Miki

 

 

Girl, how are you holding up?

 

I stare at the text, rereading it over and over as though I couldn’t understand the simple string of words. With a huff, I burrow further under the warm burgundy comforter, tugging it up over me and the tiny little figure curled up at my side.

Hope shifts, rolling over to press her damp forehead against my shoulder. She’d crawled into my bed at four in the morning, sleepy eyed but excited to have me so close. She’d slept well, I could tell that from her loud snores and thrashing limbs. I, on the other hand, was not so lucky.

I wasn’t sure if it was the heat radiating from her tiny body that kept me up or the heat that churned inside of me.

Every time I closed my eyes, his appeared before me. They hung in the hazy corners of my room, watching me, following me, filling me up with a heat that I didn’t understand. I’d done my best to avoid him at the rehearsal dinner. I’d done my best to ignore the impulses to reach out and run a finger across his strong, square jaw.

And still he haunted me. 

I couldn’t even remember his name, but I could recall exactly how the fine black fabric of his suit strained against the taut muscles of his bulging arms and I could see the dark flecks of his eyes as though I’d mapped them meticulously in my brain… how lame was that?

Great. I finally text back, three little dots instantly showing at the bottom of the message. That was Olivia’s style. Instant responses, usually a dozen of them at the time. This time though, there was only the one.

 

Lol. Sure. Wanna tell me the truth?

 

Even from miles away, there was no lying to Olivia Hanson. My best friend could read me like a book. It was kind of nice, not to have to pretend with someone. She could see right through any false pretenses I might throw up in front of her. She’d been the only one I talked to about everything that happened with my ex and the support she’d given me the past few years was invaluable. I treasured her like a penguin treasures its pebble, or the parakeet I’d had in elementary school had treasured its mirror. We’d met at freshman orientation our first day at Francis U, the female only college I’d decided to attend after my rough relationship in an attempt to give up male attention for a while. While I’d been a naive freshman hoping to finally get off on the right foot, she’d been a sophomore guide showing us around the school. Sweet, kind, and perky - Liv had taken me under her wing almost instantly. We were practically inseparable since. She was one of the few people I’d ever met who didn’t seem to have a bad bone in her whole body.

 

There’s this guy… I shoot back, blush already rising on my cheeks. If there was anyone I’d talk about this to, it was her.

I glance again at little Hope who snorts in her sleep, running my finger over her apple round cheek. She’s adorable, almost too cute to handle with those messy brunette ringlets. She looks just like Poppy did in her baby pictures, minus the blue eyes that Grant contributed.

 

???

Guy??

I thought we weren’t doing the guy thing?!

I am female, hear me roar!

Right?

Okay. Is he cute?

Tell me he’s totally gorg.

I bet he is.

Name please. I’m on Facebook right now. Let me stalk!

 

The flurry of texts makes my phone vibrate so frantically that Hope cracks open one eye, glaring at me as though I’d personally insulted her favorite stuffed animal.

“What is that noise?” She demands squeakily, rubbing her eye with an adorably pudgy hand, “I’m tryin’ to sleep here!”

I burst into laughter, shaking my head and giving her a squeeze.

“I’m sorry, Hope!” I whisper, kissing her cheek, “Want to take a selfie?”

Almost immediately, she cocks her head to the side and gives her best sleepy Blue Steel for the camera. Apparently she was quite used to selfies with Mommy.

Biting back another giggle, I snap a quick picture of Hope and I and send it Liv instead of typing a reply to her thousand texts.

 

Oh my fucking god. Precious!!

But don’t think you can avoid explaining this to me forever!

A few seconds later, another text rolls in as an afterthought.

Also, have fun at the wedding.

Bitch.

 

Shaking my head, I laugh and toss my phone onto the side table without responding and roll up onto my elbow, watching as Hope slowly stretches out her arms over her arms and gives a huge yawn.

“I’m hungry.” She sighs, gazing at me with endless blue eyes, “Do you know how to make pancakes?”

“I sure do. The best pancakes.” I wink, “Want to help make some yummy breakfast for your sister and parents?”

She nods ecstatically, throwing herself out of the bed as I laugh and chase after her down the hall.

While we cross the wide expanse of the Price’s gorgeous home towards the kitchen, Liv’s words still linger in the back of my mind.

She was right, of course. We’d both agreed not to date. Our reasons were different and even though I shared most of my thoughts and feelings and plans with my best friend, I hadn’t quite shared all of it with her. I couldn’t bring myself to, not yet. I was still processing it all.

Despite her kindness and positivity, there was no way Liv would be able to understand how I felt, what I’d been through. She didn’t date so she could focus on growing her business, a bakery that was flourishing with moderate success since she’d graduated last year.

I didn’t date because I couldn’t be loved. I already knew it was true, but the last few years had solidified it. I’m broken. The truth is the truth, no matter how painful. Olivia would only try to convince me otherwise, making it even more painful.

“Auntie Miki, can you put chocolate chips in some of the pancakes?” Hope gazes at me, crooked tooth grin on her small face, “I loove chocolate.”

“Of course we can!” I gush, scooping her up and planting her on the counter.

Her messy brunette pigtails hang uneven on the sides of her face as she gives another yawn, sleepy eyes following my movement as I grab some bowls and flour and eggs.

“Want to stir?” I offer, cracking the eggs in the bowl and pushing it towards her. Excitedly, she grabs the whisk and furiously churns the batter until it’s well overbeaten and stiff. But I don’t mind. I have a feeling her parents won’t either.

 

~~

 

“Hope, these are the yummiest pancakes I’ve ever had!” Poppy gushes as the little girl grins with exuberance, warm maple syrup dripping down her sticky face, “I can’t believe you helped make them!”

Grant winks at me, stealing another chocolate chip hockey puck from the serving platter and taking a big bite as though he weren’t worried he’d chip a tooth.

Harper pouts, staring glumly down at the breakfast that she didn’t get to help make. She’d barely touched her own pancake, one Hope and I had shaped like a cute pig with strawberry ears, her favorite animal of the week.

“Why couldn’t I come to sleepover?” The two year old warbles finally, turning wide and teary eyes towards me.

I lean forward, playfully pinching her tiny, perfect nose, “Don’t worry, Harper.” I whisper, “You and me will go get ice cream later, how about that?”

Her eyes, more green than Hope’s clear sky blue, go wide with excitement.

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise.” I grin, wrapping her miniature pinky in my own as she giggles and claps her hands.

“Aren’t we so glad that Aunt Miki has decided to spend the summer with us?” My sister adds, beaming at me hopefully.

I hadn’t said anything about spending the whole summer, but as usual, Poppy likes to push my boundaries and my buttons.

“Yes, yes, yes!” The girls chant as I respond with a tight lipped smile and a warning glare at Poppy.

She just keeps that same perky smile her lips, rubbing her tummy with both hands. Now safely into the third trimester, hopefully she could make it through Reagan and Eli’s star-studded wedding day.

Once breakfast was done and the table cleared, it was time to get ready for the wedding. An early afternoon ceremony at the huge megachurch downtown, it was practically a royal affair. How Grant and Poppy planned on keeping their two rambunctious toddlers quiet through the whole thing was going to be even more impressive than the ginormous fifteen layer wedding cake Eli and Reagan were apparently having. It was going to look like a pearly white Christmas tree.

Personally, I was glad that Poppy and Grant’s wedding had been a much more modest event. They had money, probably more than I would ever have in my entire life, but they didn’t throw it in everybody’s faces.

Back in my room, I carefully turn in front of the full length mirror, inspecting the sunflower dotted, off shoulder dress that Poppy had picked out for me from my old clothes she still had laying around somewhere. It was one I’d owned in high school that luckily still fit. I adjust the sleeves, fingers wandering over the silky fabric of the ruched bodice. Mom had bought this for me, a few months before she and Dad were lost in the car accident. I hadn’t been able to wear it since then. Today though, the dress was a comfort. I could almost see Mom’s warm smile again. She’d loved sunflowers and the yellow of the sewn petals was so vibrant and sweet. Poppy had let me borrow a pair of yellow heels to go with it.

For a second, I actually felt beautiful.

 

~~

The wedding passed flawlessly.

My nieces were so enthralled with the pageantry and the beautiful princess-like gowns of the bridesmaids that they hadn’t let out a single peep through the entire ceremony. 

Reagan and Eli stood in front of us now in the huge reception hall, clutching each other and a serving knife as they cut through the bottom layer of the cake that was even taller than Grant, dotted with beautiful purple lilies and edible gold. The guests cheered and laughed as the newlyweds fed each other mouths of cake, Eli sweeping Reagan into his arms to lay a huge kiss on her bright pink frosting covered lips.

In fact the entire thing was way more fun than I had anticipated.

I’d been perfectly ready to be bored and miserable, assuming that the whole event was going to be much more uptight than it turned out to be. I knew I was wrong the second Reagan’s father did his best attempt at a break dance on the dance floor.

The guests surged forward around him as he spun along the smooth flooring, sweeping me up in their swaying bodies.

There were so many people there that it was easy to get lost amongst the dancing bodies, and I let the music pulse its way into my core as I spun and swayed along with the loud beats.

Breathless and exhilarated and sweaty, I pushed through the people back to the table where Grant sat, now alone, watching Hope and Harper dance together. They held hands, taking turns clumsily spinning each other to the music.

I laugh, rustling their hair as I approach.

“Where’s Poppy?” I pant as Grant frowns and surveys the room, then points towards the huge arching doorway that led from the reception.

He says something, still pointing towards the doors, but I can barely his words over the pulsing music. I just hold up two thumbs and run off towards the large hallway. It’s only then that I realize my feet are aching in the too small heels I’d borrowed from my sister.

I step out, letting the doors swing shut behind me, muffling the loud music. When I look around, there’s no one to be seen.

“…about Mikayla.”

My name catches my attention, pulling me forward through the corridors curiously though I couldn’t see who’d spoken it. I wander closer to the hall until my shoulder is pressing against the smooth white wall as the rustle of fabric got closer and closer.

Carefully, I peer around the sharp corner, where I could just make out my sister and Reagan, their hushed voices carrying towards me.

“-that yellow on her dress makes her look so sallow. Is she sick?” Reagan rubs Poppy’s arm as Poppy dabs at her eyes.

Why was she crying? And did I really look ill? I stare down at the pretty sunflowers, dismayed now by their radiant hue. Had I looked awful all day and not realized it?”

“She’s changed so much.” My sister sighs, words echoing down the hall with a clarity that punches me in the stomach, “I don’t know her anymore. I couldn’t tell you a single thing about her. I don’t know if she’s sick. I don’t know if she’s depressed. She won’t talk to me.”

“Well, Miki’s always been kind of a clam…”

A clam. That’s what they thought of me. Hard shelled and quiet. Maybe they were right.

“I don’t know how to get through to her. I’m worried…”

Unwilling to hear anymore, I hastily walk through the halls, tears blurring in my eyes. I hadn’t pushed them away on purpose, I hadn’t meant to make myself emotionally unavailable to my sister. I hadn’t meant to look terrible in this dress.

“What do you have?” I ask the bartender near the reception doors, single tear spilling down my face though I worked so hard to keep it at bay. I blink furiously to keep anymore from falling, breath lodged in my lungs like a painful plug.

The college kid stares at me uncomfortably, and though I think it must be the horrendous shade of my skin against the pretty flowers, I realize he’s distraught by my tears.

I rub my eyes roughly, slapping my hand on the counter and pointing jerkily towards a bottle of crimson colored wine. When he goes to grab a glass, I shake my head wildly and clear my throat.

“No.” I grunt hoarsely, “Whole thing. Hand it over.”

No doubt desperately wanting to get rid of me, he thrusts the wine bottle uncertainly towards me as I take it and sprint down the opposite hall, as far from the happy, dancing people and my disappointed sister as I can get. At the end of the wide passage, a huge and gorgeous stained glass window sits, the mixed colors shimmering on the floor before me. I walk through the brilliant jewel tones, watching my skin go from emerald to sapphire to ruby as I take long gulps of sweet red wine.

I collapse underneath the window, my legs splayed out before me, back against the wall, the wine burning my throat until the colors begin to swirl and dance.

“Just when I thought I wouldn’t have a drunk to take care of today.”

At the end of the hall, I can see someone appear though I have to squint hard to narrow my swirling double vision down to just the single figure. I take another long drink from the wine, dropping the nearly empty bottle at my side as he approaches.

The man from last night stands in front of me, his blond hair shimmering under the stained glass. Even drunk, just him looking at me makes my heart leap into my throat, the wine in my tummy sloshing about uncomfortably. Oh yes, I was going to regret this later.

“What do you want?” I grumble, twisting my face away.

“I saw you running this way. You looked upset.”

I don’t respond, warily watching as he approaches and slides down beside me. I stare at the two pairs of our outstretched feet, angry blisters forming on my toes from the heels. Though the wine has numbed the pain, I kick the heels off anyway and give him a firm glare though no judgment forms on his flawless face.

When he stays quiet, I hold the bottle out towards him, “Last sip?”

“Not for me.” He shrugs, folding his arms behind his head as he rests his skull on the wall.

“Don’t like wine?” I slur.

“Don’t drink.”

I finish the bottle, resisting the wild urge to hurl the bottle against the wall just to see it shatter.

The man turns to look at me, just watching, not speaking. It makes me uneasy.

“Want to talk about it?” He finally asks, tilting his head to the side.

I hate how beautiful the deep mahogany of his eyes is. I hate how they seem to stare right into my soul. He probably knows more about me from just a glance than I know about myself in the years I’ve spent in this body.

“Fuck no.”

“Okay then.” He says simply, half a smirk on his full lips.

I’m jealous of his beauty, even though he’s all sharp, strong lines and masculinity. Why couldn’t I be beautiful?  If I was, would my sister be proud of me?

“I can’t do a damn thing right.” I babble, wiping at my betraying eyes once more as tears leak down my cheeks, dragging my mascara with it in ugly black lines. The wine has turned my tongue foul and bitter, “I go to school because that’s what she wants. I try and stay out of trouble because that’s what she wants.”

“She?”

“I said I don’t fucking want to talk about it!”

Even in my drunk stupor, I don’t miss his eyebrows lifting slightly. I wait for his anger or for him to get up and leave me, but his face remains passive and calm and infuriatingly handsome.

“My sister.” I finally add with a sniffle, “I just wanted to make her happy for once. Instead of disappointing her again. No matter what I do though…”

“Well. If you were my sister, I’d want you to be happy. I’m sure that’s just what Poppy wants too. What makes you happy, Mikayla?”

My name on his tongue startles me and I abruptly realize I still can’t recall his own name.

“I don’t know.” I whisper, tears blurring my view of the beautiful stained glass. A cloud passes over the sky, making the shimmery hues on the floor vanish, “I loved school when I was younger, before… before I lost interest, I guess. I thought going to college was what I wanted.”

“But it wasn’t?”

I shake my head, not even trying to stay the tears rushing down my face now. They plunge, warm and wet, onto my folded hands, “And I can’t drop out. She’d be so upset.”

“So graduate and figure it out from there. You’ve only got a year left.”

My chin swings towards him, taking in the pensive look in his eyes as he taps his chin, “I mean, a degree is not a bad thing to have. Plus, you can get internships in different fields. Experiment and discover what truly intrigues you.”

He keeps talking, eyes distant as he goes over the long list of contacts that he apparently has that can help me figure out my future.

Happiness.

That was a concept that I hadn’t often thought of or considered.

What did I want? What did make me happy?

I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know anymore. I didn’t even know myself.

My blitzed, hazy eyes linger on him, watching the way his perfect lips form perfect words. Was this man happy? Could I steal some? Is that how it worked?

Before I knew what was happening, my body lurched on its own accord, twisting me over so that I was on my hands and knees and closing the space between us. He stops talking now, staring at me with startled, gorgeous brown eyes that look as though they were carved from the finest wood in a forgotten forest.

I sink to my knees at his side, my hands sliding up the front of his shirt. The lines of his muscles undulate beneath my seeking fingertips, guiding me higher and higher.

Our gazes are locked until I turn my eyes back to his lips, lips that I want undyingly to taste.

As I lean forward, his warm, rough palms glide up the back of my dress and I can feel his fingertips as though they burn my very flesh instead of the fabric of the gown. I can feel his breath on my lips, his eyes open, waiting, fingers digging slowly into my back, pulling me forward into his strong chest.

Then, just as I lean closer to devour his lips, he jerks back and swallows thickly.

“Mikayla.” He whispers, voice gravelly and rough, his chest rising and falling with the same desire I have.

I pause, staring up at him. My palms are still flush on his chest and I can feel his heart beat against his ribs.

He repeats my name, softer this time, gently moving so that I’m seated back and the cold tile of the floor and he’s kneeled beside me.

“Why?” I ask, though I see the answer in his eyes.

He doesn’t want me.

How could he?

“You’ve had too much wine.” He says simply, his fingers grazing over my cheek and leaving a blazing trail that managed to burn its way to my soul.