Chapter 18 #2
I pile new arrivals on the desk behind the window and create a quirky flower arrangement on the side after displaying a few covers for my customers to see.
The bell rings, and Matthew enters the store in his usual dark sweater and moody attitude.
We haven’t talked since he came to help Dad after the storm.
To be honest, it was my first time ever standing up to him.
Since then, he’s been quieter. Would it be bad to admit that I was relieved to hear less of him?
I can’t help but wonder how other twins manage to be inseparable, so much so that they want to experience everything together.
The more I grow, the more I long for distance, for boundaries, or at least the contour of some.
“Wow, someone’s in a good mood,” he scoffs, hands in his pockets, making exaggerated long steps around my shelves.
“Still no classics,” he mutters, angling his head to the side, reading the spine of a murder mystery.
My smile falters, but I manage to keep it on my face, smoothing both sides of my hair.
“Lots of new arrivals,” I say, carrying a pile of books I need to tag. “It’s been, um, a nice morning.”
“I bet it is,” he hisses, his gaze loud with unspoken accusations.
What have I done now?
“Coffee?” I ask, sensing my scars starting to itch. His gaze narrows on my hands, and I separate them like I’ve been burned.
“Sure,” he deadpans, sneaking to the back of the store like he owns it. His soaked shoes staining my floor.
“Aren’t you working today?” I try, watching him select a capsule of espresso and pop it into the little machine.
“Nah. I’ve already sent my maquettes to the director I’m working with, so I’m basically free now.
” He smirks, looking up after pressing the button.
“We can spend the rest of the day together,” he states.
I clear my throat, glancing at the window where people can’t see us from the street, and pull my shoulders down, as if that might give me courage.
“Actually,” I press my lips together, his hazelnut pupils sending daggers my way, “I’ve-I'm-I’ve got plans,” I say with all the strength I can muster.
“I need time to arrange new books and write reviews for, um, the website,” my voice lowering more with each word.
His brow rises along with one corner of his lips.
“I’ll be quiet then,” he shrugs.
“No, it’s not…” I say, my scars burning, “we can have coffee now, but you’ll have to go after,” I declare, my heart in my throat, threatening to jump out of me.
“Seriously?”
“I’m just busy, Matt, that’s all.” I try to smile, but it’s not convincing enough. “I’m happy to see you, though, really. I just have a lot to do, that’s all.” Taking a sip from his small coffee cup, he stares at me in silence, long enough to make spiders crawl under my skin.
“You’ve…changed. You weren’t like this before him,” he sneers, a strange smile floating on his face.
“I… He has nothing to do with—” A sharp breath leaves me.
“Whatever.” Perhaps Jack is playing a part in me reclaiming ownership of my own life, and isn’t that a good thing?
I’ve been half-dead for six years. Can’t he see how happy I’ve been since Jack came into my life? Change doesn’t have to be a bad thing.
“You should scratch it, you know?” He smirks, but the smile doesn’t reach his expression, his brown hair falling over the sides of his face.
“Your knuckles,” he says louder, pointing at them.
“I know you’re waiting for me to leave to do that, but you don’t have to hide from me, Laska.
It’s alright. Go on.” I turn red, and my blood boils beneath my skin from how casual he is about this.
About my trauma.
About what almost cost me my life.
“See? I knew it,” he sneers, then finishes his coffee in one shot.
“Alright, I’m going. Sorry I bothered you.
There are so many customers, I can’t believe how busy you are,” he chants with a scoff.
“I’ll use the back door,” he rasps and turns, using the emergency exit in the back of the small room we’re in.
I don’t have time to say anything before he’s already gone, the door clicking shut just as I hear steps coming from the entrance of the store.
“Honey?” My mom’s harmonious voice fills the room. I take a deep breath and swallow the tears welling in my eyes.
“Here, Mom,” I say, trying to sound cheerful, walking to her with my smile back on.
“Were you with someone? I heard you talking,” she asks softly, eyeing the space around me, as if she thought Jack might be hiding somewhere behind the cardboard boxes.
“No,” I chuckle, thankful Matt left with his teenage attitude, Mom would have none of it. “No, only me,” I say, hugging her. Her arms don’t react right away, the surprise taking over her even though I hugged her the last time I saw her. I guess she’s getting used to it again.
“Good, good,” she says, dropping her shopping bags with fresh flowers on the floor. “I saw these at the farmer’s market and they reminded me of you.” She hands me one of the bouquets. Daisies. Just like the one I used to pick in our backyard when I was little.
“Thank you so much, Mom. You didn’t have to.”
“I know, I know, but…” she clears her throat, “I should come here more often. I… I’ll start from now on.
” A bittersweet smile takes place on her face.
She’s wearing a long brown coat with a flowery dress underneath and cowboy boots.
I hope I’ll get to be as pretty as her one day.
“I…I met Dr. Allen there, too.” She trails off, looking down, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear with a shaky gesture.
“He asked about you,” she says, her tone hesitant.
Dr. Allen. It’s been years since I talked to him.
He was my therapist during the first year after the accident.
A tall, forty-something doctor who kept taking endless notes during our sessions, even when I wouldn’t say a single word.
My parents gave me no choice back then, even if no amount of expensive therapy helped me improve.
After a year of no progress, I begged them to stop, and they reluctantly agreed.
“Oh,” I remark, stepping back, fidgeting with the historical romance shelf. “What… What did you say?”
“That you were…fine. Well, um, that you had made progress.”
“Really?” I frown. “Why?”
“Because, uh, you did,” she states with a half smile, sleeking her dress with her palms. “These past few weeks, you’ve been calling us more often, coming back home, doing things you used to do.
” Her tone falters. “When you hugged me…” Her palm rests on her chest. “I knew you were coming back to yourself.” She clears her throat.
“Well, well… what do we have here?” Her voice is thick with tears she tries to hide.
“These covers are really pretty, honey. You always choose so well. No wonder your business is thriving.”
I reach out and hug her from behind, just because I feel like it, and whisper, “Thanks, Mom,” before letting go.
“I’m always here, honey. You know that?” She turns and cups my face. “God, I remember when you were little, your round face and those squishy cheeks. People would always stare at your perfect little face,” she says, her voice tinged with melancholia.
“Mom,” I roll my eyes, stepping back before offering, “can I make you a cup of tea?”
“No, no, no. I’m already late for work. I’ll see you soon, honey,” she says, hurrying again with her bags in hand. “Come this weekend. Your dad is grilling ribs, and bring your friend along if you want.”
“Yes, okay, maybe.” I wave at her as she opens the door. “Bye, Mom.” I watch her go and sigh.
Outside, locals go in and out of stores.
A man steps out of the flower shop with a bright bouquet of roses.
His stride is confident, purposeful, as though he knows exactly who he’s giving them to.
Likely the woman he loves. Two elderly people holding hands pass by him, and I notice him glance over his shoulder at them.
Does he wonder what miracle allowed those two beings to still walk through life side by side after all this time?
What I’d give to hold hands in my old age with the love of my life.
Dying wouldn’t be so scary then. The man disappears into another shop, and I step back, mindlessly caressing the spine of a book.
My fingers meet the soft yet solid surface, just like Jack’s arms. Sleeping next to him was the closest I’ve ever come to getting what I’ve always dreamed of. I can almost touch it.
Only I’m behind the window, watching the dream unfold before me, my palm resting flat against the transparent glass.
I’m falling in love with Jack. But could Jack ever fall in love with the real me?
My knuckles tingle, and I want to snap them open just to feel something other than this uncertainty.
There’s no such thing as a clean slate, but if only I could get one.
A reset button to make it all go away, once and for all.
For Jack to love me and stay, even knowing what I’ve done.
I need to believe that it’s possible. To convince myself that, yes, Jack’s right.
Dreams do come true.