The Space in Between (7 page)

“Yeah, a little, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Loss. What it feels like losing someone you love, or aching for the one thing you never had before. I just kept playing over in my head what that would feel like and then what it might feel like to get it and it was done.”

“Hmm, okay.”

The rest of the walk back to the music room is silent, but not uncomfortably so. In fact, it’s probably the first silence in a while that I didn’t feel like grabbing my guitar and playing to try and change.

Heading back into the room, instead of going for the chair like before, Christian heads to the back of the room and makes himself comfortable, as far away from our instruments and our earlier clash of words as he can get. Slipping down into the chair beside him, I focus on ripping the wrapper off the bar and savoring the first bite once it’s been rescued.

“You’re doing it again.” He observes. “So, it’s not just for cookies. It’s for Mr. Big bars too.”

Crap.
I moaned again.

“Nope. It’s specific to anything remotely made with chocolate though.”

“Something tells me that you sneak bars up to your room a lot. In fact, you probably have a whole little shoebox dedicated to them.”

“Wrong.”

“I don’t think I am. Tell the truth, Emery. Do you hoard chocolate bars?”

“Eww! Hoarding makes it sound gross. It’s not like I collect them or anything. I just keep a few on hand when the craving hits.”

“And how often is that?”

He’s pushing me. It’s evident by the grin on his face, but there’s something about the way his eyes are lighting up, the first time they’ve done it since he got here today, that makes me wanna answer him just to keep it going.

I like the way he is right now. It’s much better than the tense and angry way he was before.

“Every single day.” I admit and along with the smile comes a thick rumble of laughter.

“So, you admit you have a problem. That’s the first step. Now that you’ve admitted it, I can properly treat you.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

“You solemnly swear never to take home and hide another chocolate bar, and I’ll make sure that every day, you have your daily dose of it.”

*****

A silly promise that felt more like a joke than real, and a joke that for the three days that followed, he held up his end of the bargain on. He managed to sneak me mini chocolate bars, like the ones you see at Halloween, bigger ones at lunch and had even snagged me a cupcake and a few cookies.

If he wasn’t already starting to be someone that mattered to me, and we weren’t jumping blindfolded into this whole friendship thing, it would have definitely sealed the deal.

A guy willing to give a girl chocolate every day and asking nothing in return. There’d be a line halfway across the world for that, and for a reason I can’t seem to figure, it’s just for me.

Moving on from the chocolate, it seemed like every morning after that one things were easier between us. Maybe all it really takes is a meltdown and the promise of chocolate to make everything right with the world.

Stranger things have happened, and trust me, if anyone knows it’s me.

I just told the guy I may or may not be able to stop staring at, that whatever this is between us, I didn’t want it to end.

There’s only one thing that makes me now.

Screwed.

Christian

Everyone has a moment as a kid where they go with their parents to the pool and learn how to swim.

Some parents, like my dad until my mom told him off about it the minute we stepped back in the house, take drastic measures in order to teach them. It wasn’t my old man’s fault, he was just doing what he’d been taught after living through it himself, but he threw me straight into the shallow end of the pool, thinking that I’d figure it out on my own. Crazy right?

That situation is a whole lot like the one I’m facing now. After telling her I didn’t want it to end, I feel like I’ve been thrown into the deep end of the pool and it’s up to me to figure out how to get out of it unscathed.

Basically, I feel like I’m drowning. Only instead of sinking to the bottom, Emery’s thrown out a life preserver.

“Are you serious?”

“I don’t know.” she shrugs. “Do you always answer a question with a question?”

“When the question’s a little unbelievable, yeah.”

“Okay, Mikey, now I gotta ask if you’re the one that’s serious because I don’t understand why what I said is so unbelievable.”

“I’ll tell you, but first you gotta tell me something.”

“And that would be?”

It’s been eating at me all week and with the chance to ask finally here, I’m not gonna waste it.

“Are you planning on calling me Mikey for the rest of the year?”

“I was thinking about it. Why? Does it bother you?”

Something tells me with the way she is, telling her it does wouldn’t make her stop. I’m pretty sure it would just increase how often she did it.

“No, it doesn’t bother me.”

“Then why even ask?”

We’ve been able to go most of the week without bringing up my mom, but if I plan on always being honest with her, answering any other way would be wrong. So as much as I don’t want to get into this, I swallow down my reservations and do it.

“My mom used to call me Mikey. She used to say it was because my dad had stolen Chris from her, so she was using the next best thing.”

“Oh,” she replies before going quiet. The first time in a week I’ve managed to make her go completely silent. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. I’ll stop.”

“No,” I shake my head vehemently. “Please don’t. I just wanted you to know the reason I asked.”

“Is that your way of saying you want me to keep calling you Mikey?”

“Yeah…I mean, if you’re okay with it. I’d rather just keep everything the same. It doesn’t bother me, honestly.”

And I kind of like when you call me Mikey. It makes me feel good.

It takes all of the willpower I’ve got not to admit that particular thought out loud when up until this point I’ve been honest with her. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything for anyone, much less feelings one way or the other for a girl. The last thing I want is to start now by dropping something heavy.

Is it even possible to have feelings for someone after spending barely a week getting to know them? And better yet, when you do, is it normal to feel this conflicted about it? Overthinking every thought, focusing on every word you do say and making sure that only the ones you want come out? Being afraid of saying too much and scaring the one person that gave me the time of day away?

“Well okay, Mikey. You wanna tell me what’s so unbelievable now?

“Honestly, I would have thought with the way we started the week and how rough it was putting this song together, you’d want to get as far away from me as possible now that we’re done.”

“Is that how you feel?”

“No, but I mean, I’d get it if you did.”

“Well I don’t, and I figure with all the mornings we’ve spent here, bedhead, bad breath and attitude on display for the other to see, we’re a little more than music partners now. Don’t you think?”

A little more than music partners.

Now I know I didn’t read into that. She actually said those words.

“Tolerating acquaintances. Better?”

Unable to hold back her laughter, it spills out and despite not wanting to give away how much I enjoy it, with the warmth that grabs ahold of me, I’m willing to bet it shows.

“I was thinking friends, but that works too.”

“Friends.” I repeat, getting a feel for the word and enjoying the way it feels.

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Considering that on my first day here, I made you fall off your bike, almost knocked you down in the hall and the next day I practically bit your head off…yeah, kinda.”

“Well believe it, buddy. You’re officially a real boy. You’ve made your first friend.”

Biting back the laugh threatening to escape and practically choking on it, I shake my head and she laughs.

“I’m not your first?”

Ignoring the ways I could take those words that have nothing at all to do with the real meaning, I nod. “You almost were, but Jonah beat you to it.”

Jonah Thomas. The only other person besides Emery to talk to me the first day. All around sports nut and nice guy. Having to share a gym class every day, with him practically running the joint when we’re there, he’d taken me under his wing and never looked back.

“Oh, Jonah! Isn’t he just sooooo dreamy?” Bringing her hands together and leaning them under her chin, resting on them, she gets this glossed over look in her eye and even knowing deep down she’s being sarcastic, it still hits me like a sucker punch to the gut.

What the hell? Why do I care who Emery likes?

“Hey! He’s a nice guy.”

“Uh, hello! Didn’t I just say he was dreamy?”

“Yeah and you may have rolled your eyes a little when you did it.”

“Grrr.” She growls. “I was really trying to sell that better.”

“Looks like it needs more work.”

“But Mikey, you should know. He’s not nearly as dreamy as you.”

This time she takes it a step further by moving closer into me, her eyes moving at such a rapid pace it’s hard to keep up. Her lips pursing, her head now leaning on my shoulder, she’s making it impossible to think, much less anything else.

When did it get so hot in here?

“I think—you nailed it.” I manage to choke out, at which point she pulls away, punches me in the shoulder and turns away laughing.

“Don’t ever doubt my ability to sell bullshit when I need to. Now, I hate to break up the party, but I need to drop off some stuff at the paper before class, so I’ll see you soon.”

Watching as she grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder, I’m still rendered speechless as she heads for the door. My heart dropping deeper into my stomach when she pauses before going through and turns toward me again, saying words that I’m sure are designed to stop my heart.

“Don’t miss me too much.” With a blown kiss to me as her final act, she breezes through the doorway and as I watch her go through and the door subsequently shut behind her, I’m left with only one thought.

What if I don’t want it to be bullshit?

Chapter Six

Emery

Pulling the car into the driveway and letting it idle as the newest Sleeping with Sirens song plays to the end, I turn the key in the ignition, step out and jog up, trying the door and finding it unlocked, before pushing it open and stepping inside. 

Pausing as I catch the music coming from the living room, I toss my bag on the floor and watch as the strangest scene plays out in front of me.

My mom is making her way around the room with our feather duster, dancing like nobody is watching and humming along with the song, her face lit up in a smile. At least there’s a smile there until in the middle of one of her spins around she realizes she’s no longer alone and has an audience held captive.

“Oh, Emery! I didn’t hear you come in.”

Turning the volume on the stereo down, she places the duster on the ledge of our fireplace, her expression going from surprised to embarrassed in the second it takes for me to blink.

“Gee, I wonder why.” I say, motioning to the stereo and I’m met with her laughter.

It’s been happening a lot more lately, but until now it was nothing this obvious. She’s been moving more fluidly around the house, smiling more often, and I could have sworn this morning when I got up to get a shower, she was singing while doing her makeup.

A move I haven’t seen her do since I was six. 

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what’s causing it.

She’s been out three times already this week to meet the mysterious coffee guy and whatever they’ve been doing when they’re together—which part of me is almost afraid to ask—it’s obviously doing good things for her mood.

She’s a whole new woman, and even though I asked her after the second date when I was going to get to meet him and she’d shut me down, I would still like to thank him.

This is the mom I remember as a kid.

The one that wasn’t so beat down going to work every day, coming home and repeating the same cycle that she’d lost the spark she had before. The very same one that fostered my love of pictures at an early age because she was always taking them with me.

The mom I missed.

“Someone seems happy.” I observe and the blush creeps across her cheeks even deeper. “Does this have something to do with the mystery man you refuse to let me meet?”

“We’ve been over this, Emery. When the time is right, you’ll meet, but if it’s going to end before it’s got a chance to begin, I don’t want to take the chance. We’ve been through enough. I’m not adding more to it.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“Yes, it has a little something to do with Nicholas, but that’s all you’re getting.”

Feeling particularly cheeky now that I’ve caught her showering her happiness all over the house when I’m sure she wanted to keep it quiet, I push my luck.

“Why is it that when I’m interested in a guy you’re all over me and I’ve got to tell you every detail about him, straight down to his shoe size, but I can’t do the same with you?”

“Because I’m your mother, that’s why.”

“You use that answer for everything, Mom. It’s getting old. By my estimation, it’s about as old as you are.”

“Emery Rose, watch your mouth! You’re still young enough to use the soap on.”

“If I curse, maybe, but since I didn’t, that’s an empty threat and you know it.”

“When your baby girl comes to you in thirty years and says the same thing to you, I want you to come back and tell me how it makes you feel. Until then, reign it in.”

“You’re no fun.”

Backing out of the room and picking my bag up off the floor, I barely hit the stairs before she’s calling out.

“That’s the point!”