Chapter 2
When I meet Ashford, I am six years old.
The weather is super warm although it’s January, with a sky as blue as it gets. There isn’t a cloud in the sky and the frost is covering the leaves with a fuzzy, white blanket. I wish I could lay on it.
Santa did not bring me the skates I wished for last Christmas, and Mom says it is because I have not been a good boy.
She also says, skates are for girls. Which confuses me, because people tell me all the time I have a girl’s name.
I want to ask Mom why my name is fine but skates are not, but I know she’d get mad at all my questions.
It makes me a little sad, but Mom said maybe next year, if I am better; if I play more with the twins. I hate the twins. Earlier this morning I made a mental list of the reasons why in my journal.
Number one is the twins have boys’ names: Martin and Edwin. I would have loved to be named Martin or Edwin or anything else, really, as long as it’s a boy’s name.
Reason number two: the twins got more toys than I did at Christmas.
Reason number three: Mom showered them with kisses this morning. And the one before. Maybe when I get better at words, I can write the list down. This way I don’t have to keep making it.
Nana says I have been good, and Santa simply did not have enough money to get me the skates. I am not sure why, but I know we never have enough money for anything. Never enough to get me a Christmas present and then a birthday present so soon. I add a reason to my list why I hate the twins.
Reason number four: the twins’ birthday is in October and they always get double presents. Mine is in January and I get only one present. Because we don’t have enough money.
I ask Nana if next year Santa might have more presents for me.
I also say I’m okay with an ugly pair of skates, I’m okay even sharing them with the twins because I am a really good boy, but Nana shakes her head.
No, she doesn’t think so. Our baby brother is coming in March, and Santa probably won’t have enough money for all of us boys.
“You need to share with your brothers,” Nana tells me but I know this already because she tells me all the time. She comes for lunch every Sunday to see Mom and the first thing she asks is, “Have you been good, Ashley?” Sometimes, I imagine it’s Sunday just to make sure I’m being good. I am.
I share everything with my twin brothers, already. And now, another one is coming. Another brother that will take all of my stuff without asking and get special mom-kisses and birthday gifts.
I run to Mom and I ask if I can write my letter already, letting Santa know that I can share my skates with the twins and with the new brother, too, if only I could get a pair.
Mom laughs and shoos me away, she says it is too early, we cannot send a letter in January.
It makes me sad and I go cry in my bedroom, alone, while I pretend to play with toys made for boys that I do not like.
I should have asked for a doll, but I did not want mom to tell me that those are for girls, too.
After the frost outside melts and lunch is done, Mom calls me in her softest voice and asks if I want to go to the grocery store with her. Instead of taking the car, she tells me to walk with her and together, we go down the street.
When I meet Ashford for the first time, he is with his dad at the end of the street, both of them wearing winter jackets and skates.
That makes three things I envy Ashford for, so I make a mental list. Number one: Ashford has skates.
Number two: Ashford has a boy name. Number three: Ashford has a dad.
Not that I do not have a dad. I do. I call him Daddy, but he feels more like a father than a daddy. Daddy loves the twins and he spends all of this free time with them, teaching them about sports and boy stuff. I spend all my time alone, or with Mom when she has time, or with Nana when she visits.
I’m with my mom when I meet Ashford, too. We are on our way back from the grocery store and Mom told me good boys carry groceries so I have a bag on each arm while inside I am wishing for skates.
At the end of the road, Ashford calls his father “Daddy” and I know he means it.
His dad calls Ashford “Ash” and holds him as they skate together.
As they loop back and spot us, with his pretty blue skates and messy curls and a loving father, Ashford stops and waves at me from across the street.
I’m not sure what to do, so I stay perfectly still and stare down at his skates: the ones I had wished for.
“Do you want to try my new skates?” he asks and that’s when I notice he’s missing a couple of teeth. Suddenly, we have one thing in common.
“I’m missing a tooth, too!” I exclaim, because I’m not sure what else to say.
I never had a friend. Daddy yells too much, Mom does not invite people over anymore.
I don’t know what to do, so Ashford’s daddy looks at my mom.
Something flashes in his eyes, and his kind smile changes.
“I can bring him back home later,” he offers.
Mom looks at me for a second. Her face is red and she is huge from the new baby.
“We live right there. We moved last autumn,” says Ashford’s dad.
He skates closer to my mom and extends his hand out to her.
He is wearing a black glove and he removes it at the last second.
“Gregory Hale,” he introduces himself, sounding impossibly fancy.
His eyes are the same brown as the boy’s behind him.
“Sarah,” Mom finally replies but she does not shake his hand. With a gesture in the direction of our house, Mom says, “Dinner is at six.”
She doesn’t say that we also moved last autumn from our house in Norway, or that we had to leave because there was never enough money.
She doesn’t tell Gregory Hale that we had to come live in Nana’s old house in England; doesn’t add anything before simply heading back home.
Mom leaves me with Gregory Hale without looking back once.
Ashford’s daddy does not yell at me.
When I introduce myself, Gregory Hale simply echoes my words, “Ashley. Nice name. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
When he helps me into Ashford’s blue skates—adjusting the size and fixing my thick socks—he does not squeeze my skin so tight it hurts. He zips up my winter jacket and pats my back softly.
“Are your hands cold?” Gregory Hale asks me kindly and I don’t want to tell him that they are.
He studies my face and when I don’t say anything at all, he takes my hands in his and warms them up with his gloves. “We can’t have your fingers fall off,” he announces.
Ashford laughs with him and says, “My hands are always cold.”
When I fall off the skates, Gregory Hale rushes over to me and does not yell that it is my fault, always my fault. How can you be bad at just about everything? How can you forget your English words, when you’ve been speaking English forever?
Gregory and Ashford Hale hold me on each side until I’m standing on my own on the skates. They hold my hands—Ashford on my right and his dad on my left—until my palms get sweaty and I feel ashamed.
And when I declare I want to try alone, Ashford beams at me with his toothless smile and matching holes appear on the sides of his cheeks. I like to think I did not know the word dimples until I knew their shape on Ashford’s face.
I am six years old when I meet Ashford and for the first time, I feel the sting of jealousy. I’m jealous of his curly red hair, jealous of his name, his perfect English, his dad, his skates, his dimples. My skin is hot in the winter air and my belly rumbles and I wish I didn’t have to go back home.
For the first time in my life, I wish Ashford would take me and hide me away, keep me safe. That feeling never goes away.