Tasting, Finding, Keeping: The Story of Never (6 page)

Ty takes the phone in his other hand and keeps walking. He wiggles it in the air and flashes me a perfect smile.

“I've been thinking a lot about this, you know,” he says, and I smile back. Mine is just as real as his, and I'm surprised at how foreign it feels on my face. I haven't smiled like this in
years.
“I can't get this image of you out of my head,” Ty adds as he cues up the video and watches me sweep across the stage with finger cymbals on my henna patterned hands.

“'Cause I'm so 'fucking beautiful'?” I joke, quoting Ty back to himself. He doesn't respond, but his dimples get deeper, just enough that I'm tempted to reach up and poke his cheek with my fingers. He has nice cheekbones for a man, defined but not gaunt. I look away from his face and up at the moon. She's shrouded with gentle clouds, obscuring her shape but not her light. It trickles down and feels cool and comforting against my face. I haven't taken the time to appreciate her beauty in a long while, and I miss it. This all feels good, maybe too good. I'm a bit worried about this new friendship with Ty because if it fails, if he blows me off or disappoints me somehow, I'll shrivel up and die. I've had enough people in my life betray me that I've run out of restarts. This is it. If I give Ty my last chance, then I'll be betting everything on him. I swallow hard and wait for the video to end. Once it does, then I'll have the chance to tell him the truth about what happened at home. That will be his test. If he fails it, I'm done. The cocoon I've built around myself will turn to steel, and I'll block it all out, I swear I will.

My mother is speaking, telling the gathered crowd a secret that she's kept not from my other sisters but just from me. Only me. I was the one left out. The one that didn't deserve to hear her plan. I think it was because, deep down, she knew how wrong it was, but she was – is? – so fucking selfish.

Am I making a rash decision?
I wonder as I watch the light from the screen flicker across Ty's face. It's not too late to back out, to change my mind, to save this chance for someone else. The video ends with my mother's announcement about her engagement, and somehow, in some cruel trick of fate, Noah, who is holding the camera, zooms in on my face, catches me at my most vulnerable. Burned into the last frame of that recording is me with my eyes haunted and my mouth open in shock. All around me a crowd cheers and inside, I die just a little.

Ty hands the phone back to me and stops smiling as we circle around the lawn and head back towards the playground.

“What on earth did she do to you?” Ty asks, and my heart pauses for a moment, resets itself to overdrive and starts to pound. This is why I'm always attracted to tortured souls, to people with wounds like mine because once you have them, you can recognize them a mile away. But I've never gotten this close to one. It's terrifying. My hand starts to shake, and I untangle it from Ty's as we hit the pavement. I reach for my shoes but pause when Ty touches a hand to my shoulder. “Come on,” he says as he starts towards the swing set. “Tell me about it.”

“I … ” I follow Ty to the black swings which are soaking wet from the dewy night and watch, almost mesmerized, as he takes off his shirt and wipes the moisture away. When he's finished, he tosses it over his shoulder and holds out a hand to indicate that I should sit. My eyes trace his perfect chest, his chiseled midsection, and all of a sudden, I feel sick.
No,
I tell myself.
I won't sleep with him, not ever, so fuck off.

“Come,” he tells me. “Take a load off.”

“I can't,” I say as I take a step back. I've only said the thing I want to say twice before and both times, life did not work out well for me. My memories are jumbled and confusing, and I just can't find the heart to put it out there. Not yet. I need more time. “I'm sorry,” I say aloud as I take another step back and reach down for my shoes. Ty watches me with sad eyes and nods like he understands completely. I turn away, grab my heels and hold them against my chest. After a few careful breaths to steady myself, I turn back to him and toss a fake smile his way. I can tell that he knows it isn't real and watch as he returns it with a false smile of his own. “Don't be a stranger,” I say as I start back off towards the gate.

“There's no way I'm letting you walk out of here alone,” he tells me as he moves around the swing set. “Let me walk you home.”

“You're going to stop me?” I challenge, not because I think walking home alone is a good idea but because I don't like being told what to do. Ty holds up his hands like he doesn't know what to say and drops them to his sides.

“I guess not,” he replies, but he looks kind of pissed off about it. He sits down on the swing and wraps his hands around the chains, rings and bracelets clinking softly against the metal.

“Goodnight Ty McCabe.”

“Goodnight Never Ross.”

I walk out of the gate and call a cab.

“
Bartleby, the Scrivener?
” Lacey asks with a wrinkled nose. “What's a scrivener?” I ignore her and try to focus on my paper. It's not something I want to write, and it's taking every ounce of strength I have to sit still. I'm afraid that if I look at her, I'll be more interested in the butterfly clip she has in her hair than I am about
A Story of Wall Street.
I yawn and slump back in my chair as I scroll through page after page of cliff notes.

“Hey Lacey,” I say as she moves away from me and sits down on the edge of her bed, a pair of nail clippers in one hand and a bottle of nail polish in the other. I try to keep my eyes on the computer, but they keep jumping around to the posters of half-naked girls that Lacey has put up on the wall behind her bed. “Have you ever had to write a paper that's longer than the story it's based on?”

“I'm majoring in biochem,” she says as if that's explanation enough. I sigh and try not to imagine Lacey working in a laboratory of any kind. It's a scary thought. “Want to go to a movie with me tonight?” she asks randomly. I glance over at her and she smiles.

“With your girlfriend?” I ask, and she shakes her head.

“Nah,” she says as she carefully applies a coat of bubblegum pink to her big toe. “I'm tired of playing games with my heart. I could use a dedicated friends only night, you know what I mean?” I stare at her for a moment. Roommate. Friend. Which one is she? Is she both now? I realize that the answer is yes.
When the hell did that happen?
The transition was too quick for me to see apparently, which is a scary thought. The more people I'm close to, the more people have an open shot at my heart. A feeling of discomfort creeps up on me as I try to figure out what to say.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I say as I give up and close my computer.

“Never?” Lacey asks, and I turn to find that she has tears in her eyes. They're dripping down her pretty face and landing on her bare feet. I stand up, but I'm not sure what to do; I don't even know what's wrong with her. When she looks up at me, I see that she's smiling through her sadness. “I never did say this, but … thank you.”

“For what?” I ask as I move over and sit down next to her.

“For saving me,” she says, and I notice that her hands are trembling just a bit. I reach down and take the nail polish gently from her fingers. “At the convenience store. If you hadn't, I … ”

“Shush,” I tell Lacey as I position her foot in my lap and take over the duty of painting her toenails. It's not something I do very often, so my careful strokes are about as neat as her shaking ones. Still, I think she appreciates it. As I paint, I start to cry, too, but not about the same thing. Lacey doesn't say anything which I appreciate, and we both shed our different feelings in the same way, taking quiet solace in one another's company.

Watching that stupid video must've opened something up inside of me because I miss my sisters so suddenly and so fiercely that it hurts inside. I remember my sister, Beth, painting my nails before my big performance, just days before I left her and everything else behind.

I know then that somehow, someway I'm going to have to open up the Pandora's box of my past soon. Sometimes, the only way to go forward, is to take a few, careful steps back.

Damn you, Ty McCabe. Damn you.

Ty shows up in the middle of my art history class.

The whole auditorium turns to look at him when he walks in and blinds us all with harsh, white winter sunshine. My professor stops talking and pauses between an image of Botticelli's
Primavera
and
The Birth of Venus.
Today's lecture is titled
Famous Artists of the Italian Renaissance
and as happy as I am to have a distraction from the admittedly dull lesson, I'm mortified when Ty waves at me and holds up his phone.

“Got your text,” he says, like he's fucking oblivious that everyone is staring at him. The door slams shut and the room goes dark again, allowing the projector to once again display the slide show that all two hundred plus students have been studying for the past half hour. “You said it was urgent.” I stand up, grab my backpack, and am grateful that I'm wearing boots today instead of heels, so that I can run up the steps and grab Ty by the arm.

“Let's go,” I whisper as I open the door again and the class groans. Once it's shut behind us, I pull out a cigarette and search around for Ty's lighter. It's gone. He reaches into his own pocket and retrieves it, wiggling it teasingly in the air between us.

“I stole it back when you weren't paying attention,” Ty says, and I can't figure out when that might have been. We've been hanging out on and off lately, always sporadically, never planned. We've gone for ice cream, seen a movie, even went to
the
game,
which apparently means football. I've been going to the same university since I turned eighteen and got my GED and yet, I had no idea that we had a famous football team. Now all the sweatshirts I see with beavers on them make sense.
We don't give a dam about your team!
they say.

“Thanks for interrupting my lecture,” I say as he bums a cigarette off me and puts it to his lips. “Now I'll probably fail the class. The professor already dislikes me because I disagree with some of his interpretations.”

“Such as?” Ty asks as he lights up.

“The stupid fucking van Eyck painting with the couple and the dog, you know the one?” Ty raises his eyebrows and points at his own chest.

“Cashier, remember? Past work experience: whore. I don't know shit about paintings.”

“Don't belittle yourself like that,” I snap at him as I put the cigarette in my mouth and wait for a light. Ty pockets the lighter and leans forward, pressing the cherry of his cigarette against mine. Our faces are so close that for a moment, I forget to be mad at him. He has red and black piercings in his face today and a tight fitting wife beater draped over his chest. I take a few, quick, sharp inhales until the end of my Marlboro burns as orange as Ty's. “I hate when people do that.”

“Fine,” he says as we move away from the doors to the auditorium and up a steep slope towards the parking lot. “I won't say things like that if you tell me what this is all about.” Ty holds out his phone so I can see the text message I sent to him.

I need to talk to you. Soon. It's important.

“You're the only person I know that uses correct grammar and punctuation in a text,” he tells me as he puts his phone back in his pocket and blows smoke into the cool, moist air.

“And you're the only idiot I know that walks into a full lecture hall in the middle of class.” Ty shrugs and lets the cigarette hang limply from his mouth.

“Then don't send me text messages like that. You had me worried.”

“Worried?” I ask, and Ty gets pissed off all of a sudden. Without warning, he throws his cigarette to the ground and crushes it with his boot.

“Yeah, Never, worried. Is that such a fucking surprise to you?” I stop walking and just stare at him like he's crazy. Ty runs his fingers through his hair and holds out his hand like,
What the fuck are you waiting for, let's go!
I take a step back and watch as his dark eyes follow me.

“Don't talk to me like that,” I tell him in a voice that's as cold as the breeze that ruffles my hair.
I was planning on telling you my secret. You can't talk to me that way.
“I am sick and fucking tired of people talking to me like that.” Ty drops his hand and looks down, takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

“I'm sorry,” he tells me, but I'm done for the day. I can't go back to class, so I turn away from Ty and head off in the direction of the dorms. “What did you need to talk to me about?” he asks as I stomp through pine needles and under the massive trees that help make up the natural beauty that our school is known for.

“Just forget it,” I tell him as I pause at a crosswalk and adjust my backpack from one shoulder to the other. “It doesn't even matter. It's not important.”

“Bullshit,” Ty says, but his voice doesn't sound angry, it just sounds tired, and if I'm reading him correctly,
shameful.
Whatever his internal struggle is about, I don't want to know. This is why I don't get close to wounded guys. Guys like this, like Ty, they're just built to explode, to rain their burning past down on you and melt your soul. I should've kept my date with Rick. “Never … ” I look over at Ty and paste an angry frown on my face.

“Go home and cool off. When you do, come find me. For now, fuck off.” I start off across the road and pause on the other side when I hear Ty's voice sound out from behind me.

“You weren't planning on confessing your love for me or anything like that, were you?” he asks. And because I think it's a joke, I respond with, “Not in your wildest fucking dreams.” I turn around to see what his face looks like because people like Ty flash everything they're feeling through their eyes like a slide show, when a bus passes between us, loud and obnoxious, spewing fumes into the clear air. When it's gone by and I finally have a clear view, Ty is nowhere to be seen.

I'm sitting in the lap of this guy who smells good and who seems nice, but that I can't stand listening to when he talks. Everything he says comes out with an explanation point at the end of it.
What are you majoring in?!
and
You have really beautiful hair!
I keep him quiet by pushing my tongue into his mouth, wrapping my arms around his neck and grinding my hips into his growing erection. Yeah, sure, somewhere inside of myself I know that I use sex as an escape, that even now I'm using this guy to forget about what happened between Ty and me yesterday, but I just don't know how else to deal.

“Whoa!” I hear a voice from behind me followed by bubbly giggles. It's Lacey.

“What?” I snap as I stare at her. She's dressed in this teeny tiny pink dress that crinkles and sparkles when she moves. Her legs are golden and long, lean and perfect. The perfect Barbie doll. There are guys hanging all over her, but she isn't interested in any of them.

“I was looking for you,” she says with a laugh. I think she's plastered, but I'm not sure. I stand up, flicking away Exclamation Point Guy's hands as he grabs for me and clings to the fabric of the little black dress I chose tonight.

“Don't go!” he says, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from telling him to shut the fuck up.

“Keys,” I say as Lacey pushes away a guy who won't stop kissing her neck. I hold out my hand and shake my palm for emphasis. “Now.”

“Come on, Never. We want to go to the beach. That's why I was looking for you. Let's all go the beach together.” Lacey holds up her arms and the entourage behind her cheers their consent.

“Keys,” I repeat, unwilling to see Lacey perish in that stupid, little green car of hers. It would be both tragic and incredibly sad. She rolls her eyes and pouts her lips, but I don't take in any of it. “Keys.”

“Fucking fine,” she slurs as she reaches into her top and pulls them out. The blonde guy on her right groans and tries to lick the metal as she passes them over to me.

I shove his face back, grab Lacey by the chin and whisper, “Be careful.” I kiss her on the cheek and send her on her way with her promise to keep her phone on. Bad things can happen at parties like this. Horrible things.

“Are you coming back to me?!” asks Exclamation Point Guy. I close the door behind me and lean against it, letting my hair fall into my face, so that I can breathe for just a moment. I feel so jumbled and confused and messed up right now. I don't understand Ty any better than I understand myself. I thought he was making me better, but right now, I feel worse than ever. I put the base of my hand to my forehead, and slip my phone out of the inside pocket on my coat. Despite the fact that I'm wearing a sexy dress beneath it, I leave it on, like a layer of protection against the outside world.

No missed calls.

Fuck and damn it.

I put the phone away and lift up my head, putting a plastic smile on my face.

“Now where were we?” I ask the blonde guy with the nice chest and the pretty face. The guy who's so drunk that he's willing to do things he wouldn't normally do. The guy that I'll feel guilty about tomorrow. This isn't the type of man that I usually go for, not at all, but I feel like I need a break from those other kind, like I've got burn scars on my heart and body that haven't healed yet. I move across the room and swing my legs over the guy's knees. I unbutton his pants and try to ignore him when he talks.

“Are you going to blow me?” he asks. “I've never had a blow job before? Once, my girlfriend gave me a hand job though!” I pause with my hands on the waistband of his underwear. They're white briefs, not something I'm used to. The guys I fuck usually wear boxers.

“You have a girlfriend?” I ask and feel queasy inside. The blonde guy nods and tries to kiss me, but I turn my face away, unsure if I want to go through with this. I feel kind of … sick. With myself, with Ty, with this person, whoever he is.

“Yeah, we've dating for two years, ever since we started going here. We met in a calc class!” he says as I lean back and wrinkle my nose.
What are you doing, Never? You haven't slept with anyone since that night you blew off your date with Rick. Are you seriously going to throw a whole month away like this? What do you think you're going to get out of this?

“Look, uh,” I pull my hands away from Exclamation Point Guy and fold them across my chest. “You, um, I can't do this.” I shake my head and bite my lower lip hard enough that it bleeds. At least the pain wakes me up, tells me how stupid this really is. If I have a problem with Ty, I should call him. That's what a normal person would do. It's the only thing that makes any fucking sense.

As if summoned by my thoughts, my phone chirps at me, and I nearly fall off of the blonde dude's lap in my attempt to get it out of my pocket. There's a text. Just one. From Ty. My breath ceases to flow, and my heart doesn't pump.

hey Nevr sry i acted like a dick can u forgv me? i had a thng w sum grl. she trshed my place and i was pissed. no xcuses but i wanted u to know. call me.

I stare at the text for a moment.

“Come on,” moans Exclamation Point Guy as he reaches down and frees himself from his pants. I give him a tight-lipped smile, put the phone away and pull out a piece of gum. I stuff it in my mouth, scoot forward, and fuck him.

All the while I know that I'm making a stupid, fucking mistake.