This time,Ikissher. It’s easier now, without the rock to dictate how we can move. I pull her against me until I can feel her heart pounding on my chest. The lines of her body melt into mine when she throws her arms around my neck and kisses me as if I’m going off to war. That’s the only way I can think to describe it.
Ember kisses the same way she accepts a compliment. Freely and without reservation. She puts her whole self into it.
I could stand here and kiss her until every star in the sky makes an appearance, but I know she needs to leave. “Let me drive you to work,” I plead, dragging my mouth from hers.
She agrees, and I jog to her bike. It has to go in my trunk at a weird angle, but it fits. We get in and she looks back at her bike.
“I thought soccermomsdrove SUV’s. Not soccerplayers,” she teases, turning around to face front. Reaching across the center console, she lightly pinches my forearm. I give her a dirty look as I start the car and put it in drive.
“Black Beauty is not amom car.” I try to give her the stern look Gretchen sometimes gives me, but it falls apart when my gaze lands on hers.
“You named your mom-car after a horse?”
I can’t help it. I laugh so hard I nearly miss the turn onto the main road.
“You’re impossible,” I say, reaching over to rest my hand on her thigh.
“You’re ass-y.” She replies, setting her hand on mine.
In minutes we’re in front of her work. I pull her bike from the back of my car while she digs through her purse.
“Here.” She scribbles onto a small piece of paper and hands it to me. “Text me tomorrow and tell me what time you’ll be picking me up.”
I agree and pull Ember in for a quick, chaste kiss. Before I let her go, I run a thumb from her lips to her ear. She leans into my touch and grins, then turns to leave. Like a lovesick idiot, I stand there, smiling, and watch her wheel her bike to the rack.
She turns around and cups her hands to her mouth. “Dane,” she calls, giving me a final wave as she sails through the automatic doors.
What?
Oh. Her last name. I shake my head at the absurdity of all this. At Ember and me. At this incredible girl who was there all along. I’m chuckling to myself and not paying attention. I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that I don’t notice my mother’s car parked two spaces down until I’m in the driver’s seat.
Our eyes meet through our windows. I feel the guilt on my face, but it’s her expression that doesn't make sense. Her hand is across her heart, and her face looks stunned.
I back out first, and my mother follows.
When we get home, she says nothing. She pretends as if she didn't see me in the parking lot. In a high-pitched voice she tells me there are leftovers for me in the fridge, and that my father will be working late tonight. When I go to the fridge, I see a whole lot more than leftovers. The entire shepherd’s pie sits in its glass pie plate, untouched.
My mother has disappeared, it seems, so I dig out a massive slice and warm it in the microwave. Sitting down by myself at the dining room table, I count eleven empty seats.
Why do we have a massive table? I can’t remember a time when it was full. The only person who comes for dinner is my grandmother, and it’s clear my mother invites her over out of obligation. Every moment with her is painful. She criticizes every move we make, usually focusing on Mom. She’s ninety-one and healthier than anyone that old should be. Secretly, I think she’s just too mean to die.
Aside from that royal pain in the ass, nobody else comes for dinner. So why all the chairs?
My dinner, although delicious, is lonely. It makes me miss my brother. If he were here, he’d make a joke about Mom being a better cook than Gretchen, and then he’d sneak me some beer from the second fridge in the garage.
Pushing my plate away, I unfold my legs from under my seat and lean back. The only light on is the one above my head. The rest of the room is under shadow.
If Ember were here, she’d light up the whole room. Not just with her red hair, but her whole personality. I like the way she teases me.Ass-y.What is it about that made up word that makes me smile?
Right now Ember is at work, wearing that terrible yellow vest and ringing up people’s purchases. And I’m here, in this big house, with only my thoughts for company.
Something tells me Ember never has to eat dinner alone.
6
Ember
I don’t dosneaky well. For me, honesty is preferable, even when it hurts. I’d rather hearI don’t like youthanit’s not you, it’s me. But every other Saturday, after I cash my check from the drugstore, I sneak into my mother’s room and open the top drawer of her nightstand.
