-21-
A Broken Crayon Still Colors
“I know you broke your leg, but could you move a little faster?” Moon complains, helping carry my bag to the car in the parking lot while I maneuver on these stupid crutches. The air is growing cooler with September on its way, the breeze bothering the cut on my forehead as I glare at his back. My best friend has been passive-aggressively pissed at me for the last three weeks, Rosy too. I can’t tell yet if it’s because of the moronic thing I did to put me in this position, or the fact it drove their favorite homegirl away. My guess would be both, and I can’t really blame them.
Moon opens the door to his Mercedes for me, throwing my bag in the backseat like a pitcher would a fast ball. Like I said, passive-aggressive. Once we’re both in the car, my crutches stowed in the back, his hand goes to turn the key, but falters.
“You just had to mess it up,” he says out of the corner of his mouth, sounding snottier than usual.
I ground my jaw, but say nothing.
“The first good thing to enter your life in years, and you throw it away.”
I don’t know how he wants me to respond. He’s right on every count. But there’s nothing I can do to change it now. My mistakes went too far this time, and it’s a reality that has made me crazy for the last few miserable weeks. His reminder isn’t helping.
“Are you going to sit here and badger me, or are we going to get moving?”
His voice is droll when he turns to me and says, “What, do you have somewhere else to be? Another race, someone else to piss off?”
My fists slam on the dash, silencing him.
After weeks of holding it in, I finally burst. “For hell’s sake I’m sorry, Moon! I’m sorry I disappointed you and everyone I know. I’m sorry I made your new best friend leave because I’m too much of a dick to realize when I have something good in my life. But I can’t take it back, and I never will. So either start the car and take me home, or let me get out. Because I’m not going to be forced to sit here and listen to you tell me how horrible of a person I am. I already know. You don’t have to remind me.”
The silence that follows is all-consuming, tense. It makes the muscles in my back twitch painfully, wondering how he’s going to respond.
His hand turns the key, and he pulls out of the parking space.
The drive home is a quiet one, and that’s probably worse than anything else he could have said to me.
Moon helps me to my apartment, stopping outside the door with my stuff. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and we both stare at the floor. Since I’ve known him, I have been in a lot of fights with Moon, but never once have we not been able to get over it and move on a few days later. This though…this doesn’t feel like any of those times. And right now, in this moment of my life, I don’t think I could handle losing yet another person I’d move the world for.
“I never said congratulations,” I say, making him look up from the floor. “For going after what you wanted, what you deserved.” I shuffle on my feet, feeling my throat tighten. “Ayla’s the best. I’m glad you’re both happy now.”
He nods, looking uncomfortable himself. “Yeah, well. I had two good kicks in the pants to make me realize that I needed to do something before it was too late.”
“You mean someone else called you pathetic? Was it Rosy?”
He shakes his head, grinning. “No. It was Cyvil, actually, and she didn’t call me pathetic, like your crabby ass did. Instead she reminded me that life is short and that we should live in the moment, do what makes us happy. And Ayla is what has made me happy since I was an emo kid with a bad haircut.”
I’m not surprised it was Cvyil that gave him the good advice. I’m surprised because he acted on it. “Well, I’m sorry about what I said. I…I was wrong. You’re actually the least pathetic man I know.”
“And the most pathetic is?” he asks, smiling like he already knows the answer.
We say, “Rosy,” at the same time, and for once, the air between us is like it was before: familiar and easy.
With a final goodbye, Moon walks back down the hall towards the elevator, and I open the door to my apartment. Stepping inside, I nearly have a heart attack when I see a man sitting on my couch in the almost darkness.
When he stands up, I sigh out angrily, “Dad, you almost gave me a stroke. What are you doing here?”
As I shut the door with the bottom of my crutch, he explains, “I got off of work early and thought I’d wait till you got home. I’m sorry I scared you.”
I flip on the light, illuminating the kitchen and living room. “Well, I’m home. You can leave now if you want.”
“That’s not what I want,” he says, ignoring the bite in my voice. “What I want is to talk.”
This should be good. “Yeah? About what?”
A sigh. “About you and Cyvil. And the fact that your engagement was a sham from the start.”
I feel a crick form in my neck, even though I knew this was coming. I just figured he would let me get settled in before he verbally kicked my ass. No such luck.
Looking at him, jaw stiff, I angrily relent, flopping down on the couch with a wince at tweaking my leg. If we’re going to do this, we might as well get it over with now. With a deep breath that kills my ribs, I say, “Dad, I know what you’re going to say –”
“No, for once, you don’t.” He cuts me off, his tone rigid, back straight. “This week I got a call from your best friend who was in tears when he told me you were in the hospital, that something had happened to you. And then imagine how angry I am when I find out that racing is the idiotic reason for it, knowing that once again, you are risking your life as if it doesn’t even matter what happens to you. Then when I get there, I see your fiancée in the worst state I’ve ever seen a person in, holding your hand for three straight days, refusing to leave you. And to top it off, Lance Montae calls me and says that you both two-timed us. So, do you want to know which one disappoints me the most?”
“No,” I answer, my tone practically dead.
He chews his lips, looking on the verge of tears, and I stare at him, stunned. “None of them. What made me the most upset was that I’ve known for a while that you’ve been in a bad place. Your friends could see it too. And yet I didn’t do anything about it. I didn’t ask if you wanted to talk, or see a therapist again. I failed you, son. As a father, I failed you more than anyone else.” A single tear escapes, and he quickly wipes it away, staring out the window onto New York City. If he had told me that he was shipping my ass off to Antarctica as retribution, I wouldn’t have been as surprised as I am right now, seeing him show his emotions for once.
He shakes his head, looking down at the floor. “I told you that the arranged marriage was for business purposes, but it’s not the whole truth. When Montae came to me with the idea after my pitch, I saw it as an opportunity to possibly help your mental state. You haven’t been the same since your mother died, Jagger. I know that, because I haven’t been myself either.” He snorts derisively, face looking almost shameful when he admits, “I’ve been chasing around all these women, hoping to find a piece of your mother in one of them, and it took your accident to make me realize that there will never be another Lucinda for me. But I can find her every day by looking at you, her greatest gift to me.”
I’m not even going to pretend that I don’t let tear after tear slip by, just hearing him mention my mother for the first time in three years. We never talk about her, as though doing so would make all the pain come back again; open up the wound we have barely let heal. He’s right, neither of us were the same after Mom died, and I don’t think we ever will be again.
“I had hoped that Cyvil would bring some light back into your life. Not only would the business be saved, but maybe you would be as well. For that, I’m sorry, Jagger. I should never have forced such extremes on you. That’s why I’m not even mad about the scheme you and that lovely girl tried to pull on us.”
“How? How could you not be mad?” I have to ask, trying to get my emotions back under control. He has to be a little upset, knowing we hoodwinked him, even if it did benefit him in the end.
He looks at me, eyes glassy, shoulders slumped in obvious exhaustion. The lines around his eyes crinkle when he says, “Because your plan only involved helping out your old man. You wouldn’t have gotten money, or connections, or anything of monetary value from this. You even would have lost in the deal you made.”
I want to ask what he means, but my mouth won’t move to open. Recognizing my dilemma, he says simply, “You wouldn’t have gotten Cyvil.”
As if my throat didn’t want to explode before, it does now.
I stare up at the ceiling, my head leaning back on the couch. Everything hurts. I feel as raw as I’ve ever felt, and I don’t know what I can do to fix it.
Deciding the truth might as well be told, I say quietly to the room and myself, “I fell in love with her, Dad.” Ah, there’s that streak of pain in my chest again. “And I miss Mom every second of every day. So much so that I wanted to join her.”
He says nothing to the biggest confession I’ve ever told anyone, but I see him nod his head out of the corner of my eye, apparently not as surprised as I thought he would be. Maybe I wasn’t as good an actor as I thought I was.
“I know you love her, Jagger. It was obvious to everyone. That’s why I was so surprised when Lance told me the truth. And regarding your mother…I miss her all the time. But I know, more than anything, that she would have wanted us to move on, to be happy in this life for her. That’s the greatest gift we can give her, Jagger. To live life as fully as she did, and to do it without regrets. I can’t let myself imagine if I didn’t have you here to help me do it.”
My father is looking at me like I’m his last hope, the string to keep him from falling apart completely, and I realize that this is what Cyvil had been talking about. Had I fallen off the side of that mountain and didn’t survive, this is what I’d be leaving in my wake. A broken father, shattered friends, and a girl who has already been through enough heartache and trauma to last two lifetimes. My own relief of this life would have cost them theirs.
Because death doesn’t affect the dead. It affects the living.
“Dad,” I choke out, feeling overwhelmed, my heart spasming. “Dad, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, son.” For the first time since I was a little boy, my father wraps his arms around me in a hug that is meant to suffocate, keeping me as close as possible, in more ways than one. I let the warmth of his hug seep into me, allow the sorrow I’ve been holding in since my mom died to slip away with each tear that finds its way out. This…this is what I’ve needed since that day in the hospital three years ago. To let go, to feel loved, and to know that life goes on. And my father is right. My mom would have wanted me to live on if only for her, to make a difference in the world like she had. But even with this realization, the guilt of being the one responsible for her not being here and able to see it will always be a stone in my gut. No matter how much time passes. But it’s something I’m going to have to accept. I can’t take back the past, no matter how much I want to. All I can do is be a better man. For myself, my family, my friends…and Cyvil.
Moments that feel like hours pass before we release from the embrace, and my dad and I continue to talk about things we never have before. It’s a relief but also heartbreaking to hear how much he has been suffering, not only with Mom’s passing, but also with the business. I didn’t realize that the two had been connected, but I probably should have.
“I lost all motivation for my work,” he says, his tie undone, top button open. Seeing him like I used to as a kid is almost bizarre, but a good bizarre. He doesn’t look as burdened this way, and I’m glad. “And by the time I realized what I had done, all that I had lost, it was too late.”
“Things have turned around some for the company though, haven’t they?”
He nods. “Since getting the check from Montae, I was able to hire some new analysts and the turn-around is beginning. Slow, but steady. And it’s all because of you, no matter what you did to get it.”
I run a hand through my hair as he looks at me gently, the lightness I was feeling earlier from talking with my father slowly evaporating. “I’m sure Lance wants to kill me right about now.”
“No, I think he understands, and maybe even admires your selflessness. It’s really that poor girl I feel sorry for.” He looks down into the small tumbler of scotch I poured him earlier, having hardly taken a sip from it.
“What do you mean?”
His lips form a straight line. “I figured Moon and Rosy probably wouldn’t tell you. They felt you’d had a bad enough time as it was.”
“Dad.”
His chest deflates in a disappointed sigh. “She’s not going to school this fall.”
“What?” Oh no. Her dad. The check. Did he retract it? How did I not think of this when she ditched the contract?
“She cancelled her father’s check. According to Montae, she’s decided that she wants to earn her own way before she applies again next year.” He smiles sadly, sounding impressed when he continues, “That girl has the strongest spirit I’ve seen since your mother’s. I have a feeling she’s going to be just fine, with or without her father’s support.” Turning to look at me and the gob smacked expression I’m surely wearing, he says quietly, “She loves you too, you know.”
Yeah. I’ve slowly put that together over the last few weeks. From her reaction at the hospital, to Moon and Rosy and my father’s descriptions of her breakdown, to hearing about her giving away her future just now, I see that maybe my feelings for her weren’t as disappointingly unrequited as I once thought. And that’s almost worse.
“She shouldn’t.”
It takes a second before he responds, but when he does, he sounds genuinely confused. “Why not?”
I swallow hard, staring down at the hands with an equal number of scars as Cyvil’s now. They are a reminder that: “I’m the last person in the world that deserves her.”
He laughs low in his chest, and I turn to look at him. “What?”
There’s a twinkle in his eye when he says, “No one deserves anyone, son. We’ve all done things in our lives that leave a permanent mark, a stain on our souls. But what corrects those scars is love. And we all deserve love.”
I would like to think that. Truly. But I know for certain that I’ve put one girl in particular through too much hell to be forgiven.
“Are you really going to take her choice away?” he asks me, brow raised. “Just like her father did?”
“Excuse me?”
“It isn’t your decision to make.”
“What isn’t?”
“Whether she loves you or not.”
I still don’t get it.
“You want me to lay this out for you, don’t you?”
“Yeah, that’d be helpful, considering I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
He chuckles, much to my annoyance. “If you really love her, and respect her, then go to her, lay out everything on the table, and give her the choice whether she wants you and all your baggage or not. That’s what I meant by it’s her choice. You can’t tell people to love you or not to love you. It’s their right to decide, and your honor to be the one they choose.”
Cyvil
“Sure, I can schedule that for you,” I tell Mrs. Edwin behind my desk on the third floor of St. Joseph’s, checking the calendar hanging on the wall next to me, the month of September’s featured photo a puppy dressed in a cowboy hat. My eyes run across the dates, settling on today’s. I was supposed to be starting my first class this afternoon at Oxford. My throat tightens as I flip to the month of December.
“Is the ninth okay?” I ask her, the words coming out strangled.
Later, after the drive home, I think about that date again, and how my life was supposed to change because of it. Had I gone through with the original deal with Jagger, we would be organizing a wedding right now while I was starting school, making plans and creating a future. And instead here I am, leaning against a beat-up VW outside Hanna’s apartment, wondering what I’m going to do with my life.
After staying a week at Atillia’s, I knew I had to find my own way. My sister has her own family now, and it didn’t feel right to intrude on it any longer. And when I brought up my living arrangement dilemma to Hanna, she was more than happy to offer her second bedroom to me, saying that she had been looking for a roommate to help with the rent anyway. And so far it’s been a good situation for both of us. The only downside is how often Rosy comes over. Don’t get me wrong. I love Rosy. He’s like a brother to me now, just like Moon is, but it’s a constant reminder of Jagger, and it’s not like I can help but overhear when he talks about him, making the letting go period even harder than it already was.
Moon calls me all the time, too, his well-meaning updates taking another toll. I appreciate his refusal to let me out of the circle, though. Otherwise I know I would be a recluse from the outside world. He even stopped by once to take me book shopping. It was nice, getting to see him again and chat about literature. It distracted me enough that the melancholy actually disappeared for a while.
But staring up at the rough exterior of my apartment building, the lights on in the top floor window, I feel myself slipping back into the sadness that has become achingly familiar lately. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve thought of Jagger and his crooked smile in the weeks since the accident, how many times I’ve gotten news, or heard something insane from Moon, and wanted him to be the first one I talked to about it. And I guess that’s how you know you really fell for someone. They are the first person you want to talk to in the morning and the last when you go to sleep. You miss them when you don’t even realize it, feeling an ache in your heart without their presence. And Jagger Wells is currently leaving a gaping hole in my chest.
“You don’t look like you want to go inside,” a quiet voice says next to me, and I startle, stepping sideways.
As though thoughts of my fake ex conjured him, I look up to find Jagger standing next to me, eyes looking up at the building, and then at me, sparkling silver under the street lamp. It’s been so long since I’ve seen their vibrant color that my breath catches. Or maybe it’s because he’s standing here, looking at me for the first time in weeks.
“What are you doing here?” I ask on a squeak, clutching the handle of my bag a little tighter. A cool wind sweeps my hair off my cheeks, giving me a chill.
“Mind if we go inside and talk?” he asks instead. It’s then I notice he’s carrying something in his right hand.
“What’s in the box?” It’s got a bunch of holes in it.
“I got you a present.”
“For what?”
He shrugs. “Again, it’d be easier to explain if we went inside.”
I stare at him. Can someone please tell me what the heck is going on?
I look up at the lit window again, wondering how Hanna would take his presence. After the incident at the race track, I confessed the real story of our relationship to her. She took it rather well considering how odd the arrangement was, even saying that my father deserved what he was getting for how he was treating me. But then Jagger broke my heart in a hospital room, and now she wants to strangle him on my behalf. She’s a great friend that way.
“I don’t want to bother Hanna. She has a test coming up next week that she’s been studying for.” Plus, hashing out feelings is the absolute last thing I want to do with you.
“I kind of arranged to have Rosy take her out for the night so we could talk.”
I stare at him like he grew another arm. “You did what?”
He winces at my confusion about, well, everything. “Sorry, I just…”
“Wanted to talk.” I finish for him
“Yeah.”
Just like the last time he had that look on his face, I say, “You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”
His answer is identical. “Probably not.”
I guess there’s only one thing to do then.
“Fine. After you.”
***
He looks strange in the small, shabby apartment, like a diamond lying amongst a mountain of rubble. It just doesn’t fit. Especially when he goes to sit on the couch, nearly falling to the bottom of it with his weight.
“Sand has better support than this,” he mutters to himself as he wiggles around, failing to get comfortable.
“Is that what you wanted to talk about? Our crappy couch?” I walk over to the other end of said couch, offering him a glass of water. He takes it and places it on the equally as crappy side table.
Silence ensues.
Sigh.
“Jagger, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have some things I need to get done tonight. Do you mind if we move this along?”
His eyebrow shifts. “What kind of things?”
“Work things.”
He doesn’t ask, but I can see it’s itching him not to. I sadly relent. “I’m filling out paperwork to enroll in a phlebotomist clinic.”
I can tell this surprises him. “Really? What about your medical assistant job?”
I lean back against the cushions, not wanting to see his reaction when I say, “It’s only part-time and it doesn’t pay the bills. Phlebotomy is a quick step up and it’ll help me get my school funds together a little bit quicker.”
His face falls at this, but he doesn’t look surprised.
His hands tense in his lap.
The box at his feet meows.
Wait, what?
I stare at the box, and he says, “Do you want your present now?”
Without giving me a chance to answer, he takes the medium-sized box, places it on his lap, opens the top, and out pops a gray head with a single blue eye.
“Twinkle?” She tries to hop out of the box, but her arthritis hinders her ability. So instead I scoop my hands under her front legs and transfer her to my lap, where she instantly cuddles against my side, purring with her eye closed.
“Do you like your present?” he asks, looking hesitant.
Scratching behind her ear, I smile. “I love her. But I don’t understand. What is all this?” I motion to him and Twinkle, Grim bouncing out from around the corner as I do. When the Pigmy sees Jagger, her baahhhss of disapproval fill the apartment.
“Wait, the landlord lets her stay?”
I grin as she comes to join me and Twinkle, sniffing at the cat, investigating the new guest. “Since he doesn’t know she’s here, he doesn’t really mind.”
Jagger shakes his head, barely smiling. As Grim and Twinkle figure each other out, I return my attention to him, still convinced he’s the biggest surprise of all tonight. “Jagger, why are you really here?” I ask gently, still petting the present he got me.
He looks down at the animals swarming my lap, a mix of meows and baahhss echoing around us. His eyes soften. “You have deserved an apology for quite some time. That’s why I’m here, to say that I’m sorry. For everything.”
I let his words sink in, allow the timber of his voice to calm my racing heart. “I hope you don’t really mean everything,” I respond just as quietly.
Our eyes connect, his catching fire from my meaning.
“I remembered it eventually, you know. The night of the beach party. What happened at the house.” I feel my cheeks flush, my mind taking me back to that moment like it happened yesterday, seared into my memory. “I’m sorry it took me so long to figure out that it wasn’t a dream.”
“I meant it,” he says, eyes refusing to stray from mine. “Everything we did, every word I said. Which is another part of why I’m here.”
“Oh.”
Twinkle decides to jump off my lap then, slowly moving across the living room towards Grim’s bed. She does a few circles on the Sherpa before finally settling down, Grim looking at her like she doesn’t know what to do about her space being taken. But instead of kicking her out, she cozies up to the opposite side of the bed, laying her head down on Twinkle’s tail. The cat gives her one cursory glance before closing her eye, quickly falling asleep; Grim right behind her.
“It was all real for me,” Jagger says, staggering me out of watching my two babies. When I turn to look at him, he’s watching the girls as well. “And when you didn’t remember, it was like getting crushed by a bulldozer. At that point I didn’t think you felt the same way.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice hitching as the truth slowly comes together; continuing the theory I had started to construct the night of his accident. But after what happened, I figured I must have been wrong. That it was all just a mistake. Wishful thinking that he might feel the same about me as I did about him.
“It took me waking up from a coma and seeing your ridiculously beautiful eyes to realize that I had fallen in love with you. That I would do anything to make you look at me the way I do you.” I watch him visibly swallow, the admission obviously hard for him. In return, I can’t catch my breath. He doesn’t notice. “I know it was all supposed to be fake. But the last few months of being with you were the realest I’ve ever had. And I don’t regret any of it, Cyvil. I would do it all again, just maybe with a better outcome.” He laughs awkwardly, his hand combing through his hair. When it falls back in his lap, I grab it, entwining it with mine; not able to keep from touching him any longer. After all those months together, of him touching me, caressing, holding me, it’s felt like the biggest loss of all.
I stare down at his large hand in mine, the surface nicked and scratched, raised and jagged from the cuts made by shattered glass. Next to mine, it looks like its perfect match. It makes me smile.
“I want you to know that I didn’t come here tonight to ask you to make it real.” His voice hitches. “I just wanted you to know how sorry I am for everything that happened to you, us. I wanted you to know how I’ve felt from the beginning, even when I didn’t have the guts to admit it to myself.” His hand tenses in mine, his face looking shamed when he whispers, “I’m broken in just about every way a human can be broken, Cyvil. I’m not going to sit here and lie and say that I figured everything out. My dad and I talked about my mom, our struggles, and I’m seeing a counselor again. I quit racing. And I’m done with all of my past. But it’s always going to be there, and I don’t want you to have to live it with me. It’s not fair to you, especially after all of your own trauma. I’m not...” He bites his bottom lip, eyes losing their light. “I’m not worth it. But you are. I swear, Cyvil, you will always be worth everything there is. And I hope one day you find someone that realizes that quicker than I did. Because if I had, I never would have stepped foot in that stupid Camaro, and I would have told you long ago how I felt.”
Silent tears have been streaming down my face as he confesses everything I already knew, and when he looks up and sees them, his face falls in agony, his fingers trying to clear them away, as though they never existed at all. The simple yet endearing act has them falling faster. I know how hard that was for him to admit, not only to me, but to himself.
As he tries to pick up my pieces, I say, more seriously than I have ever said anything before, “Jagger, I know. I know you’re broken, fractured, an absolute mess. But so am I. So is everyone. And it’s because of your broken, shattered pieces that I love you so much. Because they match mine.” I hold both of his hands in mine, showcasing our beautiful scars, and how not only do our emotional ones match, but now so do our physical.
When he looks at me incredulously, almost disbelieving at all that I’m saying, it only makes me want to prove my feelings more.
“You never had to ask me to make us real,” I whisper, resting my forehead against his warm one, taking comfort from it, him. “Because we always were, even when we didn’t know it.”