“You are really something.” He was smiling brighter than ever.
“Trying to win at something tonight,” I grumbled.
“Fair.” David held on for a bit longer and even did a couple of pull-ups to show off before he decided, “I’m letting go. I could do this all night, but I’m afraid you’re going to hurt yourself to prove a point.”
“Coward,” I said half-heartedly as he dropped back down to the ground. I let go, too, trying not to let the relief show on my face.
“Let me see.” David’s voice was soft, a hint of protectiveness in the tone when he saw me massaging my palm.
“It’s fine,” I said, but offered him the hand. His touch was tender, thumb brushing across the screaming red on my fingers. My breathing became heavy as I took in his cologne. His freckles were lighter because of the fall, barely noticeable constellations on his skin. I was so invested in memorizing thecurve of his cheekbones that I didn’t notice him reaching a tender spot between my thumb and index finger. I hissed involuntarily. He pulled away from it in an instant and frowned at me.
“See,” he said, disapproving. “You hurt yourself.”
“It’s fine…” I repeated, trailing off when he lifted my hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss on my knuckles. My heart stopped as it contemplated what it needed to sacrifice to offer itself to him.
“I was…” David’s brow wrinkled as he considered his following words. “I was scared after knocking over the wine. As a kid, I used to go to extreme lengths to avoid making a mistake. It didn’t matter how painful holding out was, I did everything I could to be good…”
He looked at me then, searching my eyes for judgment. Instead, I offered encouragement.
“For your foster family?” I asked.
“Yeah.” David nodded. “Mary was my cousin. Second or third. My closest living relationship after my mom died when I was eight.”
“I thought… I thought Mary was your mom.”
“It was easier to call her that at school,” he said. “I didn’t exactly like having to rehash the story of losing my mom to an overdose and never knowing if my dad was a biker from Maine or a truck driver from Utah.”
I raised a questioning brow.
He smiled a little. “They both sent Christmas cards until I was eighteen. The day after my birthday, they completely cut me off.”
“Assholes,” I muttered.
“Kind of,” he agreed. “Mary was the bigger one, though, so everything else pales in comparison. But the biggest, well, that went to Riley, her boyfriend. My foster dad.”
My shoulders sagged. “The one who… who’d shove you?”
“Shove, kick, punch.” David looked down at my palm again, centering himself by lightly tracing the lines on my skin. “If I did so much as forget to dry the dishes, chaos would begin. So, making a mess was like declaring war. And I fought back when I was little. Argued. But eventually, I learned it was best just to do what they wanted. They didn’t yell if I didn’t spill something. So, I decided I’d stop making mistakes. A daunting goal, but I managed to achieve it most of the time. And when I couldn’t… I’d clean things. Make stuff look nice to make up for my mistakes. Count the cracks in the sidewalk, because if I tallied them all, the shouting would be over by then. Tapped the edge of the table before leaving because that made me lucky enough that nothing toppled over.”
I imagined a younger, smaller version of David. The one who watched the ground whenever he walked to school. He used to sit in the back, scowling at his notebook as he drew on his arm. People teased him. I ignored him. I would come to school after a wonderful night’s rest, kind parents, and a stable household, and not give him a second glance.
“David, I–”
“Don’t.” His eyes hardened. “Don’t apologize; you weren’t an adult back then.”
“But still…”
“There’s no but. Yara, you couldn’t have helped me.”
“I could have said something to you. Been kind. Or your friend. I could have tried harder.”
“So could I. What middle schooler with any sense of survival instinct would talk to a guy in all-black, moping in some corner alone?”
I shook my head but said nothing.
“Yara, you were kind. You traded me for the Almond Joys.” A faint smile returned to his lips. “Then you started challenging me to monkey bar races. Rolled your eyes when Icame first in the race during field day. Called me an asshole for taking your front seat in English class.”
I poked his shoulder. “You weren’t a front-row kid.”
