Aspen (25 page)

His lips are parted slightly as he exhales. I reach up and almost touch them. But he looks so peaceful. I can’t disturb that.

When he finally does wakes up, I’m sitting at my desk, fully changed out of my clothes from the night before, teeth brushed.

“I want to do something with you,” I say before he can even speak.

“Okay.” Ben rubs his eyes and stretches his arms over his head in a yawn.

I ride us over to Shakedown Street on my bike. The lights are off inside and a “closed” sign hangs on the door. The shop’s shut for New Year’s Day. I use my set of keys to unlock the place. Ben grabs my hand as I turn the handle to let us in.

“Are you sure this is okay?”

I grab Ben’s hand and yank him into the store. I flip on just a few lights and turn on the radio. Jam band music fills the shop. I bob my head to the beat as I pull food out of the fridge. Ben walks over to my mural and examines it.

“You did this?” He runs his finger over the picture painted on the wall. When I nod, he says, “You’re really talented, Aspen.”

“You don’t have to flatter me. We’ve already made out.” I roll my eyes, but can’t stop my cheeks from heating. Ben laughs.

When I’m done cutting and mixing my concoction, I pour us two heaping glasses full of shakes.

“Here.” I set one on the counter.

“What is it?”

“I call it the John Lennon.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s one of a kind.”

Ben takes a sip, licking his lips clean. “Oh, my God, that’s good. Why isn’t it on the menu?”

I smile and take a sip of my own. “Because I don’t like sharing. I’ve never actually made it for anyone but myself before.”

“Does this mean I’m special?”

“Maybe.”

He sets his glass down and comes to stand in front of me. I search his face for what’s different today and stop on his eyes. They seem lighter, like he’s carrying less weight. Like the new year really is new.

And then his lips press to mine for the first time today. They’re cold and sweet. I taste the flavor of the vanilla shake on his tongue. Ben leans into me further, pressing my back against the counter, pinning me in place. I wouldn’t want to move even if I could.

The moment breaks apart when Ben’s phone beeps. A text message. My heart jumps into my throat; the sound scares me. I pull back quickly. My hands shake as I grip the counter.

A glass moves from one of the shelves.

Ben sees the surprise on my face. I feel the blood drain from my cheeks clear down to my toes.

“Sorry.” He pulls his phone from his pocket.

Katelyn holds the glass high in the air.

“Shit. It’s my dad,” Ben says.

“Don’t do it,” I say to Katelyn. I use the counter to brace myself, my knees wavering.

“Don’t do what?” Ben stares at the screen, typing.

“Please,” I whisper.

Katelyn lets go. I close my eyes, but hear the glass shatter on the ground. Like every sliver and every shard is a crack of thunder in my ears.

I grab my head.

“Aspen, what is it?” Ben cups my cheeks with his hands. “Look at me.”

I can’t open my eyes. I can’t look at all the tiny pieces of glass on the ground, like razor sharp rain.

“I think I’m getting a headache.” I step back from Ben and force my eyes open. There’s no mess. No Katelyn. “I’ll take you home.”

“A headache.” Ben doesn’t sound convinced. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

We clean up, returning everything to its proper place so no one will know Ben and I were even here. I turn off the lights and lock up, staring for a moment at the counter where Ben and I just kissed.

I don’t go home after I drop him off. I make a quick stop at Walgreens, and then ride across town to the one place I never thought I’d go. Nerves make me peddle faster, but fast and banana-seat bike don’t really go together.

I search row after row of cement headstones, looking for Katelyn’s name.
Katelyn Grace Ryan
. It takes three hours of searching through the mashed-down grass at the cemetery to find it. When I do, I’m struck still, my breath tight in my throat. A dozen red roses sit wilting on the ground. I shake out my numb hands at my side.

Standing in front of her name, I stare at the numbers. They’re so close together. Seventeen years.

“Here.” I toss a pack of No. 2 pencils at the stone. “Better late than never.” And then I wait. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. But I wait. One lone white cloud passes overhead. “I’m pretty sure no one is satisfied with the number on their gravestone.” I finally say. “No matter what you have, it never feels long enough.”

And as I ride away, I can’t help remembering what I said to Ben about cemeteries. How no one wants to be here, yet this is where we end up. No matter how hard we fight against it.

My house is dark when I ride up the driveway on my bike. Parking in the garage, I see that Ninny’s van is gone. When I get inside, a note sits on the counter.

The kitchen is a mess. Ninny’s bowl of mushy half-eaten cereal sits on the counter; the coffee pot is still on, filling the house with the smell of burnt coffee. I groan and clean the bowl, slamming it down too hard on the counter. When I dump the sludge of coffee down the sink, I bite the inside of my lip, tears threatening to pour down my face. I’m so tired of cleaning up after Ninny. For once, I’d like her to act like a grown-up and me like a child.

I light incense to get rid of the Starbucks smell and microwave leftover spaghetti for dinner. As I sit eating, the only sound in my house is my chewing.

I sat at this same table while Ninny was in Taos, waiting for her to come home. I learned to hate the sound of silence. To hate anticipating a person walking in the back door, only to be horribly disappointed when they don’t.

I drop my fork into the container of spaghetti and pinch my ears closed, grinding my teeth together. Nothing moves but the shadows on the wall.

When my heart beats like it might explode, I rinse my dirty dish in the sink, running the water just to hear something else. Then I jumping on my bike and ride over to Ben’s. I can’t be alone tonight.

His house is lit up. The gentle blue hue of a TV shines out into the street. I creep around until I find Ben’s bedroom. I tap on the window. When nothing happens, I knock harder. The thin glass vibrates like it might shatter at any second. A light flicks on in the room.

“Shit.” I duck into the bushes. A few seconds later, I hear someone outside walking towards me. I try to be as quiet as possible.

“Aspen?” Ben finds me crouched close to the ground. “What are you doing?”

“Hiding?”

“Why are you hiding?”

“Can I blame your dad’s wooden leg?”

“You know he really doesn’t have a wooden leg, right?”

I crawl out from the bushes and dust my pants off. “Ninny’s at Toaster’s again.” Ben cocks an eyebrow at me. “And I was thinking maybe I could stay here.”

“So you want to sleep with me.”

“You make it sound like I want to
study
with you.”

“Do you?” Ben gets a shit-eating grin on his face, and I swat him in the arm. “I’ll sneak you in the back,” he says.

The tension in my shoulders releases as I walk back into Ben’s room. I take off my shoes and climb in, hugging one of Ben’s pillows to my chest. Ben watches me before getting in behind me and cupping his body around mine. He kisses my ear.

“I can’t reach your eyelids, or I’d kiss those.” And then he whispers good night.

Before I can say it back, I’m asleep.

I try to run down the street, but everything is moving in slow motion. At least it feels that way. I’m locked in some sort of quicksand that’s holding my feet to the ground. But I need to move. It’s coming. I can feel it behind me.

I take another step and fall, catching my heavy body. The cement is cold on my hands.

I need to get away from here. Clawing at the ground, I pull myself along the cement. My nails dig in and rip from my fingers.

When my arms collapse under me, someone takes hold of my legs. She’s got me; she’s dragging me across the road, the weight of her body like a ball and chain meant to drown me in a sea of blood. I kick and punch and scream at the top of my lungs, but her hold is strong. And I know she won’t let go. She’ll never let go.

I sit up in bed, wheezing, a scream caught in my throat. I choke with every painful breath. My head is covered in sweat.

“What is it?” Ben sits up, brushing my hair out of my face. “Aspen, what’s wrong?” His voice is panicked. Even in the darkness, I see fear in his eyes.

Grabbing Ben as hard as I can, I press him to me and squeeze my eyes shut. I grab a fistful of Ben’s shirt and knot it in my hand. Tears break from my eyes, but I choke them back.

Ben strokes my hair with one hand as the other presses into my back. I listen to his breath in my ear. Eventually, everything starts to slow down. My muscles let go and I loosen my grip on Ben’s shirt. He pulls back to look at me. Ben’s eyes still look worried, and I want to make it go away. I want to make it all go away.

I press my lips to Ben’s. He kisses me back. I grope at his back and arms, holding him to me. I let my mind go. The world only consists of Ben’s lips and Ben’s hands.

I grab for the bottom of his shirt.

“Are you sure?” he asks breathlessly.

I nod, kissing him again, and pull his shirt over his head. He does the same to me. I lose track of what time it is, what day it is, if I’m living in the past or present or future. All that exists to me is Ben.

I hesitate outside of Shakedown Street the next morning, looking at myself in the window reflection. Nothing looks different. My hair hangs curly around my shoulders, still a little damp from my shower. My dull brown eyes are still dull. I place my hand on my stomach. It’s tight today, trying to hold in the butterflies that have taken up residency there. Did I really
study
with Ben Tyler? My body tells me yes. It aches this morning, like it ached the first time.

I take another breath and walk into Shakedown Street. Warm air from the heating vent over the door blasts my head and I shiver. The place is quiet this morning. Too quiet. The radio isn’t even on. I’m switching out my sweatshirt for my green apron when I hear a sniffle come from behind the counter. I look to see what it is and find Ninny curled up on the floor.

“Mom?”

“Aspen-tree.” She looks up at me with tear-covered cheeks. Her hair is a mess and she looks like she hasn’t slept all night.

“What is it?” I move to sit next to her.

“Salvador broke up with me.” Her head falls into her hands, her back shaking with sobs.

I stroke her hair and pull a few tangles free. She’s wearing an extra dose of pot perfume, which leads me to believe she’s been on a smoking binge. I should feel relieved that Uncle Toaster, the snaggletoothed monster, is finally gone, but I don’t.