Eighteen years old
One year later
It’s raining, as it often is on this island.
And for some reason, instead of crabbing a cab or calling an Uber, I’m walking down this road home, completely dripping wet.
Or maybe I do know why I’m out here walking in the rain. It’s a walk born of frustration, of disappointment with the trajectory of my life.
My senior year has been one grueling disappointment after another lately.
There’s the fact that my father convinced me to go to the mainland to meet him for dinner last night, and forced me to take the ferry, which he knows damn well I hate. When I got to the restaurant, he wasn’t even there, never even bothering to pick up his phone when I called.
There have been lots of times where my father has disappointed me. But for the most part, those were done from the safety of my home. So I could stand with my nose pressed against the glass, waiting for his truck to appear. And when it didn’t, I was at home so at least I had my mother to comfort me.
This was the first time that I hadn’t been at home when he hadn’t shown up. I’d stood by the dock just watching. Finally, I tried to call him, and then it was like I couldn’t stop. I kept calling and calling and calling…and he never picked up. Didn’t even bother sending me a text to explain his no show. I’d had to take the ferry all the way back to the island, his rejection a living, breathing thing under my skin for the entire trip.
Then there’s also the fact that somehow I’ve become Kyle’s girlfriend. I don’t know how it happened, only that he’s gotten into his head when school started that I’m somehow his. Not that we’re having sex, or doing anything besides the occasional kissing. But he’s everywhere, suffocating me with his nearness. With his mere presence.
It’s not supposed to feel like this. I’m confident of that. Even though everyone tells me that I’m so lucky to have such a good looking, popular, nice guy by my side, for the life of me, I can’t see the benefits to it.
Sometimes I wonder if watching my parents’ marriage fall apart broke me in a way, that those important younger years that form the basis of your personality were skewed because the one person in the world that was supposed to love us no matter what, never loved us enough.
Regardless of the reason, I’m walking in the rain, the mud sloshing on my boots. I’m not exactly sure where I’m going, but I know I just need to get away.
Some writers talk about the rain being cleansing, and I try to imagine all of my inner angst sliding down my body and onto the ground, fluttering away so it can’t burden me anymore.
It doesn’t seem to be working.
A flash of gold catches my attention, and I glance over to the right to see that I’m passing the island’s cemetery. The gold flashes again and I pause, trying to see what it is, only for the rain to let up a little and reveal Noah on his knees in front of a small gravestone.
Maybe I’ll look back at this moment and wonder if it was when I truly lost my mind, but I find myself walking towards the opening in the fence line, towards where he kneels.
Maybe it’s his sadness calling to me, causing an inexplicable pull that I can’t ignore.
He doesn’t look up as I approach, even though my feet are sloshing in the puddles made by the falling rain. He’s the only one here that I can see, and for a second, a morose thought crosses my mind—would anyone fall on their knees in sorrow for me if I was buried here?
I don’t stop walking until I’m right next to him. The stone has his mother’s name engraved on it, and Noah doesn’t shy away from the fact that his body is trembling as racking sobs fill the air, joining the gentle patter of the rain.
The rain doesn’t feel cleansing right now; it feels like the earth has joined him in mourning his mother. It’s a terrible thing to see this beautiful boy pouring out his sorrow for someone who is no longer here.
‘Noah,’ I finally whisper, so quietly that I’m surprised he can even hear it. But as soon as I say his name, he glances up at me, his tears sliding down his face, mixing in with the rain streaking across his skin.
‘It’s her birthday,’ he murmurs. “She was always big on birthdays. When I was little, I promised her that she would never spend a birthday alone. That I would always spend the day with her. I promised.” He shifts from his knees and sits cross legged on the cold, wet ground.
I want to offer some words of comfort. Anything, really. But before I can get anything out, he starts to talk.
‘My dad was gone a lot growing up. Your mom was able to do what my mother never could— keep him around. He would go fishing for days, but one particular year he promised he would be back in time to celebrate her birthday. I remember walking down the hallway and seeing her standing in the kitchen, her hair all done and makeup on her face, a slight glow to her cheeks. She was so excited for him to come home.’
He rips out some of the grass in front of him.
‘Then the hours passed. They passed and they passed, and he never walked through the door. I remember someone knocking, and her jumping up from the couch, just in case, I guess, my dad had lost his keys or something like that. And when she opened it up, it was just to see that a package had been delivered. It wasn’t even a package for her. It was some fishing line my dad must’ve ordered before he left. She looked so fucking sad sitting on the couch.’
He shakes his head, biting down on his bottom lip so hard he breaks through the skin. Drops of blood drip down the front of his face. I find myself reaching up, rubbing at the crimson drops with my thumb.
‘She went to take a nap finally, I guess hoping she could just sleep away the day. And even though I was only nine, I still went into the kitchen and tried to make her a cake. It was a complete failure, of course. I burned myself at least twenty times, and it was burnt to absolute shit when I pulled it out. But you should’ve seen her face, Sky,’ he whispers, his eyes wide and staring unseeingly, like he’s back in the kitchen right that very second. ‘She looked at that cake like it was a work of art. Like it was the best thing she’d ever seen. I had one candle on there and she let me light it, and then listened as I sang to her with tears streaming down her face. And I promised her that day that as she ate my terrible cake, that she’d never be alone on her birthday.’
His fingers trace her etched name on the stone. ‘So here I am.’
By this time, tears are falling down my face, because I can just imagine a little golden haired boy making a mess of the kitchen in order to bring a smile to his mother’s face.
‘Did your dad ever come home that day?’ I ask hoarsely.
He stiffens, and then slowly shakes his head. ‘He was always doing things like that to her. Taking her for granted and making her feel like she was never enough. I watch him now with your mom, and I just wonder if that was my mom’s curse, thinking that she’d fallen for her soulmate, when he was never that to begin with. My father never felt that way about her. He never looked at her like she was his beginning and the end. He didn’t look at her the way he looks at your mom. Funny thing is that I actually believed he loved my mom growing up. He probably thought he did too. But now…with your mom in the picture, we both know that’s a lie.”
His fingers dig into the grass around him frantically, like he wants to unearth the coffin lying six feet under him.
“I think that’s probably one of the worst things in life, falling for someone who can never love you the way they should. The way they deserve,” he says hoarsely.
Noah rarely, if ever, has talked so openly like this…and it’s almost too much. Him showing me this version of himself, the one that feels so deeply and sees the world almost as a romantic. I would’ve never expected the words ‘soulmate’ to come from his lips, and it’s completely heartbreaking thinking about what he’s just said.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. And I’m not exactly sure what I’m apologizing for.
Am I apologizing for her death…or the fact that my mom is his dad’s true soulmate?
Things would have been simpler if the opposite was true. But there is a visceral part of me that can’t imagine a world where Noah wasn’t in my life, no matter how he got here.
Thunder breaks the silence around us and it sparks an idea in my head.
‘I’ll be right back,’ I say, springing to my feet. He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind, but I start to back away nevertheless.
‘Don’t go anywhere!’ I call out inanely, like it makes sense for him to continue sitting in the mud in the cemetery.
It takes me a couple of steps to drag my gaze away from his, but then I turn and start sprinting, out of the cemetery, and down the sidewalk towards where some of the stores are. I’m puffing by the time I get to the small grocery store, and judging by the looks I’m getting, I’m a mess. Water and mud are puddling on the floor beneath me. I ignore all of their looks and make my way towards the bakery located on the left of the store.
I see it immediately, what I’ve come in here for. A chocolate cupcake with a cherry on top.
‘That one, please,’ I tell the employee standing behind the glass counter. He eyes me dubiously, but reaches in and grabs the one I’ve pointed to.
I fidget as I watch him place the cupcake in a small cardboard box, and I practically yank it out of his hands when he holds it out to me.
‘Thank you!’ I remember to call out as I rush towards another aisle, searching for a birthday candle.
By the time I’ve left the store, I have a cupcake, a candle, and a lighter tucked away in a small plastic sack. I hustle back towards the cemetery, urgency threading through my veins.
Will he still be there? I wonder as I make my way down the sidewalk.
I hesitate once I get to the entrance of the cemetery and see him in the same spot I left him.
What the hell am I doing? The idea suddenly seems stupid, but as if he can feel my presence, Noah turns in my direction and sees me, and I have no choice but to walk towards him.
I stand in front of him, fumbling with the sack in my hand. His gaze dips curiously towards it.
‘Where did you go?’ he asks.
I think about lying for a second, telling him something ridiculous like I had to go grab some tampons, but the sight of him sitting there, his shoulders drooped, and his shirt plastered to his skin gets me going.
I plop myself to the ground and pull out the cardboard box, which immediately gets soaked.
He’s still staring at me curiously, so I flip open the lid of the box to showcase the cupcake.
‘I thought…we could celebrate her birthday properly,’ I whisper nervously.
His gaze widens, those incredible eyes of his searching my face, and I can’t read at all what he’s thinking, his face is perfectly blank.
His hand finally reaches out to grab the cupcake and he stares at it for another long while.
‘I got candles too,’ I say, before realizing how ridiculous that was. How am I going to light a fire when it’s pouring buckets out here?
He doesn’t make fun of me though. He just continues to stare at the cupcake, his thoughts a million miles away.
Finally, when I almost can’t take the silence anymore, he speaks. ‘I like it,’ he murmurs, taking the lid all the way off the cupcake even though it’s now getting soaked. I pull the candle and the lighter out with trembling hands, and he sets down the box and the cupcake on the ground, holding his hand over it as I push a bright pink candle into the spongy cake. I try to light it, but I’m shaking too bad, either from the cold or my nerves about the situation.
Noah grabs it from me and uses his one hand to block the cake as he lights the flame. We both stare at it.
‘I think I would’ve liked to have met your mother,’ I say.
His eyes hold mine. ‘She would’ve liked to have met you, too. She always had a gift of being able to see the best in people. It wouldn’t have been too hard for her to find the good in you. She would have loved you.’
My cheeks flush at the inference that his mom would have loved me in any capacity. If she was still alive, I know that I would have wanted her approval. I’m not entirely sure why it’s important to me, but it is.
‘Should we sing?’ I ask, trying to divert his attention.
Finally, the corner of his mouth tips up, the first semblance of a smile I’ve seen since I first came across him here.
‘Yeah, let’s do it.’
We both begin to sing softly, our voices getting louder as we get through the song, until we’re belting happy birthday at the top of our lungs by the end.
He moves his hand from covering the candle and the light immediately extinguishes. But before I can say anything, he grabs my face, cradling it with both hands as he stares at me. His chest is rising and falling heavily, and he moves forward until his lips are just a breath away.
‘What are you doing to me, little stalker?’ he whispers, and a tear trickles from my eye and slides down my face. He watches it, fascinated, rubbing the path where it’s fallen, and then he leans forward that last little inch, and his lips softly brush against mine.
The world around us fades with just that small touch. Fire lights in my veins, spreading warmth and working away the chill settled into my skin. If magic were real, the soft brush of his lips on mine would be what convinces me. There’s a pulse of electricity between us, a feeling that his lips were always meant to be on mine.
I wonder if in a different life, a different world, he maybe… would’ve been… my soulmate.
Maybe it’s the writer in me, seeing magic where there isn’t, but the moment feels far deeper than the soft, comforting, grateful kiss that I’m sure Noah imagines it to be.
He doesn’t try to deepen it. Instead, he continues to hold his mouth there, until we’re just breathing in each other’s breaths. I feel…immeasurably precious in this moment. Something I’ve never felt before in my life. I wish there was a way to take a screenshot of the moment, so that you truly could hold it with you as it really was. Because there’s no way that my faded memory of this could surpass how it actually is.
When he finally moves away, I swear he takes a piece of me with him, and I almost cry out from the loss of it.
‘The cupcake is ruined,’ he remarks in a rough voice, his gaze flicking to the pile of sodden cake below us.
I reach down and take a dollop of the frosting on my finger and then streak it against his cheek.
He rolls his eyes but makes no move to get it off…then again, I guess the falling rain will take care of that.
“Thank you,” he says softly, and my cheeks flush again at the depth of emotion in his voice.
I know when we leave the cemetery, it will go back to usual. The bubble we’ve created for ourselves will pop and disappear.
But at least for a moment, I had this with him.
