3. Chapter 3
Talmage
I should be focusing on doing my homework, but I’m waiting for the little green dot to appear next to Mack’s name so I can talk to her.
I’ve never hated the fact that I don’t have my own cell phone until now.
I feel like I barely get to see her outside of school because we’re both busy. I don’t think I’ve ever missed someone the way I miss her when she’s not around.
Every day after school, I walk her to the train tracks halfway between our houses. It’s a longer path to my house, but I don’t mind. I haven’t gotten the nerve to touch her again, even though I really want to.
Sometimes, I can still feel the sparks from the time our pinkies touched.
I’ve never held hands with anyone before, so I’m nervous. How do I know when it’s the right time to do it? What if she rejects me ?
We’re having a movie night at our friend Shaylee’s house this weekend, and I hope Mack will sit next to me. Hope I can work up the nerve to finally hold her hand.
Part of me feels like we’re breaking rules. Like we’re doing something bad, since we’re taught not to date until we’re sixteen and never exclusively.
But we’re not dating. We just have a mutual crush.
At least, I think we do.
I have a crush on her.
I think she likes me back.
A huge smile breaks out on my face when I see the green dot next to her name and three dots typing in the chat.
It’s been a week since I saw Mack at the car accident, and she’s been on my mind every moment since.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her eyes, and the way they pierced through me. How sad they looked—more than just “I was in a car accident” sad. More than “this is a bad day” sad. A deep, to-the-bone sadness. A sadness I have an overwhelming urge to make better.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the dip of her cupid’s bow and the lovely pink shade of her lips.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the look on her face when she recognized me—something a lot like hurt and shock. Wariness was painted all over her gorgeous face .
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way she brushed me off and how it stung a bit when she didn’t say she wanted to see me again, too.
I also haven’t been able to stop thinking about the red of her hair or the gold rings piercing her nose. She looked so familiar but like a stranger at the same time.
I never would have pictured her with nose piercings.
But somehow, they suit her.
I’ve stopped myself from trying to find her on social media because what am I even looking for? A confirmation she’s taken? To see how she’s changed and what her life’s been like post-graduation? A way to get back into her life?
We were best friends before we dated freshman year and into our sophomore year, so maybe I’m just feeling nostalgic about the relationship we had. How simple things were back then.
But a deeper part of me—the part I try to ignore— knows she’s the one who got away, and it makes me want to reconcile and try again.
It feels like running into each other is a sign. A sign of what? I have no clue.
Maybe she’s married, and this is just a chance for us to be friends again.
I hope it’s not that.
I give in to my urge to look her up and type in her name, frowning when the profile I think is hers comes up as private.
The picture is of a redhead with her hair in a bun facing away from the camera, a large moth tattoo is etched on the back of her neck.
Would Mackenzie get a neck tattoo? I didn’t notice any on her when I saw her, but she was also covered in long sleeves and pants, and her hair was down around her neck.
I request to follow her, then switch over to a different app and type in her name, but nothing comes up.
Huh. That’s weird. I thought for sure we were friends at one point.
I’m already pushing it to get to family dinner on time, so I decide to investigate more a little bit later. I buckle my golden retriever into her doggy car harness and drive the short distance to my childhood home.
Siren barks when we arrive and darts to the door as soon as I have her unbuckled. Mom opens the door when she hears her furry grandbaby. Siren sits patiently on the porch until Mom gives her a head scratch and the okay to go inside.
“Hi, honey! How are you doing?” Mom greets me and wraps her arms around my waist, giving me a squeeze.
“Good, Mom. How are you?”
“Things are going. How has work been?” We step inside, and I take off my shoes, following her into the kitchen where she’s stirring a pot of what smells like creamy potato soup.
She’s still wearing her church dress, but she’s exchanged her nylons for a pair of fuzzy socks and house slippers. Her graying blonde hair is pulled up with a clip, and her glasses are sitting perched on top of her head.
“It’s been kind of slow. We’ve mostly been dealing with car accident calls this week, but luckily, nothing serious.”
Mom sighs. “I don’t understand how people who have lived here their whole lives forget how to drive in the snow. ”
“I don’t know, but they’ve mostly been fender benders at least. Speaking of, last week there was an accident on Main Street, and Mackenzie Thorpe was involved.”
I watch my mom for any sign of recognition. She wasn’t really a fan of Mackenzie in high school, but I know she knows her parents.
Mom’s stirring pauses before she slowly starts again. “Oh? I hope it wasn’t too severe.”
“No, she’s fine. Did you know she moved back here?”
I watch Mom’s head move with a nod. “After what happened, it would’ve been strange if she hadn’t come back.”
I furrow my brows. “What do you mean? After what happened?”
Mom lowers the heat of the burner and turns around to give me a puzzled look. “Her parents?”
My stomach starts to sink, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Did something happen to them?”
Mom’s jaw drops open. “You don’t know?”
“Obviously not.” I want to scream, If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking .
“The Thorpes passed away in a car accident five years ago. Mackenzie moved back to take care of her sisters,” my little sister, Lauren, says as she enters the kitchen.
My jaw drops open. How the heck did I not know that?
Mom nods. “It was very tragic. A semi-truck driver had a heart attack at the wheel and swerved into the opposite lane of oncoming traffic. The Thorpes died on impact. I’m just glad they didn’t suffer.”
The story sounds familiar. I remember seeing something about it on social media or maybe the news, but I didn’t know Mackenzie’s parents were involved because I never read the article, and no names were mentioned in the title.
If I had known, I would have reached out. It explains the sadness in her eyes.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Mom shrugs. “I figured you knew. It was all over the news and social media. I’m sure I mentioned it at some point.”
My heart cracks in half. I had no idea something so tragic happened to her.
No wonder she looked so shaken, even though the accident wasn’t as bad as it could have been.
Gosh, I can’t even fathom how she must have felt or how hard it must have been to have to step into the role of parent after a tragedy like that.
“I guess I never realized it was her parents. That’s terrible. I feel bad I never reached out.”
“Well, why would you? It’s not like you two were particularly close,” Lauren adds, and I feel the weight of guilt grow heavier.
She’s right, of course. After I broke up with her, we weren’t even really friends.
We were castmates at best. We got paired together a few times for dance numbers in musicals, and we went to dances with the same group of friends sometimes, shared choir classes and the occasional English class, but we didn’t really talk.
I remember thinking she always looked so sad after our breakup.
Defeated, almost. It got particularly bad senior year, but I never paid much attention to the rumors going around about her.
I had to keep my distance so I wouldn’t give into the desire to beg her to give me another chance.
“We may not have been close friends, but I’ve still known her for years. This feels like something I should have given my condolences for. ”
“She probably didn’t even realize you never reached out. She’s clearly got stuff going on. I wouldn’t worry about it or feel bad.”
Why does that make my chest feel like it’s burning?
Did she truly just… forget all about me?
I mean, I can’t be upset if she did. I haven’t exactly been thinking about her twenty-four-seven, but sometimes a song or a movie would remind me of her.
She would pop into my head, and I’d wonder how she was doing.
This week, though, I’ve thought about her more than I have in the last ten years.
I have this overwhelming need to see her.
Even some of my drawings are starting to look like her, and I’m starting to feel like a freaking teenager with a crush again.
I went to the grocery store and saw a flash of red hair and thought it was her, so I followed the poor stranger down the chip aisle until I realized it wasn’t.
I don’t say any of that to Mom and Lauren, though. I don’t know if Mom still holds ill will towards her, and I don’t need to have Lauren gossiping to Lacey, who goes to the same school as her sisters.
Conversation shifts as we sit around the table and start eating, but my mind never strays far from the girl who was my first love. My first kiss. My first real regret.
It takes all of dinner for all of us to give updates since there are five kids and my parents.
My brother Thomas, who’s two years younger than me at twenty-six, is finishing up his master’s in civil engineering at BYU, tells us about his internship at the church headquarters where he’s pretty much guaranteed a job after graduation.
Lauren’s the next youngest at twenty-three and is just starting her master’s program at BYU to be a music teacher.
Mom asks her about her dating life, and—per usual—Lauren says she’s not dating anyone.
I don’t know if she just doesn’t date or if she doesn’t tell anyone, but she’s never brought anyone home, and I know my parents are worried she’s too serious about school.
I personally think it’s good she’s focusing on school instead of trying to get married, but I’m no longer blinded by the Mormon haze of thinking the only purpose in life is to get married and have babies.
The twins, Lacey and Timothy, are seventeen, and Timothy is on the track and field team while Lacey is in choir and theatre like I was.
Tim is quiet and responds with one-word answers while Lacey could talk for hours if we let her.
She’s got a solo in the spring concert, and she hasn’t stopped talking about it.
I’m proud of her, though. I know sometimes her anxiety can get the best of her, and she gets stage fright, so this is a big step for her.
When it’s my turn to give an update, I simply shrug and say nothing’s new.
Other than running into Mack, I don’t have much I can tell them.
Admitting I don’t want to be a member of the religion I was born into isn’t really something I can say over dinner, nor is it something I want to talk about in front of my siblings.
Tim will be deciding whether or not he wants to go on a mission soon, and I don’t want to be the reason he doesn’t go, even if I think he could find a better use for his first two years out of high school.
“Well,” Mom says as I help her serve dessert. “Sister Gleeson’s daughter is moving back to Utah and was asking around for some eligible bachelors to date. I mentioned your name and said I’d see if you’re interested. ”
I nearly roll my eyes. Mom means well, but I don’t want to be set up with someone’s daughter or granddaughter or niece or second cousin.
While the pressure to get married isn’t as heavy for men as it is for women, I still get a good dose of it because I’m almost thirty and single.
It’s not for a lack of trying, though. I just…
haven’t had the best luck finding someone to match my energy.
I can be over enthusiastic about my affection, and sometimes it’s a turn off.
I can’t help it, though. When I want to be with someone, I don’t do it halfway.
When I don’t respond, Mom continues to tell me all about this girl.
She’s twenty-two and just graduated with a communications degree.
She’s moving back to Utah to work as a social media assistant to the Utah Polar Bears—our local ECHL hockey team.
She’s got blonde hair, blue eyes, loves to do Pilates, and—most importantly—is looking for a “worthy priesthood holder” to be her eternal companion.
I can’t tell my mom that just isn’t me anymore.
“Mom, she’s seven years younger than me. She’s younger than Lauren. ”
Mom waves me off. “Only by a year. She seems like a nice girl! She comes from a good family and has a good job. Why won’t you give her a chance?”
“She’s too young!”
“Nonsense. Your cousin Hannah married a man ten years older than her. What’s wrong with seven?”
“Hannah’s prefrontal cortex was fully developed when she married Morgan, and she’d been married before. She wasn’t fresh out of college. ”
“Please, Talmage? One date.” Mom’s bottom lip wobbles, and I know what she’s going to say before she says it. “I just don’t want you to be alone anymore.”
Aw, crud.
“Fine. I’ll go on one date. Send me her number.”
Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe she’s the one.
But even as I think it, I don’t believe it because she’s not a certain redhead from my past.