Page 5 of Catching Sparkles

“Keke?” Rhys interrupted her incredulously.

It wasn’t really his fault he wasn’t in the know about our nicknames and inside jokes. He’d been gone such a long time. I was incredibly lucky that the guy I’d been inseparable with since elementary school had married a girl I’d also become inseparable with.

“Keke,” she explained, patiently gesturing to me before hooking an arm around my neck and tugging me to her so she could plant a loudly smacking, affectionate kiss on the top of my head. In return, I wrapped my arms around her temporarily over-sized waist and laid my head on her chest.

Rhys stared at me in exasperation for a moment, before his eyes drifted to his brother, his dark brow raised.

“You’re going to let some guy hang all over your girl like that?” He asked.

Benji snorted, turning to stare at me. I blinked at him from his wife’s chest innocently.

“Somehow I’m not too worried,” he responded, and it was silent for several seconds before we all dissolved into laughter.

“You don’t have to be jealous, you know,” I informed Rhys, after we’d all finished dragging our luggage into our designated rooms. “You can call me Keke, too.”

“I’ll pass, Sparkles.”

The use of the nickname, something I’d once cringed at other people calling me, felt oddly intimate coming from him. It was affectionate, and strangely sweet. Something just between the two of us.

Later that night, after Dad had grilled meat and vegetables for us to chow down on and the two of them had retired to bed, the four of us sat out on the big porch, lounging on the ultra-comfy patio furniture. Citronella candles flickered on the tables in front us, keeping the mosquitoes at bay.

Rhys had asked a lot of questions about mutual acquaintances in town, and things that he’d missed out on in the decade he’d been gone, which we’d all answered the best way we could.

We talked about how the big, spooky house in the same neighborhood as the Kensington place, which had been abandoned since before I’d even met them, was in danger of being torn down. It killed me. I’d loved that house for as long as I could remember. It was the kind of place that kids dared each other to run up and touch in the middle of the night, because it looked like it should be crawling with ghosts and ghoulies.

But it wasn’t scary. It was just empty. I used to sneak in and hide out there when I didn’t want to bug Benji and Rhys’ parents anymore for the week, and just needed somewhere quiet I could sleep or cry without feeling judged.

I’d kept a diary there, under a loose floorboard, because I’d needed to be able to vent somewhere about the feelings I was having. And I was sure if my dad ever found it, he’d probably have killed me.

Things had gotten better after I’d finally tearfully confessed to Benji about how all the times he’d talked about the girls in our class that he liked and wanted to kiss, and I’d agreed and said I did too, I’d been lying through my teeth. I’d been so scared of his reaction I’d nearly thrown up all over his Power Rangers sheets. But he just let me cry and ramble about how messed up I was, and how no one was going to want to be my friend but I couldn’t help how I felt.

And when I was all cried out, he just told me not to worry and that he wouldn’t stop being my friend even if I liked boys, but not if I liked Garrett, our sworn enemy who led the bratty little gang that were always hogging the swings on the playground. I promised him I didn’t like Garrett. I didn’t tell him who I really liked, but years later it would become so obvious that even he would figure it out. And he still never made fun of me or judged me for that, even though he totally could have.

“Is your mom still calling you all the time?” Benji wondered suddenly, after a lull of peaceful quiet.

“I had to block her number, actually.”

My feelings for my mom were complex and painful. She hadn’t screamed at me and knocked me around in an attempt to toughen me up and coax the effeminate traits to exit my body and disappear like my father had. But she hadn’t made an effort to stop him or protect me either. She was all about that part in the bible about wives serving and submitting to their husbands or whatever.

I didn’t know if I could forgive her, or when that would be. I didn’t want to forgive her. She didn’t deserve it, and I didn’t need or want her in my life. I’d been urged by people, always older boomers with no sense of empathy, to forgive her because I’d regret it one day if I didn’t. They didn’t understand what it was like to be punished for something I hadn’t chosen to be, and couldn’t change about myself. The implication that I was hurting her more by cutting her out than she’d hurt me by letting him abuse me nagged at me like a painful, bitter cavity.

Benji and Josie had never made me feel that way.

I glanced over to Rhys, who was watching our conversation with obvious interest, but he hadn’t commented. My heart sped up in my chest, anxiety trickling into my blood as I realized how much it would hurt my feelings if he didn’t support my decision. It was silly to feel that way, I knew. He didn’t owe me anything. He was just my best friend’s brother. He was already nicer to me than he had any obligation to be. But…

He shrugged a shoulder, giving a sniff as he shifted in a more relaxed position on the lounger. “You don’t need her. Just do what makes you happy.”

My heart, already thumping like a rabbit’s in my chest, smacked up into my ribs and I had to bite down into the tip of my tongue to keep from saying anything too pathetic or revealing. Like how I’d never cared so much about what a single person’s opinion was of me, but the thought of his disapproval sent chills up my spine. My hand clenched into a fist on the cushion next to me but I forced a casual expression on my face and gave a little nod.

“Yeah,” I agreed lightly. “I don’t need her.”

THE NEXT MORNING, I slept in. By the time I pulled on clothes and stumbled down the hall, Rhys was the only one sitting in the kitchen. He had a bar stool pulled up to the island, looking somewhat bored as he scrolled on his phone.

“They’re at the store, grabbing some last minute stuff,” he explained at my questioning look. “There’s food for you in the microwave.”

Pleased to see pancakes and bacon had been left for me, I mashed a few buttons to warm it up before pulling up a seat across from him.

“You didn’t go with them?”