Even the Moon Has Scars (8 page)

Gabe shakes his head. “Maybe it is. But I understand completely.”

“Is this...?” We stop in front of a low tree stump. Tiny plaques are hammered into it with the painted words: “Mr. Sanders” and “POOH.” The top of the roof is covered in tiny, handmade shingles under the thin layer of snow.

It’s Pooh’s house from
Winnie the Pooh
.

“Who would’ve thought these brains would’ve been so creative, huh?”

“It’s perfect,” I say. “I once had a stuffed polar bear named Mr. Sanders.”

Gabe smirks. “That’s cute. Mine was a pig. Oinky. Clearly not as imaginative as you.”

“This little house,” I say, walking around to inspect the other side of it. “Surrounded by all of these people, just walking by every day, living their lives…” I let my voice trail off, realizing the next thing I say is going to sound ridiculous.

It feels like my home.

Everything around me feels vibrant and beautiful and I just can’t quite touch any of it.

“Finish,” Gabe presses. I look up at him and his eyes are dark and serious. He’s leaning forward, like he’s hanging on every ridiculous word I’ve said.

Before I can answer, a security guard passes us and Gabe dips his head a little. It's probably just a coincidence but it’s odd.

“What are you doing? On the run from campus security or something?” I joke.

“Not exactly,” Gabe says.

I stop walking.

“Well, what exactly?” I feel the prick of nervousness on the back of my neck, and the tiny hairs stand up. I want to stomp the feelings out because I want the night to continue, but the truth is...I don't know this guy at all.

“Okay, it's not even a huge deal, it's just this place in particular. I'm —I'm not supposed to be here.”

“At Harvard?”

“Yep,” Gabe says. He wraps his arm around me and walks a little faster, leading me to the exit.

“What'd you do?” I ask.

“I'd really rather not talk about it.”

“Gabe, I don't understand.” How do you get banned from a school that you don’t even attend?

“It's fine, Lena, let’s just go. There's plenty more of the city to see.”

“What happened?”

“Stop,” he says. He stops short and pushes the hair off of his forehead.  Suddenly, everything feels still and quiet, except for his word echoing.
Stop.
“I said I don't want to talk about it.”

I want to press, but in truth, I hardly know him. I’m not anything to him, and because of that, he doesn’t owe me anything. But that doesn’t mean I have to spend any more time with someone who won’t talk to me. Someone I don’t know, and really, could be anyone.

The sun is now completely down and the purple hues of the sky have given in to the dark light.

I let Gabe walk a few steps ahead of me without trying to keep up this time.

When we get to a crosswalk, it’s already on the end of the WALK signal. I watch as Gabe crosses, but I’m pushed out of the way by a tall man. I stumble backward, into the crowd and hurry to right myself before I’m pushed back again.

“Gabe!” I call out, but I can’t see him around the thick group of people.

In an instant, I have imagined every possible, terrible scenario that could happen if I don’t find him. I have to try to find his apartment building and wait for him there. I have to promise Bruce I’ll pay him back if he calls my parents so they can tell me how the hell I’m supposed to get home. I’m in a city I don’t know, with no money and no cell phone.

My chest tightens and the tips of my ears warm.

“Gabe!” I call out even though it’s pointless. I push past another group of people to get to the front of the crowd and don’t see him across the street at all. How could he not realize that I wasn’t right behind him? Why did I act so childish and hang back? To prove a point? Really smart, Lena.

I rush up a small flight of steps outside of the bank on the corner, but I don’t see him from up there either. Where could he have gone so quickly?

The signal goes back to WALK again, and I step down to cross the street.

“Lena,” he says in my ear, his arm clutching around my waist. “Jesus, you were right behind me and then you weren’t.”

I spin toward him and hold on tight. “Some guy pushed me out of the way.”

“Are you okay?” He brushes the hair off of my face.

“Yes,” I say, trying to steady my breath.

I also try to swallow, but fear has stripped my throat of all moisture, so it’s desert dry and swallowing aches.

“You sure?”

“Just thirsty,” I croak.

“Let’s grab something to drink then. Are you hungry too?”

“Sure,” I say.

“Hey,” he says. He reaches over and touches my shoulder so lightly that his finger like an olive branch. “I’m really sorry that we had to bail.”

“Forget about it,” I say.

“Cool,” Gabe says, “There’s this rad diner around the corner if you want to check it out? I haven’t eaten since this morning, and those three strawberry candies just aren’t tiding me over like they usually do.”

We bypass the touristy places and take the long way around the row of restaurants owned by Jemma’s family. We skip the trendy spots with long waits and overpriced food.

Instead, I take Lena to a hole-in-the-wall pie diner. I’ve only been here a couple of times, and, though I’m usually pretty good with directions, I’m surprised I remember exactly how to get here.

First time I came in, I was trying to ward off a hangover by eating my weight in lemon curd pie—world’s worst idea.

And the last time I was here was the day I got the call that my grandfather had died.

Not exactly a day I want to remember. Still, it’s off the beaten path and the odds of running into Jemma are slim. I know it sounds crazy, but before I left town, I swear I saw her following me a few times.

I pull a stool out for Lena to sit on, then take the one next to her.

“This is cute,” she says.

It’s actually gaudy as hell, with red lacquered floors and a white laminate countertop. The backsplash of the place is shiny steel and the light reflects off of it in a terrible way that makes it hard to see if you look directly at it. But it’s quiet and comfortable, and the food is pretty decent.

At least it was that one night I was still a little drunk, and before my third piece of pie. I never even waited around for my food the second time I was here.

“Yeah, it’s pretty chill,” I say. “You’re not still mad at me, huh?”

“Why would I be mad at you, Gabe?” she asks.

“Because…” I search for the right way to answer the loaded question she’s asked.

“Oh, is it because you said you want to get to know me, but then don’t want to answer any of my questions? Or, because you could be a mass murderer on the loose based on the way you acted all shifty back there at Harvard.”

Oh, good, she’s decided to answer it for me.

I laugh and say, “I’m not a murderer, Lena.”

I’m just banned from a particular Ivy League school, and have maybe been kicked out of a few private schools I attended. Nothing major.

“Well, that’s a relief,” she says.

Her expression is unchanged, so not really a relief at all.

The server shows up, a young guy with an unfortunate case of acne, too much product in his slicked down hair, and a mouth full of braces that don’t help.

His nametag says:
Blaze
.

Obviously I’m not buying that as his legit name. Dreak. Blaze. Is it alias night in Boston and I missed the announcement? Hell, maybe they just want to be someone they aren’t. I guess I can understand that.

“What can I get you?” he asks.

I motion for Lena to order first.

“Uh, just a Coke,” she says.

“Menus, please.” I say.  “And coffee.”

“Room for cream?” Blaze asks.

“Black is good,” I say.

“Black,” Lena scoffs. “What are you, thirty?”

Like we didn’t just have coffee together earlier tonight. She’s clearly looking for an argument, and I’m not really sure why.

“I’m low maintenance,” I shrug. “What can I say?”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “You could say a lot of things, but you won’t.”

“Can we—can we just start over? Whatever happened at Harvard, can we just move on? We were having a really good time before that.”

“Sure. Fine.”

Blaze slides two menus to us along with our drinks.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he says.

“How’d you know about this place? It’s kind of hidden,” Lena says, looking around at the crowded restaurant.

I shrug. “It’s open twenty-four hours. Sometimes, you just seek out those kind of places, you know?”

“Have you always lived in Boston? Never anywhere else? I mean, until you moved out to your grandmother’s?” she asks.

“Yep, born and raised here.”

“That sounds like it would’ve been really cool,” she says.

“It’s pretty decent,” I admit. “I mean, living with my mom is no cakewalk, but the city, the city I definitely love.”

“I wish we could’ve seen more of it,” Lena says.

She stares down at her menu and I can’t tell if it’s a subtle dig or not.

“Good thing Boston isn’t going anywhere, huh?” I ask from behind my steaming mug. Like a coward.

“I don’t know, with global warming I heard Boston could disappear within the next century.”

“Well, if Boston disappears before you get to see it again, you can blame me. Or, you know, your parents for holding you hostage.”

Lena cringes and I want to take it back. Instead, I try to cover by asking the first thing that comes to mind.

“How about the Union Oyster House, have you ever been there?”

Lena calmly sets the fork she’s been polishing with her rough paper napkin down and locks eyes with me. “Would you prefer if I gave you a detailed list of all of the places I’ve actually been to save us some time and ridicule?”

“Whoa, I wasn’t asking to offend—”

“You didn’t—I just—I feel stupid.”

I could be wrong, but I swear her eyes look a little glassy, and if I make this girl cry, I probably deserve to have my mother throw the book at me.

“Don’t,” I say, rubbing my hand on the back of my neck. “You have no reason to feel stupid. I’m a jerk.”

Lena shakes her head. “You’re not. I’m just—I wish I’d seen more. Done more. You know?”

“There’s time for all that. You haven’t missed out on everything yet. I mean, look at me, I’ve got all the freedom in the world and I can’t seem to get it all straight.”

“I think you’re doing okay.”

“Well, I think my mother would disagree with you. But thanks.”

Blaze comes back and I order a BLT, while Lena opts for fries and a Bavarian Chocolate Banana pie. I’m not surprised that she’s ordering dessert for dinner since there isn’t anyone looking over her shoulder tonight.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, Lena sipping her coke and me reorganizing the sugar packets by color since some animal mixed them all up.

An elderly couple sits down at the booth behind us, reminding me of my grandfather, and I have to swallow the lump in my throat.

“They’re adorable,” Lena says. “Look at them, holding hands across the table. That’s the kind of love I hope I deserve someday.”

Deserve.
Who in this life gets what they deserve?

“It’s nice,” is all I offer as I tap my finger on the table.

Lena stirs the ice around in her glass and asks, “So, you’re really not going to tell me what happened at Harvard? Why you’re not supposed to be there?”

I suck in a deep breath. “Why does it matter?”

Lena jerks her head back a little, her brows pinched together. “It doesn’t.”

“Alright then,” I nod.

“It’s just—”

“It’s just that you’re curious.”

“Is that so wrong? Why’d you ask me so many questions today?”

“I told you, I want to get to know you.”

“And that only goes one way?”

That’s fair. I’ve spent the last several hours trying to drag every bit of information I can out of this crazy mysterious, beautiful girl. But the kind of secrets she’s hiding aren’t the same brand as mine.

“No, of course not. I just don’t want to talk about Harvard.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble? Can you at least tell me that?”

“My mom is the district attorney, what do you think?” I ask.

Lena narrows her eyes. “Who was on the phone?”

“Wow, you don’t quit, do you?”

“Are we supposed to sit here in silence instead?” Lena asks.

Our food shows up at the perfect time. I rearrange the bacon that is falling out of my sandwich and Lena eats a few bites of pie. Apparently we
are
going to sit in silence.

“Look,” I say. “On the phone, that was just my ex.”

Lena stops eating. “I figured. I don’t know why you couldn’t just say that. I mean, you and I—” she motions between us. “We’re not—I wouldn’t have been—”

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to. Not because I was worried about offending you,” I say. The words tumble out too quick, too sharp. Like little bits of barbed wire that are now scattered in the air between Lena and I.

“Okay,” she says. She looks down at her food and  pushes around the whipped cream from the top of her pie onto the edge of her plate.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say.

“It’s totally fine, I get it.”

“It’s just—we’re not together anymore for a lot of reasons, none of them things I really want to—”

“Talk about. You don’t want to talk about much. But she’s calling and calling so I’m assuming that you’re the one who has issues talking in general.”

“You know, you’re probably right about that,” I say with a light laugh. “And I really am sorry.”

“No big deal,” she says. “This pie is excellent. My grandmother makes a banana cream pie, but it’s not nearly this good.”

“Good,” I say. But I get the feeling that little segue was just the beginning of something, not the end of her interrogation.

“You’re a calamity, you know that, Gabe? A big disaster waiting to happen.”

“Thank you?” I shove my plate out of the way, no longer hungry. I’m typically not a big eater when I’m being insulted.

“I just think if you don’t learn to open up more—”

“Says the expert sitting across the table from me. Do you open up to your parents? About how you feel trapped?”

“No.” she says, then bites down on her straw.

“So we aren’t so different then,” I offer. “Look, Jemma and I were good. We were great. And then we weren’t anymore.”

“So what happened?” Lena asks. She takes another sip of her drink, then rests her hand on the laminate countertop near mine.

She’s good.

I wonder if she even realizes what she’s doing. How the simple act of having her hand closer to mine makes me want to open up more. She
must
know. Because now I just want to focus on that. How close she is. How close she’s allowing me to be to her for the first time tonight. What I don’t want to be doing is talking about my ex-girlfriend.

“Why aren’t you together anymore?” she asks quietly.

Making love to her was like sleeping with a starfish.

She loved the thrill of a protest more than she actually loved me.

She was happy to see me hauled off to jail for her cause, because it added a little drama to her life.

“I don’t know, I guess you can only make exceptions for people for so long before they all just sound like excuses.”

“You or her?”

I suck in a quick breath before answering, “Maybe both?”

She stares down at her wrist, spinning the blue beads on her bracelet as she asks, “But you loved her.”

It isn’t a question.

I nod slowly. “I did.”

“And now—”

“Now, I’ve moved on.” I shrug. “Lena—”

“Have you really?” Lena asks. “Because when she calls you—”

I don’t really understand why we have to talk about this. I screwed up when I took the call from her earlier, but it doesn’t mean the entire relationship needs to be rehashed. Doing that will only lead to me having to discuss my arrest, and that’s not something I want to talk about with the girl who up until thirty minutes ago looked at me with those big brown eyes that screamed trust and understanding, and all the things I don’t even come close to deserving from someone.

I turn my bar stool toward her, brushing her knee with my own. The simple touch is more electric and intimate than sex with my starfish ex.

“Look, Lena,” I say, as I wrap a straw wrapper around my index finger. “This isn’t something I want to get into.”

“You’ve asked me a bunch of questions tonight,” she presses again. “Sometimes talking about stuff helps.”

Our server passes on his way to check on another guest. “Can I get the check?” I ask.