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I smile. “I hope you liked it. It was hard not to keep it for myself.”
“You should have.” His eyes lift to something in the distance, out of my sight, and I catch a glimpse of this expression. He looks so different away from the lake. Sad, yes, but distanced. “I kinda like the idea of you having a picture of me.”
I laugh and pan my phone to my nightstand. And there, next to my bed is the same photo I gave him for Christmas, only the one I gave him was an oil painting of him behind the plate catching at a game. Arya got me the picture a couple months ago and I used all my allowance for two months to get it.
His eyes return and he smiles, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “That’s my girl.”
I open the package and amongst books Arya sent me and a White Strips shirt is a handmade journal bound by leather stitching and lace. The pages are deckle-edge cotton paper with a vintage lock on the side.
“Open it,” he whispers. “I wrote something on the first page for you.”
I’ve never seen his handwriting before and suddenly I’m really curious. My eyes move to his, and then back to the journal. I open it to the first page and run my fingers over the ink. I read it out-loud. “‘Show me a hero, and I’ll write you a tragedy.’ – F. Scott Fitzgerald.”
Tears burn my eyes.
“Ender….” Before I can stop them, they’re rolling down my cheeks.
“Hads.” He sighs, his voice pained. “Pretty girls aren’t supposed to cry on Christmas.”
I swallow, brush my tears away and smile at him. “It’s a happy cry,” I assure him, hating the agony in his own voice. “I love it. Thank you.”
He draws in a shaky breath, his eyes glossy. “I really miss you.”
My stomach drops. I’ve never heard him so emotional. “Ender… are you okay?”
He shakes his head and sighs again, lifting his gaze to the distance. I think I hear the door to his truck open, but I’m not sure. “I gotta go.”
Our eyes meet and I think he wants to say more, but instead he whispers, “Merry Christmas, baby,” and then his face disappears from the screen.
I stare at the FaceTime Ended notification, tears rolling down my cheeks.
25
WHEN HE BROKE MY HEART
I’m finally sixteen.
Can I legally smoke? No.
Can I legally drink? Nope.
I’m old enough to drive. That’s it.
School’s boring. I take Drivers Ed and get my license in March, but, other than that, life is boring at sixteen when the guy you love has a job and baseball occupying his time. And he lives five hours away.
I count down the days until June on a calendar in my room. I write more than I ever have before in the journal Ender got me for Christmas and enter a writing contest at school. I win first place and tuck the story away in my nightstand, never intending for anyone to read it. It’s about Ender, and if my mom or dad knew any of the feelings, they’d kill me. She’d also kill me if she knew the Snap Chats we send each other.
My mom starts selling sex toys to make extra money. Not kidding. Turns out when you’re living on your own, it’s a lot harder to raise kids, even with child support.
It’s not like my dad isn’t around anymore, though, because he is. He’s living with my uncle in Atlanta while Mom, Harper, and I are still in the old house in Savannah. I think about moving with my dad to be closer to Ender, but I can’t leave my mom. And I can’t stand my dad so that’s out of the question.
Ender and I Facetime a couple more times after Christmas and it ends in breathy moans and him telling me soon his cock will be inside my wet pussy. I blush so hard I think he feels the heat through the phone.
I start watching movies with Arya. We pick a different one every week off Netflix and Facetime throughout the entire show only to be interrupted by Ender asking who I like better, him or her?
I answerherevery time just rile him up.
Ender graduates in May. My parents won’t let me go, and I fear maybe he’s not coming to the lake this year, but he assures me he’ll come to see his girl. I still have no definition, but do I need it? Maybe it’s perfect the way it is?