Jess
Layla suddenly started cleaning the kitchen; he could quite literally see wheels turning in her head. She gave him her back in order to get to the sink and wash the cups, even though there was a dishwasher.
His hand shot up and before he could process the movement, it grabbed Layla’s ponytail. Her hair wasn’t so long, but it was enough to wrap once around his fist.
Oh no. Why did I just do that? he thought.
Jess to the audience: It looked soft. That’s why I did it, I think.
“Did you just pull her hair?” Mateo asked, suddenly appearing. His voice was sleepy, and he stared at them like they’d grown two heads.
Layla’s cat meowed angrily. Jess thought he really should get that thing to like him—it kept staring with murder in its eyes.
He didn’t let go. Layla looked at him; her neck and cheeks were flushed. That was the first time he saw her blush, and he felt one rising on his own cheeks to match hers.
“It was an accident.” He let go to sign.
“An accident? Did your fist just magically wrap around her hair?” he asked, his lips tilting up.
Jess hated him so much at that moment. Usually Mateo wouldn’t wake up even if a truck fell on him, but today he chose to be a light sleeper?
“It was instinct,” he signed.
Jess to the audience: Oh no, that came out wrong.
He shook his head at Mateo, begging him not to say the word out loud.
“Instinct?” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Kinky.”
Layla ran her hand through her hair with a frown. “Did you need anything?” she asked. “I didn’t mean to turn my back on you.”
There was a noise in his head and he realized that it was his own heartbeat. He knew she didn’t mean to; it hadn’t crossed his mind, actually.
“I was just going to say you can go work your art and I’ll cleanup,” he signed and Mateo repeated out loud.
Suddenly, Layla’s demeanor shifted. She narrowed her eyes at their friend. “Is that your jogging track suit?”
Layla was holding a knife in her hand—she was just on her way to put the knife in the dishwasher. Mateo looked down with a guilty look in his eyes.
“Were you going to sneak out to jog?” Jess asked, feeling like a parent scolding his very stupid, very annoying child.
“I am going to kill you! The doctor said no doing any activities that require pushing, pulling, or stretching, including crunches and pull-ups, or engaging in high-impact activities, such as running and other things I can’t remember,” she recited, pointing the knife at him the way you would point your finger at someone.
He wasn’t very proud of himself over what happened for the next few moments, especially because it was not the time for such things, but the sight of Layla scolding while holding a knife did something to him. He felt his body heat a little bit—he scrambled to get his head to focus on the conversation, and he adjusted his pants discreetly.
“I’m fine! It’s just a jog and I feel better,” Matty said.
“Matty, I love you, but you have this constant urge to torture yourself and you always lean into it. I’m not just staying here for six weeks to coddle you. I’m staying here because I’m scared for you and you can’t even look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong for it.”
For a moment, it looked like he was going to ignore both of them and go for it, but he seen Layla making that gesture again—the one she made when they were at the hospital and he seemed like he didn’t want to bother her, so he sighed and went back to his room.
Sometimes, Jess got the feeling Mateo loved and hated how Layla knew him so well. Too well.
“Do you want us to leave?” Jess asked him.
“No! I Googled it. A broken rib takes four to six weeks to heal, and you guys said you would stay until it healed,” he said while also signing very quickly.
“I was just making sure.”
“I didn’t expect both of you to stay but…” he took a deep breath. “I just don’t want to be alone right now.”
“You know I love that about you—that you never hesitate to ask your friends for help, but I also hate the fact that you won’t tell us why you need help.”
“I just don’t want to be alone,” he repeated.
Celia called him more than once a day when she couldn’t visit him. Her list of guests got bigger each day, and it seemed like everyone wanted a chance to go on her show. Celia had this thing where she took her guests on dates. It was different for each guest, but the purpose of it was also to help small business owners get more exposure through the show, while making the guests more comfortable to talk about whatever it was that they wanted to talk about. At that moment, she was choosing a list of places for the new season, which meant she was a bit more busy than usual.
Eventually, because none of them could sleep and none of them wanted to be alone, they decided to watch the movie 10 Things I Hate About You. It was a horrible movie in their opinions, but they opted for a hate-watch because it’s always more fun.
Halfway through, Jess decided he wanted to bother Layla again. “She’s starting to accept him, just like Layla is accepting me,” he signed. Mateo repeated the words out loud.
“I am not. I’m living with you for a couple of weeks, so I will tolerate you.”
He grabbed a paper and wrote very big. “I THINK SHE’S FALLING IN LOVE WITH ME.”
Matteo wrote an even bigger “YOU WISH!” and circled it while stuffing his mouth with popcorn.
Layla nodded. “I find him very annoying,” she said to their friend, “but I will admit, you have miskeen eyes so I can understand why some people tolerate you.”
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“None of your business.”
“I can just Google it, you know.”
“Be my guest.”
“Matty, do you know how to spell miskeen?”
“No idea.”
Matty to the audience: I was lying for fun. I knew how to spell it.
“I think you’re starting to like me.”
She looked at the paper and shook her head. “I am not.”
For some reason, it sounds like a challenge. He met her eyes and found an amused yet determined look that said ‘I refuse to like you’.
He shrugged, smiling at her; he was very likeable, and he was going to prove it to her.
She ignored him and then facetimed Celia. She placed the phone next to her so that Celia could watch the movie as well.
They ended up falling asleep on the couch that night, all four of them.
⸻
“My beautiful brave boy,” she whispered, “why didn’t you hide like all the other kids?”
What if, what if, what if?
I’m awake, mom, he wanted to say.
I’m fine, I’m not broken, he wanted to shout.
He wanted to open his mouth, to speak, but he couldn’t. He was stuck.
Everything hurt. He was stuck. He didn’t want to be there anymore.
⸻
With a gasp, he woke up, clutching his throat. He felt so lost, so confused at where he was; this was the third night of the same dream.
The past couple of days had been terrible. The lack of sleep was messing with his head—this happened from time to time, days where he could barely get three hours of sleep and his dreams turned into nightmares.
He looked at the time. 3:33 a.m. He got up, his chest warmed with the certainty of knowing someone was going to be outside, expecting him.
Sometimes he woke up and found her there; sometimes he woke up and waited for her. The day before, she was painting his parents and she let him sit next to her and watch.
It was a very relaxing experience.
He found her in the kitchen. Her head was looking inside the fridge; there was a steaming cup of lavender tea that sat waiting for him on the counter.
Layla didn’t have to turn around to know that he was there.
“I was thinking,” she said. He took notice of his yogurt in her hand.
“Stealing my yogurt is not wise. I spit in that.” She rolled her eyes before taking a spoonful and moaning in an attempt to provoke him. He narrowed his eyes at her.
“I’ll tell you what I was thinking.” She stuffed the spoon in his mouth this time. “See how generous I am?”
“It’s literally my yogurt.”
“Anyway, I have always wanted to go to the museum of modern arts in New York. I don’t know why I keep putting it off.” This was a rare moment in which Layla shared something on her mind. He liked when she did that, but sometimes after she said it, she would change the topic really quickly and the moment would slip. He would be left there aching for it and feeling like he had let something go when he should have run after it.
“I’ll take you,” he wrote. She rolled her eyes, and she had a look that said ‘I’m serious’. So he wrote, “My parents are in New York and I go whenever I can. Come with me; let me take you.”
He really needed to see his parents. They were closer than most families; he was their only child, and they were the coolest parents in the world. He’d never met anyone who didn’t adore them.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Will you think about it?” he wrote. He really wanted to take her to the museum. He had never seen Layla smile before, and he wondered if she would smile there. He realized how much he wanted to see that smile, to earn it.
Jess to the audience: I might be in trouble.
“I’ll think about it.”
Layla left, but Salem stayed on the counter. This was a good chance for him. He ran to his room and picked out one of the treats that he’d bought—he bought thirty brands to test them out and get the satanic cat to like him. Jess didn’t want to give him the exact one Layla gave him. He wanted Salem to be able to point him out as the human who gave him the other kind of treat.
He opened the treats and put one in front of Salem. Satan blinked at him. No reaction.
“Do you know sign language? You really need to start liking me, because if you start to like me, then your mom will follow your lead. I’m getting the feeling you’re the boss here. Am I right?” Jess chuckled. The cat said nothing.
“Please, Satan, stop being so mean to me.”
The cat stole the treat and went to hide.
Jess to the audience: It’s fine. I’ll get there eventually. He can’t resist my charms.
