Incomplete (8 page)

“Yeah.”
Lily crosses her arms over her chest, and as always when the three of us are together, it’s them against me. I should be used to it by now, but it’s still really annoying. “Why would you say something like that in front of your brother if you didn’t want him repeating it?”

My face tightens. “Like you saying you’re going to wear slutty clothes tonight?
Great thing for an eleven-year old to hear.”

Lily shifts uncomfortably, her face reddening.
“Yeah. Shouldn’t have said that,” she mumbles.

“
It’s okay, Lily.” Aidan pats her arm.

She smiles down at him. “
Thanks, buddy.”

I growl; suddenly irritated beyond belief. “I’ll be outside.” I jump to my feet.

“You didn’t eat,” she points out.

“Not hungry,” I bite out, throwing two twenties on the table and storming for the door. I shove it open and let it slam behind me.

I stand on the sidewalk, hands on hips, and stare at the copse of trees across the street, not really seeing them. Instead I am seeing my security ripped from me. What the
fuck
is going on? I swipe a hand through my hair, unbearable pressure in my chest. It grows daily, and eventually, it will burst. I’m scared to think about what will happen then. I’ll probably have a nervous breakdown. I snort, shaking my head.

The door opens behind me and three Styrofoam boxes are smashed against my chest. I grab them before they fall to the ground, my gaze meeting disturbingly dark blue eyes—angry blue eyes. Two twenty-dollar bills are dropped before my face, landing on the boxes.

“I said it was my treat, although it really wasn’t a treat at all.” Lily whirls on her heel and stomps for the car, Aidan quietly following behind her.

We don’t speak on the drive back, and as soon as I stop the car
she jumps from it and strides for her house. I watch her in misery; staring at the door long after she’s gone through it, not moving until Aidan says something. I drive around the block to our house and park along the curb. I turn the engine off, my hand loosely gripping the keys still in the ignition.

“Are we still playing basketball?” Aidan’s voice is already disappointed, like he knows I’m going to say no.

I glance at him in the rearview mirror. “Of course we are. Go tell Dad we’re ready. I’ll be right in.”

As soon as Aidan leaves I thump the back of my head against the headrest and close my eyes, a sickening feeling swirling around in my stomach. I have to do something before things are irrevocably altered in an unacceptable way. Only I don’t know
how
to fix things.
I never should have kissed her.
I never should have done a lot of things. I punch the steering wheel and the pain in my knuckles is an unlikely relief. I just want things to be the way they used to be and I know I’m longing for the impossible.
So make the present as good as it can be.
Right. Okay. Quest
on
for blissful happiness in the present course of my life.
Good luck with that.

It’s pretty sad when I can’t even fool myself.

I stare at my latest creation as I sit on my bed, waiting to go to work. The paper is worn and slightly wrinkled, showing any who happen to see it just how pathetic I am—mooning over a girl I can never have. I begin to softly sing.

I never paid attention to them before.

I never knew the different names.

And this isn’t a sappy love song, but this is a song about flowers. And this isn’t a song about flowers, but this is a song about Beauty.

I never cared to gaze at them.

I never wanted to buy them for anyone.

And this isn’t a sappy love song, but this is a song about flowers. And this isn’t a song about flowers, but this is a song about Purity.

I never cared how good they smelled.

I never knew how pretty they were.

And this isn’t a sappy love song, but this is a song about flowers. And this isn’t a song about flowers, but this is a song about Love.

I never wanted to do a lot of things, but I always paid attention to her. I never knew all their many different names, but I always knew hers.

And this isn’t a sappy love song, but this is a song about flowers. And this isn’t a song about flowers, but this is a song about Lilies.

I always saw her, and only without her was I unfinished.

And this isn’t a sappy love song, but this is a song about flowers. And this isn’t a song about flowers, but this is a song about Lilies.

And this isn’t a sappy love song, but this is a song about a flower. And this isn’t a song about a flower, but this is a song about a Lily.

I swallow thickly and set the paper beside me on the bed. I am such a lovesick fool, but luckily only where Lily is concerned and luckily I’m the only one who knows it. Well, almost. Ana knows. Garrett has probably guessed, along with Ben. I place my elbows on my knees and hold my head, knocking my glasses askew and not caring. A tap on the door has me straightening and quickly shoving the paper under my pillow. I watch as the door opens.

My mom’s hair is tamed now and it is obvious she’s had a shower. The scent of expensive perfume tickles my senses. She’s wearing white slacks and a pale pink top, looking younger and brighter than this morning.

The hesitancy she feels is clear to see on her face that so closely resembles mine. You have to really look to see it because we share the same coloring, but our actual features aren’t so similar. Most people don’t look that hard. But I do. I stare at my reflection so often just to find the ways our faces
aren’t
alike.

“Hi, Grayson.”

“What do you want, Mom?” I ask, standing. I begin straightening my already spotless room, not wanting to look at her for too long. I pick up the dark blue jacket I plan on wearing to work, fiddling with the zipper of it, my eyes watching my fingers move.

“I…I heard you singing. That’s a beautiful song. Did you write it?”

I glance at her sharply. Her expression is hopeful, conviction taking a place next to the hope in her pale blue eyes. She is sober now, but within a few hours, she won’t be. This person in my room right now—this person is not the reality. This is the exception. I cannot allow myself to respond to a person who doesn’t really exist.

“Yeah.
Thanks,” I say shortly.

She nods, twisting the gold ring around the finger of her left hand. That ring and all it stands for is a sham, a lie.

“I really hope you decide to pursue your love of music. You’re so talented.” My mom moves to touch my hair and I jerk back. Her hand drops, her expression along with it.

I rotate my shoulders, avoiding her eyes as I say,
“Come on, Mom, like you really care.”

She blinks her eyes against the spark of pain I see in them. “I do, Grayson. How can you say I don’t?” My mom looks away, knowing I’m not going to answer that. “I know…I know that…I have…problems, but—but I do care about you, Grayson. I do love you. I want you to be happy. You’re never happy anymore.”

“
Anymore
? As in, I
used to be
?” I shove my arms through the sleeves of my jacket and zip it up. I grab my car keys off the dresser and straighten my glasses. “Who are you trying to kid? You don’t care how happy any of us are or aren’t. If you did, you wouldn’t drink your life away. You’d get help or just leave or
something
. You realize we’re all suffering because of your…
problem
…don’t you?” I say bitingly.

The moments when she is like this, when she pretends to care about something other than her alcohol, are the moments I hate her the most. Because, briefly, I almost think she
does
care. And that would be a catastrophic
error
on my part. Maybe she does care, but not enough. Never enough.

My mom makes a choking sound and I know she felt that barb deeply. I don’t feel good about it. I f
eel disgusted—by her, by me, by it all.

“Grayson,” she pleads.

I am shaking, my throat thick. I fist my hands to steady them. “You don’t
love
me! You’ve
never
loved me. How could you love me? I’m a
fucking mistake
!” I shout; shoving past her. I grit my teeth against the pain I glimpse on her face as I pass by.
She’s
hurt? What about
me
?

“Grayson, what are you talking about?” Her voice is urgent, her words rushed.

The pressure in my chest is too much—my heart is pounding too fast. It’s going to explode. It’s going to fucking burst and then maybe it will all be over with. Maybe that would be a good thing.

I spin around and pin her in place with my eyes—with my rage—as I holler, “I heard you, all right? I heard you and Dad fighting about me. I know you didn’t want me! I know I ruined everything by being born!” Her face goes white, but she does not deny it. My chest heaves and there is an annoying sting in my eyes at her silence.

I storm for the door.

“Grayson!” she calls after me, but I keep going—down the hallway, down the stairs.

“What’s going on?” my dad demands, meeting me in the kitchen. He puts a hand to my chest to halt me, but I shake him off.

“Nothing,” I growl, barely glancing at Aidan’s pale face from where he sits at the bar, eating again.

“Grayson!” It’s my dad calling after me this time, and then it’s the both of them, and their voices are ringing in my head, melding into a cacophony of all I cannot stand—pain and regret and fear and anger. I have to get out of this house. Now.

I barrel out of the house, gasping for air. My heart literally hurts. I look wildly around, wanting to go to Lily—knowing I can’t. I make of sound of pain and jab the heels of my hands into my eyes, knocking my glasses off my face. I reach down, tears blinding my eyes, and blink them away as I carefully reposition the glasses on my nose.

“Oh—
Grayson
.” I think I am imagining her voice, but then I’m in her arms, and I take a shuddering breath as her strawberry scent envelopes me. My knees buckle and I begin to fall, Lily holding me as we kneel on the cold grass, our arms wrapped around each other. I hear the door behind us open, and after a moment, it closes.

“What happened?” she cries, pushing me back to better see my face. I resignedly stare back. Lily makes a sound of misery, tugging my glasses from my face. Her thumbs brush at my wet eyes. I should feel like a wimp, but I can’t, not with Lily. She accepts me as I am, no matter how good or bad that is. I hurt so much—too much. Lily runs her hands through my hair, touching my cheek, kissing my forehead. I close my eyes and rest my forehead to hers, my hands on her waist,
her hands on my shoulders.

“If you knew…that your parents never wanted you to be born—“

“No, Grayson,” she murmurs. Lily slowly moves her forehead back and forth against mine. “
No.
”

My fingers tighten on her waist. “
If you knew that
…how would you feel?”

“It’s not true.”

“It
is
true,” I hiss, rearing back to glare at her.

Lily stares back at me, her face stubbornly set. “How can you say that? I know your parents have issues, but you—“

I laugh bitterly. “
Issues
? My parents don’t have
issues
, Lily, they have a fucking emotional death sentence—
something
—not
issues
.”

“All families have problems, Grayson.”

“Really? What’s yours? Your mom bake too many cookies over Christmas and your dad got fat?”

Lily pushes me hard and I almost fall over, catching myself with a hand to the ground. “Don’t be an ass to me when I’m trying to help.”

“
Don’t
try to help.” I don’t know why I’m being the way I am. I don’t want to hurt Lily, but I can’t seem to stop.

She stands up, tossing her hands in the air. “I don’t understand you anymore!”

I get up. “So don’t be around me anymore!” I shout back, wanting to take the words back the second they leave my dumbass mouth.

Lily opens her mouth, going still. “You don’t mean that,” she says softly.

I swallow, bending down to grab my glasses from the ground. “Maybe I should.” I jab them onto my face. They’re crooked. I scowl and straighten them.

She nods. “Yes.
Great plan. Push everyone away that has the misfortune to care about your sorry ass. Wonderful plan.”

“It
is
a good plan,” I say, having a crazy urge to laugh. Maybe it’s the look on Lily’s face—the look of thorough disgust that’s directed at me.

Lily giggles. “I’ll make up a rough draft for your mission of idiocy.”

“Make sure it says ‘Idiot Mission’. Otherwise it won’t work.” I grin, all the anger and pain washing away with her laughter. “Holy fuck, that was cathartic. We should insult each other more often.”

“Or not.
And you shouldn’t even know what that word means. You’re much too smart for a guy.”

I give her a look. “Hey.”

Lily sighs and yanks me to her, hugging me tightly. “You’re wrong, you know.” When I stiffen, she adds, “That’s all I’m saying. They love you. I know they do. And no one who knows you could
ever
think you were anything but meant to be.” Warmth flows over me at her words. Lily pats my back. “You should probably go before you’re late for work. It’s almost two.”

“
Shit.
” I run to the car.

“What time are you done?” she calls after me.

I yank the door open, banging it against my knee in my haste. “Six!”

“Pick me up at seven!”

I don’t have time to process what that means as I hop into the car and pull away.

***

Ana bumps my arm with hers, sloshing water from the glass I’m holding onto my hand. “Thanks for last night. With the dicks from school,” she adds when I questioningly lift an eyebrow.

I wipe the water from my hand on a towel behind the bar. “No problem. Like you said, they were dicks.”

“My hero,” she trills, briefly resting the back of her head against my shoulder.

“You don’t need a hero, Ana. You’re tough enough to take care of yourself.”

She straightens, an unknown emotion flashing in her eyes and disappearing almost immediately. “Right. That’s me. Tough through and through.” Ana taps her fingernails on the counter. I feel her eyeing me. “Your girlfriend looked at me last night like she wanted to punch me in the face.”

I look up from the register, giving a customer his change. “What?”

Ana’s hair is in a ponytail on the side of her head so that it hangs over one shoulder. A forest green sweater accents her curves and skinny jeans show off her toned legs. She gives me a look. “Your girlfriend. She doesn’t like me.”

“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my
friend
. Which you know. And she doesn’t know you.”

“She knows she doesn’t like me.
What’s up with you two anyway?” Ana washes a few glasses and sets them on a towel to dry.

“What do you mean?” I wipe off the bar with a wet rag; not really wanting to have the conversation Ana seems set on having.

“You’re all awkward looks one minute, smoldering glares the next. Why don’t you two just have sex and get it over with?”

I yank a glass out of her hand, lowering my face toward her so she gets the full effect of how
not
happy that comment made me.

Ana laughs and pats my cheek. “Oh, young one, the things you need to figure out before you seriously mess everything up.”

“Knock it off, Ana,” I mutter, grabbing another customer a beer.

“You’re in love with her. She might be in love with you. She acts jealous enough.”