The room was dark, but the familiarity of spending my summers here and the glow of the moon helped to spare my toes the pain of the dining room table and matching chairs. I made my way to the china cabinet, pulled open the drawer, and saw the letter shift across the silver. My heart thrashed and my skin broadcasted every fear I had from the moment I discovered I’d never see my mother again.
I pulled the letter out quickly, as if there was someone waiting to catch my hand and pull me into the drawer. Every movement seemed deliberate, and yet at the same time, I felt like my soul had unintentionally floated outside my body. What was it going to take to pull me back into my existence? My fucked-up memories of Candi, or the physical act of walking away? With the first step I took toward the stairs, my body secured my mind and my out-of-body experience collided with the edges of my reality. I could feel my skin, muscles, and bones regain their purpose. I ran upstairs, feeling vulnerable and unprotected, as if my soul may decide to stay downstairs if I didn’t hurry.
I hadn’t realized how weighty the letter was, and how it appeared thicker than a usual card or how the color of the envelope seemed to glow in the gleam of the moonlight, giving my name a place to show up. I pushed the door shut behind me, as if I was keeping the haunting memories out of my grandparents’ bedroom.
“That’s the letter?” Joanie asked, sitting up.
“Yeah,” I answered as I climbed in bed next to her. I flipped the envelope over and brushed my fingers over the embossed swirl and the hurriedly hand-drawn heart above the return address. I paused a moment, working up the courage to push my finger into the top corner of the paper and pull.
Chapter Thirty-one
~ Max ~
I tossed my jacket across my desk chair, pulled at the knot of my tie, and released the top button of my shirt. My hands were actually aching, I was that exhausted. My mind had reached a level of saturation to where I stopped processing what I was supposed to do. I needed sleep. I sat on the edge of the bed and stripped every piece of clothing off, first my shirt, last my boxers.
I wanted to take a shower and rinse off the remains of the day, but when my body won the argument with my befuddled mind, I decided to use the last bit of the energy I had to slip into my bed. Soft as Wilson’s fingers stroking my skin, my sheets collected every chill I brought home and replaced it with a familiar warmth.
I closed my eyes, trying to silence the conversations in my head from earlier. The disappointment I knew I’d hear in Wilson’s voice when I had to tell her it was going to be a little longer than I thought weighed heavily on my mind. My ‘three days’ promise was nothing more than a wishful thought that turned out to be a problematic reality. I just wanted my mind to dissolve into a silent space of black.
But, of course, it didn’t. I just couldn’t stop thinking about how desolate my bed felt without Wilson in it. I started wondering how she was handling everything back in California without me. My mind was flooded with thoughts of Wilson and how she was forced to face Dean McCallous on her own. I wondered if she was scared or confused. Maybe Joanie went into the office with her so she didn’t have to be alone? Oh, I hope Joanie went in with her. As rapidly as my thoughts volleyed around my mind, I started to think about Wesley and how unconcerned I was about not going back after winter break. I wasn’t worried about Wesley’s executive board finding a sub or replacing me. It was strange, all I felt was relief; like a hefty weight had been lifted off my shoulders and the chain around my neck didn’t exist anymore. After months of hiding our feelings in public and sneaking around, we would finally have some type of normalcy. We’d just be a couple making a life for themselves. Wherever we ended up, whether it be Colorado or somewhere else, one thing I knew for sure, I didn’t want to stay in the Bay Area.
I just wanted to push up against Wilson, protect her, be her everything. I wanted to make my way to her, continue building a life together. I wanted to share everything with her. Every decision I’d made for our future. I wanted her to know I’d answered the responsibility my father laid at my feet, and that I didn’t blame him for the choices he made. I wanted to tell her that I was planning on spending the rest of my life with her.
My mind exploded with images of her and how beautiful she was when I saw her for the very first time—her skin smooth as creamy satin, her lips deliciously juicy as she spoke her words and laughed her responses, and her eyes visceral and hauntingly sophisticated as they revealed lifetimes of experience most people her age didn’t have. I started visualizing that first day back at school when she walked into my classroom. The exaggerated sway of her hips against the vacancy of the room and the captivating curve of her hair as it brushed every care off her shoulders when she was finding a seat in the front row. Immediately, I felt my body react. Everything below my belt shifted, I lost my words, my eyes burned dry, and my heart battered my lungs as the air I would normally breathe in deeply…disappeared. That was one of the hardest fifty-five minutes of my life, almost unbearable. I remember, all I kept thinking was that the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen just walked into my room, and all I wanted to do was make her forget who I was supposed to be. I ached to discover what made her so tempting, so different from anyone I’d seen before. I had to come up with ways to hide the evidence of my feelings—standing behind my desk, facing the whiteboard, even thinking of Margaret Thatcher with dead puppies—anything that would loosen the pressure in my pants.