Twelve
TWELVE
SOPHIE
TEN YEAR AGO
“ H ere you go, Sophie,” Marco says as he passes the white rolled-up joint to me. He’s one of Liam’s colleagues. I’ve met him once before, and just like then, his laid-back attitude borders on pushy, especially regarding things he enjoys.
I don’t smoke, not cigarettes and not joints. If I could choose, I wouldn’t be in a situation with drugs around me, but nowadays, smoking weed is almost as normal as smoking cigarettes, so it’s hard to avoid it, especially around here.
We’re in Marco’s studio apartment. The place is cramped but cozy, and it has this tiny balcony overlooking the vibrant streets below. It’s a lovely atmosphere sitting here, listening to the distant music and the chatter below– well, lovely if he didn’t try to force me to smoke.
“No, I’m good,” I answer, trying to keep my tone casual.
“Come on, it’s only a little weed,” Marco insists, leaning in closer.
He doesn’t seem to get it, so I try again, firmer this time. “I don’t smoke, Marco.”
“I don’t smoke either; cigarettes are nasty.” He chuckles, then suddenly tries to shove the joint in my mouth, but I recoil, moving away quickly.
“No, Marco.”
“But–”
Liam grabs Marco’s hands, the joint still smoldering between his fingers. “She said no. Is it that hard to get through your head.” His voice is calm but with an edge of firmness to it.
“It’s not that serious,” Marco mutters, clearly annoyed as he pulls his hand back.
“It is that serious if you’re trying to force something on someone.” Liam takes the joint and dunks it in his beer, the hiss of extinguishing ember filling the space.
“Hey!” Marco calls out, but Liam completely ignores him, his eyes only locked on mine with an intensity that makes my heart skip a beat.
“Let’s go, Soph. We have our dinner reservations.” He stands up smoothly and extends his open palm to me, and I take it immediately, intertwining my fingers with his as we find our way out of the apartment.
This is not how I wanted the evening to pan out. I feel conflicted, and my shoulders hunch slightly as the weight of the situation presses down on me. I stood my ground and am proud, but now I feel embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it awkward and ruin the evening,” I say, feeling a pang of guilt as we step onto the street below.
“Ruin? Sunshine, you can’t ruin anything. Our evening hasn’t started yet,” he replies with a reassuring smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His infectious energy makes me relax as we walk hand-in-hand toward our destination. Yet, something is bugging me: the idea that this won’t last. We’re at the end of May now, and I’m set to return home at the end of June.
Maybe, just maybe I could extend my stay. No, I can’t. I need to get back to Dad. He hasn’t been good in a while. The last time I saw him during Easter, he agreed to go to rehab. His program is set to be between sixty and ninety days, so I’ll have to be back at the end of June to prepare for him coming home.
The thought gnaws at me, casting a shadow over the otherwise nice evening–up until the drugs.
What we have here is amazing and fun, but it’s a fling, right? The uncertainty of everything looms in the back of my mind, and I have to pull myself together.
Liam’s hand squeezes my hand tighter. “Where did you go?”
“What?”
He stops and turns me so we face each other. “You disappeared somewhere.”
My eyes find his and try to put a smile on my face, but of course, he sees right through me.
“Soph,” he says softly
My answer comes out in a whisper, “Yeah?”
His big hand cradles my cheek, and I lean into the warm feeling, closing my eyes for a moment to savor it.
“Talk to me,” he urges gently, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin. “What’s on your mind? Is it Marco?”
I open my eyes, looking into his vulnerability and uncertainty.
“No, it’s not him.”
“Then what’s wrong? Let me make it right,” he insists, his forehead wrinkling in worry.
“I wish you could make this right, but you can’t,” I say, my voice tinged with frustration and sadness. As we walk, we pass by a wooden bench, and he gently tugs me toward it.
“We have all night,” he says, sitting down and patting the spot next to him.
I smile, appreciating his patience and care. Then I remember our dinner reservation. “What about our reservation?”
He shrugs, a playful glint in his eyes. “We’ll get another reservation.”
His words melt some of the tension in my chest, making my airways clear. This man is everything. I sit beside him, feeling a little lighter. “You’re incredible, you know that?” I admit, resting my head on his shoulder for a moment.
He chuckles softly. The sound is becoming one of my favorites. “I try my best.”
We sit in silence for a small moment. Then, I begin to talk, the words coming more easily than I ever thought they would. “It’s just… Everything is so uncertain. My dad, us, the future. I’m scared of what will happen when I go back home.”
Liam listens intently, his hand rubbing gentle circles on my back. “I get it. But we can figure it out, one step at a time.”
“Yeah, but what if my dad won’t get better?”
Liam's back straightens slightly at the mention of my dad as if it struck a chord within him, but then he relaxes, his gaze softening. “Tell me about your dad.”
I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. Will he think differently of me after I tell him? I quickly erase that thought, Liam would never.
“My dad has always been strong, you know? The kind of person that could do anything. But after my mum left us when I was ten, it became too much for him. It was just the two of us against the world, but he had to work two jobs to provide for us and to put me through school.” I glance at Liam, meeting his eyes briefly before continuing. “As I got older, I started noticing his struggles. The late nights, the hidden bottles, and his distant stares during his substance-induced haze.”
I swallow hard, feeling the tears in my eyes, but I continue, “When I was fifteen, I found him passed out in the hallway, and we spent the night in the ER because he had overdosed.” A single tear falls down my cheek, and Liam catches it on his finger before taking my hand in his.
Liam's eyes hold mine, his gaze unwavering. “I’m so sorry, Sophie. That must have been very hard for you.”
“It was,” I admit, my voice trembling.
“I became his caretaker in more ways than one. Even while excelling in school, I worked extra shifts at the café to help make ends meet. Despite everything, he always tried to shield me from his demons.”
Liam's thumb brushes gently over my knuckles, offering silent support. “It sounds like your dad loves you very much.”
“He does,” I whisper, a bittersweet smile tugging at my lips. “He left notes on the fridge when he went to work early, made my favorite pancakes on Sundays, and cheered the loudest at my soccer games. His love was constant, even as his addiction threatened to tear us apart.”
Liam’s grip on my hand tightens slightly, his expression pained yet compassionate.
“When I left for college, his health took a turn for the worse. His addiction spiraled, and he started forgetting things when we spoke–names, places, where I was. He’d repeat himself, asking me the same questions over and over. His emotions got heightened; he fell into aggressive states, breaking things in the house, and then he got depressed and didn’t leave the house for days. I tried to go back home as much as I could. It broke me because I didn’t understand what was happening, and I felt so guilty for leaving him.”
“You did what you had to do and couldn’t have known what would happen.”
“No, but I should have,” I say softly. “When I returned home one weekend, he was in even worse shape. He had lost so much weight, and his eyes seemed dull and distant. I took him to the hospital, and after endless tests and hours of agonizing over ‘what-ifs,’ they finally told us the horrible news: early-onset dementia, possibly exacerbated by years of drug abuse.” I blink back the tears, trying to focus on Liam, but my vision blurs. “I decided to stay in New York with him, taking online classes so I could work extra to pay for the caregiver and rehab that he refused to go to.”
Liam nods his head understandingly. “And what happened?”
“Aliyah has been amazing. Dad’s very comfortable with her, and she’s made such a difference. It’s like having your little cheerleader at home. She’s actually the one who encouraged me to apply here through a scholarship. I don’t know why I listened and did, maybe for fun. I never thought I’d get accepted, but when I did, she found the letter and showed it to my dad. He was so proud and upset because I hid it from him. He cried, and I cried. Seeing the world has always been my dream, so he told me to go. He needed me to, and if I did, he'd go to rehab. We made a deal, and that's where he is now…”
After a moment of silence, he reaches for my hand again, his touch warm, steady—like he’s grounding me, or maybe himself. His thumb traces slow, reassuring circles against my skin. “Sophie, you are strength itself. The kind that endures, the kind that shines even in the darkest moments. Your father must be so proud of you. And so am I.”
I manage a small smile, this one reaching my eyes. “Thank you,”
“The idea of drugs is the worst,” I continue after a moment, my voice steadier now. “I've never done drugs, nor do I want to. What happened at Marcos... I know it's only weed, but a drug is a drug. I don't want to be around it, do it, or have anyone close to me do it.”
Liam shakes his head. “You don’t have to explain your reason; I understand.”
“Thank you for understanding and listening to me.”
Liam smiles warmly and leans forward, pressing his lips gently to my forehead. “Always, Sunshine .”
As we walk together, our conversation shifts to lighter topics. I find myself telling Liam how my dad always calls me his petal , and our flower being is the forget-me-not. It's a term of endearment we've shared since childhood. I glance at Liam's arms, noticing the delicious spread of artwork. “Fun fact,” I say with a wistful smile. “I've always wanted to get a tattoo of a forget-me-not.”
“Why don't you get one?” Liam suggests casually, his eyes sparkling with interest.
I hesitate, caught off guard for a moment. “I don't know... I just never got around to it.”
“How about now?” he asks, surprising me. “We could get one together.”
“Right now?”
“Yeah, why not?” His grin is playful, “I know a place nearby.”
I glance at him, weighing the spontaneity of the moment. There’s something intriguing—something undeniably Liam —about the idea. “What would you get?” I ask, genuinely curious.
His smile softens. “The word 'Nassib' .”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s Arabic for Destiny ,” he replies, the weight of the word lingering between us.
Destiny. That’s what Liam feels like. My destiny.
“Okay,” I say, my heart skipping a beat. “Let’s do it.”