Chapter Twelve Prue
Twelve
Prue
I swallow the last sip of my second beer as the sun finally, fully sets. From the end of my parents’ dock, I watch with an ache in my chest as that final sliver of sun slips below the lake’s surface and signals the end of my twenty-fourth year.
On my fifth birthday, Mom woke me up before sunrise.
She smiled, brushed a finger from my cheek to my chin, and, without a word, gestured for me to follow her.
Hand in hand she walked us downstairs and toward our front porch.
She sat down in Grandpa’s rocking chair, pulled me into her lap, and wrapped us in the plaid wool blanket we keep by the front door.
Silently, we watched the sunrise together.
I remember a pink and orange sky, casting Lynn’s house across the street in a glow that resembled a fire.
I remember Mom’s hand brushing my hair as I lay on her chest. I remember the rocking motion.
I remember Dad finding us later and slipping into the chair next to hers.
I remember her pulling one hand out of our blanketed cocoon to offer it for him to hold.
The day beyond that was hazy. From the pictures, I had a Barney-themed party. We opened gifts from Aunt Lucy and the neighbor’s kids who’ve all since moved away, and I wore an ugly floral frock that got covered in purple and fuchsia icing from eating too many cupcakes.
I vaguely recall the picnic we shared on the dock that evening.
It’s a fragmented, stained-glass mosaic of many different years pieced together but, even so, it is still the most precious memory I have.
I can still hear the sound of Mom’s hushed voice reminiscing about the year that’d passed fading and bleeding into the not-quite-autumn breeze rustling the pines.
I can still feel the tightness of her hold, being small enough to be held, the itch of the wool blanket against my cheek, her steady hands, and the way she swayed me side to side as we cast wishes for the year to come on the stars above us.
From then on, I demanded sunrises on the front porch and sunsets on the dock on every birthday.
This year marks the third time I’ve had to do it alone.
But at least it’s a good excuse to sneak away from the party Dad insisted on throwing me.
At the top of our property’s steep hill, on the grass between the A-frame and my parents’ back porch, my Dad is drinking wine and breaking bread with half of the town.
But, down here, it’s just me, the plaid blanket we’ve always kept by the door, a six-pack of unlabeled beer I found in Dad’s office fridge, and the chilling, fresh September-evening breeze drying my tears that have managed to break free.
My phone interrupts the dusk, lighting up with a text from Milo. It’s a photo of him and his three-day-old niece, who’s yet to receive her name. He’s smiling proudly as he holds the tiny, wailing baby out toward the camera, red-faced and screaming.
Milo: I think she likes me
I’d left Milo’s place not long after Aleks called to let him and Nadia know that Sef had safely delivered the newest Kablukov, in the back seat of his car, in the parking lot of the hospital.
That the midwife had taken over from Nik, who had yet to catch his breath, and that mom and baby were both totally fine, if a little shocked at the speedy arrival.
Aleks was going to take his car to the brewery and detail it while waiting for the delivery that seemed immovable, and Nadia and Milo agreed they’d take care of the kids.
Prue: She’s got good taste ;)
So, it’s a little flirty, sue me! It’s my birthday and I’m drinking and I miss my mother who, yes, is inside the house at the top of the hill, yet still so, so, so far away.
Milo: thanks again for your help the other day
Milo: did your mom paint again this morning?
I can’t help the slight scowl that overtakes my face. Milo is not returning my flirting. And flirting seems to be his default setting.Something is wrong. Or, he’s simply lost interest.
Prue: She did, yeah.
Prue: And, no worries! Glad everyone is home safe!
As I’m about to toss my phone toward the corner of the blanket and reach for another beer, he replies.
Milo: what are you up to right now?
A rumbling belly laugh sounds from my father in the distance as I sit up straighter to respond.
Prue: Hiding from a party, you?
Milo: Tom threw a party and didn’t invite me?!
Prue: He may have asked me to invite you…Whoops!
Milo: wow. I’m hurt. What’s the occasion?
I can’t help but smile, anticipating his reaction.
Prue: My birthday…
His responses are just as predicted—immediate and crazed.
Milo: killer, tell me you’re joking
Milo: is today your birthday?
Milo: don’t fuck with me
Milo: why didn’t you tell me when I texted you earlier???
He texted me this morning, letting me know that he’d not be able to paint with Mom again today, as if I’d expected him to with everything he’s got going on. Still, I appreciated that he checked in.
Prue: No, not joking!
Prue: You’re so dramatic!
Milo: you’re dead to me.
Milo: see, THAT is when punctuation is appropriate
Milo: I did send that before I read your second message, but my point stands
Milo: I’m coming over
Milo: a virgo…I should have guessed
Prue: Don’t!!
Prue: I’m halfway through a six-pack and in the beginning stages of sad, reminiscent drunk.
Milo: so??
Milo: I’ll bring more beer
Prue: Seriously, Milo, you don’t want to come.
Prue: The whole town is in my backyard, and they’ll talk if they see you sneaking off to find me.
Milo: let them
Milo: are you in the studio?
Prue: No, on the dock.
Milo: okay, wait there for me
Suddenly I’m left in the dark, questioning my outfit choice.
I’m wearing loose-fitting jeans with a baggy white sweater.
It felt right for the cheesy party my dad was throwing me for all the townies who still seem to see me as their neighbor’s sweet twelve-year-old kid. But not for him. Not for this.
Though I don’t know what this is. My plan is not fully thought out…yet.
I keep falling into the same trap, choosing outfits mindlessly and finding myself uneasy whenever Milo arrives, for a planned drop-in or otherwise, looking like…
what he looks like. He’s older in age and stature, in vibe and aura.
And his clothes, his choices, make that clear.
Milo knows himself well enough to dress in clothes that he wears and not the other way around.
He’s intentional, meticulous with his appearance in a way that feels so annoyingly effortless.
It makes me feel young, and plain, and frumpy, and foolish.
But then he gets that look in his eye. The teasing, toying flicker in his stare that makes me feel alive, and beautiful, and sexy. And I wonder if I could bottle that feeling. If I managed to steal enough of his attention, his appreciation, could I learn to conjure that confidence for myself?
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the nostalgia or the mindfuck that is Milo Kablukov’s sudden presence in my life, but I’m not sure if I’d stop him from kissing me tonight, if he asked again.
Honestly, I’m hoping he does. One birthday kiss with one ridiculously hot person that I can brag about for years to come to… the friends I will someday make.
Minutes pass as I finish my third beer, staring out over the water as dusk fades to nightfall and I turn my lantern on to see.
A twig snaps from behind me, and I turn to see Milo coming down the rocky steps, awkwardly balancing a vase of flowers in the crook of one arm and a few loose beers in the other. He holds his phone with his mouth, using it as a flashlight for the unlit path.
I can’t make out what he’s wearing, but that doesn’t stop the feeling of desire from rising up my throat. I guess it’s not just his fashion sense but him. In the dark, or otherwise.
“Hi,” I say, choking on the word, too quiet for him to hear. “Hi,” I repeat, reaching for my fourth beer and cracking it open. “You have some catching up to do,” I say, as he steps onto the dock.
He gets closer to me and my dimly lit lantern, and drops the cans onto the blanket.
Then, Milo takes the phone out of his mouth, turns the flashlight off, and slides it into the back pocket of his dark blue jeans.
“Good evening, birthday girl, ” he teases, smirking wickedly.
“These are for you.” He holds out the flowers.
I am hoping—praying, really—the lantern isn’t bright enough to reveal the blush on my cheeks. “Why, thank you.” I reach out and take the vase from him and place it to the side of the blanket underneath me, eyeing the beautiful bouquet skeptically.
How did he get these in the last ten minutes…
Milo immediately gets comfortable, lounging next to me on his side, his long legs hanging off the edge of the blanket. “So, twenty-five, huh?” He pokes my knee with his finger, smiling widely.
“Twenty-five,” I agree, less cheerily. I start chugging, sucking in air through my nose between swallowing. “That one is bitter, ” I say hoarsely as I lower the can from my lips.
He takes the can from me without so much as asking and helps himself to a sip. “Ah, yes, Little Rabbit…” He holds the can out toward me, and our hands brush briefly as I reach for it.
“These are your brother’s?” I say, admiring the blank can. “I should’ve guessed, I suppose.”
“Do you make a habit of drinking alcohol from nondescript packages?”
“Special occasion, and whatnot…” I drink again, turning my attention to the bouquet next to me.
They’re really pretty, full of colorful blooms and stocks and greenery.
They’re also stolen. “Quick question…” Milo grunts his response, opening his first beer.
“How’d you get these? Everything is closed in town by now. ”
“Uh…I—”
“And”—I cut him off, grinning—“why does the little card say Congratulations on your not-yet-named baby! From, Aleks ?”
He huffs a laugh, his tongue darting out to lick a drop of golden liquid off his lip.
“Sef threatened my life when I said I was coming here empty-handed on your birthday . If I had known ahead of time I would have gotten you a much better gift.” His subtle attempt to deflect from the matter at hand is, and will always be, unsuccessful.
“Sef has other things to be worrying about, no? Like the tiny baby she just popped out in a parking lot?”
“When you meet her, you’ll understand. She’s a different breed.”
I cannot help the very annoying little surge of pride when I hear that he’s counting on me meeting another member of his family. Like he thinks I’m worth introducing to them. It’s silly, I know, but feelings often are—as my mother used to say.
“I like them,” I say quietly. “Even if they’re stolen.”
“They’re not stolen. They’re…gently used.”
“I’ll be sure to thank Aleks for the flowers when I meet him someday.” See, I stole a little bit of that confidence from him already.
“You haven’t met him yet?” Milo asks. I shake my head no. “I figured you would have since he’s living above the bakery in town.”
“I don’t get out much.”
Milo laughs before taking another small sip. “He’ll love you.”
I scoff. “What?”
He smiles, parted lips meeting the edge of the silver can. After Milo tips his face up to the sky to finish his drink, he turns that come hither stare on me. “You don’t mince your words either, just like him.”
“Well, maybe I should have invited him over then,” I say, quicker than my thoughts can stop it.
I watch carefully as Milo flicks through a few different emotions before landing on his go-to arrogant smile.
But briefly— like blink-and-you’ll-miss-it briefly—I think I saw a pang of jealousy crook his brow and twitch his eye.
“I can text him and see if he’ll join us.
Why not, right? We’re just friends, aren’t we? ”
“Oh, so we are friends?” I tease, holding eye contact.
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Friends who kiss, maybe.
He leans in, smirking. “Do you usually get what you want, Prudence?”
“Mmm,” I say, before taking a much-needed, cooling sip. “Sometimes.”
“So why are you down here then? Instead of partying it up with Tom and all the cool cats?”
That answer is too long and far too complicated, so I settle for the easier one. “I thought I’d do them all a favor by giving them the gift of my absence.”
“Oh please, you’re not so bad,” he says, finally breaking our eye contact as he reaches for his second can. “And thank you for not sparing me.”
I choose to ignore the sort-of compliment and the butterflies it lets loose in my belly. “Why dare ?” I ask, jutting my chin to the tattooed letters on his knuckles.
“No, I’m not telling you. You’ll mock me.”
I roll my eyes, smiling. “So? Let it be my birthday gift. The not -stolen kind.”
His eyes dip down to my mouth, and he immediately sighs, resolved.
“Fine. I got it…” He looks up to the sky, leaning farther back onto the forearm supporting his weight as he trills his lips.
“I don’t know, maybe eight years ago? I was in California for the first time and there were these girls and—”
“Oh”—I sit up urgently—“this is going to be good. ”
He laughs at my obvious excitement. “Well, there were about eight of us total, and it was late and we were all very drunk and someone suggested we play truth or dare. ” He stops, checking to see if I know where he’s going with this with a side-glance and a deadly smirk.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah…” He chuckles dryly. “This one girl asked me to get her name across my knuckles, Lane, I think it was, and I said no, but I did say yes to a different four-letter word. My drunk, dumb ass couldn’t think of anything other than dare when the tattoo artist asked me what I wanted and I was desperately trying to appear cool and sober. ”
“That is even better than I expected, honestly,” I tell him, shaking my head. “Thank god you didn’t get some random girl’s name on you!”
“Why?” he asks quickly, leaning to look at me from under low brows. “Would that make you jealous?”
“Shut up.” I laugh nervously, before covering the sound with a cool can pressed against my lips. Then, an idea. “We should play.”
“Hmm?” Milo’s brows rise.
“We should play truth or dare.”
“ That story made you want to play?” His eyes narrow on me curiously. “You want me to get your name tattooed on my ass or something?”
I laugh. “Would you?”
“Well, it is your birthday.”
I lift up and move closer to him, feeling the liquid courage flood my bloodstream and thin the usually thick filter of my mind. “I’ve never played, so go easy on me.”
He breathes deeply, focusing on my face, studying me. Then, he sits up, his knee pressing into mine as he smiles widely and places both hands in the hollow of his lap. “All right, Killer, you win. Let’s play.”