uber Eats driver.”
Kayla’s eyes locked onto mine, and at that moment, I knew she would ask a question I didn’t want to answer. “What are you going to do when you see him?”
Pain. That’s all I felt. In my chest. In my lungs. In every cell that made my body function. Pain was the only sensation. “I don’t know.” I stared blankly through the hole of the glass bottle before me. “I guess I’ve been trying not to think too much about it.”
That was a lie. All I could do was think about it. How was I supposed to look at the boy I loved all my life in the eyes, knowing our fate was sealed? I traced the cold glass with the tip of my index finger. “Jamie was my compass, and without him, I can’t find my way home anymore.”
Lucas let out a soft, sorrowful sigh, “Maybe it is time to be your own map.”
“Thanks for the advice, Magellan.” I huffed.
But Lucas didn’t stop. “You know forgiveness doesn’t mean admitting defeat. It means you’re finally setting yourself free.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be.”
Chapter nine
A single choice
Becomes a story
Retold a thousand times
August 12, 2013: (PART 1)
The second Monday in August marked the day all kids either eagerly awaited or earnestly sought to avoid: freshman year. Our grade was split into two groups: group one, comprised of those popular in middle school who eagerly counted down the days until freshman year, their moment to assume their rightful place among the other privileged souls and commence their reign of torment over the less fortunate; and group two: the freaks and geeks, the kids who trembled in fear as Monday approached.
Jamie and I found ourselves on opposing sides that fateful day. Personally, I was thrilled. High school's arrival meant I was one step closer to executing my life's master plan: packing my belongings into a giant trash bag and making a swift exit from this small town. Of course, I had no clue where I was headed; I just knew it had to be anywhere but here. Jamie, however, was dreading the first day of school. To him, it marked the beginning of the end. It was the day we'd all be split into different classes: Lucas would try out for the football team, Kayla would run for student body president, despite being too young. And in Jamie’s anxiety-clouded eyes, this was the day I’d realize I was too good for him. The first time he vocalized this fear, I had to grab the back of the doorframe I was leaning against to keep my body stable as knee-shaking laughter erupted from my lungs, reverberating through the room with a force that no stand-up comedian could replicate with a joke.
Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t laughing at Jamie, and I genuinely wasn’t attempting to downplay his emotions. But the concept seemed comical to me; the notion that I could ever consider myself too good for him was ridiculous. In reality, Jamie was the one who was too good for me, too good for anyone. I wish I could have made him realize that.
I stood at the foot of my bed, hands on my hips, staring at the long-haired, tangled mass of overgrown limbs submerged under my comforters, which refused to roll off my mattress.
“Jamie!” I yelled. “Please get your lazy ass out of my bed before my mom walks up here and sees you wrapped in my sheets!”
Jamie gripped the sides of my flattened pillow and squeezed the edges over his ears. “Scared she’ll think we’re doing it?” he grumbled.
“Gross, dude!” I slapped his blanket-covered foot. “Besides, you’re fully clothed; it’s not like we could have been doing anything R-rated anyway.”
Jamie flung his body to the side, propping up his head with his elbow. “Wanna test the theory?” I didn’t know if his boyish grin made me want to throw myself on top of him or to slap him.
“Your hormones are rotting your brain, you know that.” I rolled my eyes at him, not entirely out of annoyance, but because since our kiss at the carnival, I couldn’t meet his gaze and maintain our flirtatious banter without my body feeling like my atoms were melting.
“Yup.” Jamie propped himself into a sitting position, my comforter bunching around his waist. “And you love it.” I thought his summer glow-up was going to his head. But damn, if he grew taller or his hair grew any longer, he was going to have to start sleeping on the floor.
“Get up, please.” I tried to reason with him.
Jamie crossed his newly defined arms over his way-too-sculpted chest. “Make me.”
I cocked my head at his smugness. “Fine.”
Just as Jamie was about to inch further into my sheets, I sprang into the bed, the mattress bouncing beneath me. If there was one thing in this world that Jamie hated the most, it was being tickled. It was his very own personal self-destruct button I could hit anytime.
As I landed, fingers ready for their mission, I ran them up the sides of his torso, causing him to screech, “Please! Please!” His limbs flailed about like fish out of water. “Okay! OKAY! I’ll get up! Please, no more.”
He skillfully caught my arms with one swift move.
I could feel the steam of his breath on my neck and the beat of his heart against my chest. He released my hands. His eyes didn’t meet mine as if he was scared to join my gaze.
His lips parted lightly. “Or maybe … we could just stay here. Like this.”
“Is that what you want?”
“It’s what I always want.”
I should have kissed him right there, right then. But I didn’t. Instead, I did what I always did: I ruined the moment.
“What about Meghan? Don’t you have a date with her this Friday?”
Jamie pulled his eyes away from me and shot them to the ceiling. “You told me to say yes.”
