-19-
Now or Never
Ayla’s eyes are the first to latch on to me as I make my way back onto the patio with the other girls, taking my previous seat, a new kind of energy buzzing through me. I barely have time to process what I want to do when Rosy’s sister pops up next to me, asking worriedly, but trying not to look it, “What happened? Is he alright?”
“Yeah, he’s fine.” To a degree. “He’s just had a lot of stuff on his mind, I guess.”
She instantly looks suspicious, and I can’t really blame her. “This is Moon we’re talking about, right?”
“Hey, stranger things have happened,” Taji says, working on Aunt Inez. “You know, like world peace, the ending of poverty…oh wait. None of that has happened. So yeah, this is the strangest.”
When Ayla looks back at me for answers, I have none, so I say, “If you don’t believe me, ask him yourself.” I know I shouldn’t meddle by encouraging a conversation between them. But maybe if they did, then Moon might fess up and I wouldn’t have to see them both so miserable anymore.
Ayla begins to ask me why he hasn’t come outside yet, and as if he heard her, the door pops open in a similar fashion to his first entrance, making everybody stop mid motion to see what the heck he’s going to do this time. Even I’m holding my breath as he walks down the steps, avoiding every eye on him before stopping dead in front of Ayla, his shadow casting over her.
Without any kind of pretense, his mouth opens up, and a bunch of shocking things (even for Moon) pour out of it.
“Ayla Michelle Nunez, what I’m about to say is something I know I’ll regret. But dammit, I am not pathetic, and as a very wise redhead once told me, you have to grab life by the balls before it slips away.”
Of course that’s how he would interpret my advice.
Some of the aunts and Grammy look at me strangely.
All I can do is roll my eyes.
“Moon, what are you doing?”
He ignores Ayla’s question.
“I love you,” he says in one big breath, his shoulders deflating with it, as though releasing a giant weight. “I love you. And I don’t mean I love you as in you’re like a sister to me. I mean I’m in love with you. And you’ve never been like my little sister, Ayla. Not for a moment.” He stops, smiling at her, catching his breath. What he says next is done much slower, softer. “You’re the girl that made my heart stutter when I saw you in the doorway for the first time, hair in pigtails, Band-Aids wrapped around your fingers from attempting to cut your hair with your mother’s plant shears. You’re the girl that watched ghost shows with me when the guys would ditch me for dates. And bake cookies at three a.m. just because we felt like it. You went from being the girl I always wanted to the woman I never thought I could have.” Another breath, this one raising his whole chest before he lets it back out again. This whole time Ayla has been silent, staring at him, dumbfounded. Kind of like the rest of us.
Well, except for me. Because I can’t stop smiling.
That’s the Moon I know.
“I love you, Ayla. Damn, that feels so good to say. I love you. And even if you’ll never feel that way about me, at least I –
“I love you too,” she says, cutting him off, eyes in tears, but lips smiling. “I’ve always loved you, Moon. I have since the day you gave my brother a black eye for refusing to let me play Star Wars with you.”
Taking the bull by the horns, Ayla walks the rest of the way to him, stands on her very tippy toes, and kisses him like she can’t wait another second. Her hands go around his neck, and his go around her waist, lifting her the rest of the distance.
The entire backyard erupts in awws and hoots, Grammy Reyes even doing a little catcalling which makes all of us laugh as the two finally separate, the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen stretched across their faces. It’s as if with having finally spoken the truth, it’s made them glow from within, completed them somehow. Moon stares down at Ayla like he has finally found his stars in her, and my heart swells for him.
“Okay, now that was the most bizarre thing that could have happened.” Taji grins next to me, and I smile with her, knowing she’s absolutely right.
After that, Moon and Ayla don’t leave more than three feet between them for the rest of the night, Moon even asking her to do his mehndi, which makes all of us laugh, mostly at his insistence. While Ayla creates the tribal style design on his arm, he can’t stop watching her, his lips frozen in a continual, blissfully happy smile.
Once the night is over, I give everyone a hug before I leave, pulling Moon aside once I’m on the front steps, the rest of the family having gone back inside. Looking up at him, I say, mouth stuck in a smile, “I’m really proud of you, Moon. That took a lot of courage. Especially with an audience.”
He shrugs, knocking his shoulder into mine. “Wouldn’t have done it without a little help from my friends. Thank you,” he says sincerely, giving me a sweet kiss on the forehead before wishing me a good night, heading back into the house to spend some “long overdue time with his girl.”
I could almost puke. He’s so cute when he’s in love.
Still grinning to myself, remembering his outrageous but completely Moon-way of telling Ayla the truth, I hop in my car, thinking about it the entire way home.
***
Lying in bed, I stare at the sizeable piece of mail sitting on my nightstand, my mind replaying all that I’ve had to do to receive it, momentarily stealing the joy tonight brought me. Of course I can’t just find peace in the moment. I have to over think it.
I got my welcome packet from Oxford in the mail today. My dad sent the check to both the college and Jagger’s dad, making the deal complete. Mr. Wells’ business will be saved, Jagger will be off the hook, and I’ll get to accomplish my dream. It’s everything I had hoped for.
So why do I feel so miserable?
Looking up at the ceiling in the dark with the distant sound of rain pounding on the roof, I close my eyes against the whooshing of the ceiling fan, wishing the pain in my chest would subside. I rub a hand over it, knowing the cause without having to think too deeply. I get it whenever I think of Jagger nowadays, his smile, his laugh, his hand holding mine. It’s like an ache takes over my body when it remembers this is all a lie. One I fell for, even after all the warnings I received from myself and my sister. Typical.
Sighing, I wonder if maybe it’s time to admit that…that…
Okay, so it’s harder than it looks. Admitting the truth to yourself can be a real bitch, as I have discovered over the last few days, worrying over Jagger and what’s really going on with him. Maybe he’s having second thoughts, his conscience finally getting to him about what we did to my dad. Or maybe I really did do something wrong on the beach that night, and he was just too nice to tell me.
With another chest-heaving sigh, my mind goes to the dream I had about Jagger, how wonderful that vision felt. It’s been replaying behind my eyes every time they close, torturing me in the best way possible. I still can’t believe the clarity of it, considering the memory of most of my dreams disappears by morning. But this one was different. Every time I think about it, more and more details come to the surface; the softness of his shirt, the callous on his thumb brushing against the bumps in my spine. Nothing has felt more real to me.
“Maybe talk about what happened last night”
“Jagger Wells is never chipper”.
Him kissing my cheek, as though we had gone to a new place of intimacy and familiarity without my knowing it…
My heart starts to hammer as the idea I didn’t want to admit to myself starts to surface, the growing details adding credibility towards it. Details I can’t ignore any longer.
Jagger texting me. Moon saying he was acting off. Their fight. Him not talking to me since I admitted I couldn’t remember anything after the beach –
The final nail in the coffin hits me, the memory coming as a complete surprise and shock to my system.
Stay, I’d said, my hand climbing around his, feeling the warmth of him against my skin. A minute later that same heat encompassed my back, my neck, feeling it nuzzle against my hair…
Oh my gosh.
It was real. All of it.
Him staying with me. Me touching his face, running my fingers through his hair, feeling his heart stutter against my palm. Him kissing every scar on my body until I forgot that they were even there.
Him saying that I was too perfect for him.
I jolt up in bed, the darkness of the room making me dizzy. That, or because it was never a dream after all. Not a second of it.
Of course he would hate me now. I didn’t remember any of it. That’s why his face looked momentarily crushed in the park before he could replace it with a half-hearted smile. I can’t believe he even managed that. If it had been me in his position, I would have run away crying.
Wait. Does that mean…could he…?
There’s no use speculating. If I want the truth, then I have to talk to him.
Now.
My hand reaches across the bed for my phone, almost desperately, but then it suddenly startles awake on its own, the screen lighting up with a familiar number. Wondering why he’s calling me so late, I answer, saying, “Hey, is something –”
“Cyvil,” Moon says, voice sounding hoarse, cutting me off. “You need to get down here.”
“W-what do you mean?”
His pause has me dreading what’s to come before he even speaks. “Something’s happened to Jagger.”
And just like that, the pain that had been simmering in my chest bursts into an all-out heart attack, my pulse ricocheting into dangerous territory. I can’t breathe, can’t find the words to ask him what happened.
I accidently knock over the picture frame on my nightstand in my shock, the glass shattering on the floor.
Moon must be able to sense my horror, because he says, sounding strained, “I’m his emergency contact. I got a call while at Ayla’s to get down to the hospital as soon as possible. I don’t know the details yet, but I’m going to St. Joseph’s now. I wanted you to know.”
“I’ll be there as fast as I can,” I tell him with what air I have left, hitting the End button without saying goodbye.
Jagger
Beep…beep…beep.
The annoyingly monotone sound is familiar as it chirps away in my ear, resurfacing a memory I’ve tried to bury more times than I can count: the first moments after I woke up in the hospital the day my mom died. I had been alone, my brain trying to figure out where I was, how I got there. I had an aching hip, bruises covering my side, and a bump on my head; the beeping of the monitor skyrocketing as the panic set in.
I looked around the room, my eyes eventually finding the glass window to my right, giving me a view of the hall, a tall man in a white coat talking to another man that looked suspiciously like my father. He placed one of his hands on my dad’s shoulders, head dipped as he said something to him.
My father collapsed in tears with whatever he spoke, slowly crumbling to the floor.
That’s when I remembered.
And his reaction meant only one thing.
I haven’t thought about that life changing scene in a long time, but not without effort. It makes me wonder why it’s suddenly popping up now, why the sound of the machines are so loud in my ears.
Figuring I must be dreaming, I slowly open my eyes, not prepared for the blinding light above me, florescent and grating after having them shut for what feels like a lifetime. My mouth is dry as I try to piece together where I am. Because I know one thing for certain, and that is that this isn’t my bedroom in apartment 7A.
Eyes looking down, I notice a white blanket resting over my legs and waist, an IV sticking out of the back of my hand. My arms are covered in white gauze, the slight tinge of red barely breaking through.
My legs feel like hell.
The beeping continues as it all comes back in a blinding flash, causing me a momentary migraine as the memory pieces itself together.
Crap.
Letting my head fall back in exhaustion, I slowly look around the room, but unlike the last time I lived this exact situation, I’m not alone.
A girl with beautiful red hair sitting up in a knot on the top of her head stares back at me, looking small with her shoulders hunched in the uncomfortable looking chair. Her shirt is wrinkled, her sweatpants riddled with holes. Her pale face is drenched in tears, the life gone in her stunning eyes.
“Cyvil,” I say on a hard wheeze, my throat feeling raw. “What are you doing here?”
Beep…beep…beep…
“I got a call from Moon,” she says eventually, her voice not sounding the same as before. It reverberates as being almost as raw as mine is.
“Oh.”
I don’t know what to say.
“Do remember what happened?” Her eyes look worried when I pause for too long.
I try to take a deep breath and find that it hurts. A lot. “Yeah.”
The numb look in her eyes from before disappears, slowly replaced with anger. Fierce anger. “How could you do something so stupid? Racing down a mountain in the rain? For a thousand bucks? Are you kidding me, Jagger?”
Hearing her say it, it really does sound moronic. But at the time, I wasn’t thinking, only reacting to the pain I was feeling. From my mom, my dad, my friends, and her. Or more accurately, the pain I created for myself. That’s what I realized while I was sitting alone in my apartment, the text popping up on my phone about a sure thing race Finn had set up for me. It was easy money. A mile-long race down the back road Cyvil and I had escaped on after the raid at the track. It only started raining when I got there, but even still, it didn’t deter me. I wanted to feel something other than nothing. I wanted to be filled with enough adrenaline to make me forget about my life.
Flipping down a mountain in a junkyard worthy Camaro hadn’t been in the cards.
I look back at Cyvil, seeing another wave of tears flood her cheeks. Watching her be a mess hurts more than the broken leg I know I must have suffered.
“You were life-lighted here,” she bubbles out, voice filled with tears. “You didn’t have a pulse when they found you in the ravine, the Camaro a ball of tin with you inside it.” She wipes her nose on her sleeve, eyes red and staring at the ground. “You broke your leg in three places. Shattered the ribs on your right side. Suffered two hairline fractures in your skull, and punctured a lung. Your friends have been an absolute mess in the waiting room, terrified you wouldn’t make it.” She’s almost hiccupping now with her words, hands shaking in her lap. “Your dad can’t stop mumbling to himself that it’s all his fault.”
The monitor starts to go berserk the more she tells me, and I find it hard to breathe again. I feel like hyperventilating until she moves closer to me, messing with the buttons on the oxygen machine. After a few seconds, I can catch a small breath without feeling like I’m going to die.
A nurse pops in, looking worried until she sees Cyvil sitting there. “Oh, good. Did you adjust the oxygen?”
She nods.
“Thanks, hon. Let me know if you need anything.”
The nurse that obviously knows the girl sitting next to me leaves, and the room fills with silence again.
Nervous to ask, I venture anyway, “How long have I been out?”
“Three days,” she informs me, sounding tired now. The fight has officially left her.
Judging by the lack of light out the window, I’d guess it’s late.
I look at her again, feeling my stomach roll as I do.
“How long have you been here?”
Her response shatters me all over again.
“Three days.”
“You haven’t left,” I say, knowing by her appearance that it’s true. The guilt from before that I didn’t think could get any worse manages to do so.
“Not for a second.” She wipes her cheeks, saying, “Your dad comes and sits with you for a few hours and then I take over, switching back and forth. Moon and Rosy take shifts with me at night so I can sleep.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can say. Anything else would be impossible.
“For what? Doing something you knew could kill you, making your friends and family breakdown thinking you were going to die? Cause me to feel like my heart was going to stop beating when yours did?” She shakes her head, her eyes looking at the ceiling as they fill with tears again. “Dammit, Jagger. I lost it. I’ve been sitting here for three days, watching you lay there, wondering if you were ever going to wake up. And you know what I figured out in that time?”
I don’t get the chance to respond.
“I don’t want to lose you. When I try to picture my life without you in it, I can’t breathe properly. And that’s what almost happened. I would have had to live with the fact that I never got to tell you how much you’ve changed my life, or thanked you for giving me a family, loving friends. But worst of all, I would have only been moments late in telling you the truth…,” she breaks off, leaning forward in the chair, head in her hands. Her back heaves with sobs, and I can feel my heart crack open in my chest. I never wanted this for her. Never thought my actions would have this effect on her life. It’s just another thing I’ve managed to screw up. But this one feels almost as bad as my biggest.
“Please,” I say on a painful breath. “Please come here.” I move my arm to the side with a good amount of effort, asking her to get closer, fearful that she won’t accept.
But surprising me, she pushes her knees onto the bed, being careful of my injuries as she nestles into the space below my neck and shoulder, my arm going around her while she silently cries. I feel my own tears mix with hers, resting my nose against the top of her head.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” I say into her hair. “From the moment I met you, I never wanted to see sadness in those beautiful eyes again, and I failed.” I whisper to her, letting the lilac of her skin fill me with a peace only she can bring me. “My incredible flower.”
We stay like that for a while, until the night nurse comes in to do a quick check on me, and Cyvil moves back to her chair. When the nurse leaves, she says, wiping her eyes of any remaining tears, “Jagger…I know what happened to your mom.”
Her words still me.
The monitor beeps faster.
Her eyes sadden.
I swallow hard. “How?”
“Lotta let it slip the first time I went to Sunday dinner. She said you were both in a car accident and she didn’t make it. I never asked or pried. I hope you believe me.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Because I know a thing or two about painful stories. If you didn’t want to tell me yourself, I wasn’t going to do it for you.”
Staring at her, feeling completely numb, I wonder if I’ll never not be the jerk in our story. It’s not looking like it at the moment.
“So why are you bringing it up now?” I ask, voice rough. It still feels like someone took a sand grater to my throat. The mention of my mother doesn’t help.
“Because I have a theory. And maybe you’ll put some of the pieces together for me.”
I say nothing. I can’t. And this time, I can’t just run away from her, like all the times before. I’ll have to face it, face her questions, disappointment, and above all, disgust.
She begins.
“You were the one driving when the car wrecked. You feel guilt that it was you that survived and not her. That’s why you never talk about her, or let me know about the more personal details of your life. You don’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.” Her eyes harden, going from molten gold to dim caramel. “Am I close?”
“To a degree,” I admit, feeling my body tense with the mention of my past. “But not completely.”
She raises those red brows, asking me to go on, but I don’t know if I can.
It’s been so long since I told someone the truth.
But if there’s anyone that deserves it, it’s Cyvil Montae.