Beautiful Things Never Last (25 page)

 
 
 
 
“Sue me.”

 
 
 
 
“Held up at school?”

 
 
 
 
“Something like that,” I mused.

 
 
 
 
“Jesus, I’ve been here for thirty minutes and this humidity is already killing me.” Car
ter cranked the air up to the sub-
arctic setting.

 
 
 
 
“Get used to it. It’s good to see you, bro,” I sa
id.

 
 
 
 
“You too, Quin
n
lette.” He ruffle
d
my hair
the way yo
u would expect a
grandparent to
.

 
 
 
 
“Don’t do that! You just pulled the braid out of my bangs. And don’t call me that, either. I’m not nine.”

 
 
 
 
“Oh chill, you’re still my little sister, I’ll call you what I want.”

 
 
 
 
Carter and I fought, but I adored him to pieces.

 
 
 
 
“You didn’t forget me, did you?” Carter ask
ed
, flicking my arm.

 
 
 
 
“Never.”
 
Yes.

 
 
 
 
“How’s mom?” Carter
didn’t let his eyes drift from his lap when he ask
ed
.

 
 
 
 
“Same.” I shrugged
. I want
ed
to tell him about the nights that Dad ha
d been
sn
eaking
out of the house after Mom ha
d
passed out. How some nights, he
crept
back in, clothes all disheveled as if he has just woken up somewhere else. And some nights, he
didn’t
even come home at all. But I c
ouldn’t
. Carter would
have
confront
ed him, and t
hat would
have just made
things even worse at home. A
t that time, I didn’t even know if I was right or not. It was
better to just keep it to myself.

 
 
 
 
“So, what’s up with you and that girl, what’s her name? Casey?” I strai
ned
my brain to remember the blond from his Facebook picture. “What else is going on? Tell me everything.”

 
 
 
 
“Capri? Nothing’s up, we had fun while it lasted. But, ah, Quin
n
lette, I’m amazing. California is rad. It is so good to be back there. How about you, what’s new? What’d you learn at school today?” Carter joke
d
.

 
 
 
 
I smile
d
a small, secret grin.

 
 
 
 
 
T
hat day,
I learned that the boys you haven’t yet kissed can be even more special than the ones you have.

             
“We’re home, Quinnlette,” Cartershakes
my shoulder gently. “Jet lag?”

             
I p
eel
my face off of the passenger side window. It’s stuck nicely while I slept and wipe the sleep from my eyes.

             
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to doze off.”

             
Maybe it was a dream. Maybe Ben is sitting right inside our apartment, tinkering with those damned antique cameras he
keeps
on the
top of the bookshelf that I’ll never be able
to
reach. It drives me crazy that he does that, keeping things just out of my reach. Maybe that’s what he was
all along.
If that’s the case, why the fuck did I let myself fall in love with him? I suddenly long to be the
same
damaged Quinn I was a year ago
, so
I could just lock myself up in my room and medicate the pain away.
 

 
 
 
 
 
             
“I’m right down the hall if you need anything else,
Quinnlette
. I know Shayna’s pumped you’re home, so come over anytime,” Carter says after helping me lug my suitcase into my deserted apartment.
 
 
 
 
 
             
“Thanks,” I say. I’m glad that he doesn’t try to hug me when he leaves. I feel like if he did, it would make me crumble rather than hold me together.
 
 
 
 
 
             
When Carter leaves, I stand at the doorway staring at the apartment. It looks exactly the same as when I left a month ago. But everything feels different.
 
 
 
 
 
             
I sort of thought that things would stay just like they were before I left. I guess it was naïve, and even selfish, but I really thought things would continue existing like I’d never left. But standing here in my own space, surrounded by my own things, things that Ben and I share, I know that everything has changed. I’ll never be able to go back to my exact self before I left for Italy. I’ll never see things so one-sided. Cut and dry. Black or white. Things are complex. People are complex. And Ben being with Caroline, well, that changes everything, too.
 
 
 
 
 
             
I start to unpack, but decide to make some tea (tea, since I know that no cup of coffee that I make will compare to the
Caffè alla Nocciola
that Amalea made me the first day I arrived in Italy), grab a blanket off of our bed and curl up on the sofa, tucking my legs under me tightly. But no matter how much I reposition myself, I can’t fight off the sick feeling tumbling inside of me. I have no interest in TV or the stack of magazines on the coffee table
.
I just want to know where Ben is and that he’s okay. Because aside from the fact that he was with Caroline, where is he now? He hasn’t answered our calls. Does he plan on coming home at all?
 
 
 
 
 
             
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

             
I don’t know what time it is when I feel his lips on my forehead. I fell asleep at some point after calling him an insane amount of times, nearing the triple digits for sure. I don’t have to open my eyes to be certain that it’s him
.
T
here are things that you can never forget, and even though it’s been a month, the feeling of Ben’s lips on me is one feeling forever engrained in my
mind.
 
 
 
 
 
 
             
             
For a split second, I sink further into that perfect place
between  a
sleep
and awake and savor the familiar touch, content to be home
and know
that Ben’s here and safe.
Knowing that once I open my eyes, the things that might-be will turn into things that are, and I’m not ready to deal with any of them.
             
Painful reality sets in too quickly though, and the questions all return.

             
My eyes gape open.
             
My fear and anger and insecurity are all present and accounted for, but I can’t help but stop and take him in. God, I’ve missed him.
             
“Where—”
             
Ben pulls me in so tightly, it cuts off the words.  His lips are on mine, his tongue tracing the inside of my mouth before I can push him away, or even want to.  His hand slips up the back of my shirt, to the spot on the small of my back that he loves so much, and presses me in even closer. The warmth and familiarity of him—his touch
alone is
enough to bring me to my knees. This is how our reunion should have gone. Instead, I was left at the airport. Alone.