Page 41

Liza

S eeing where Hartley grew up has been brewing in my mind for weeks. I have a desperate need to know everything about him, and that can’t happen without letting me into his past. He isn’t shy about his childhood or his disdain for his parents, but seeing and hearing are two different things.

“Here we are,” Hartley scoffs before turning the car off and hopping out. Violet woke up about fifteen minutes ago. Still groggy, she yawns. “Welcome to our old home, Liza.”

“My dad’s not home, Vi. Shocked?” She bites her fingernails and shakes her head in mock disbelief.

“It wouldn’t matter if he was,” she replies.

We step up two white bricked stairs to the worn, wooden entryway.

The grass is longer than usual for a neighborhood, and the garden weeds are overgrown in every direction.

The wooden planks on the front porch are dry rotted and paint chipped.

Hartley bends down and pushes one of the planks down with force.

“I used to keep up with this, but per usual, Dad let it go.”

I bend down to rub his back in the crouched position we’re in. “It’s okay.” He tilts his head, allowing my presence to center his focus.

“Let’s go in.”

Hartley sticks the key in the lock and opens the creaky door.

Once we’re all in, he reaches around to flip on the lights.

The house is as common as any I’ve seen.

The living room is put together, no trash out or foul smells emitting from the kitchen.

I follow Hartley’s lead into the kitchen space.

With the exception of a few dust bunnies, the house isn’t bad. “This is where I learned to cook.”

“I owe it to this space for making you a little chef.” I lean into his chest and kiss him on the cheek.

Violet tiptoes next to us. “I’m going to head next door and grab a few things I left. Hart, you’re good?”

“As good as I can be.”

I leave his side, catching a glimpse of something magnetized to the fridge. My hands fly out to the worn school picture of bleach blonde Hartley missing his two front teeth. “This is adorable.”

Snatching the picture out of my hand, he rebuttals, “I was always a charmer.” He inhales a deep breath and grips the photo harder.

“I remember it like it was yesterday. Dad couldn’t bother to fill out the picture form, and it was very important to me to order school pictures.

” I rub his back to urge him to continue to process the memory.

“I ran to Violet’s house, sobbing about how I wouldn’t have school pictures this year.

That’s when her grandpa stuffed ten dollars in my hand and scribbled onto the form.

” His eyes twinkle with fondness for the man credited for raising Violet and molding him into the man he is today. “He was the best.”

“He sounds incredible. I wish I could have met him.”

“Me too.” He sticks the picture back under the magnet and turns around, gripping my hand in his.

I yank him back without thinking. “Can I keep it?”

“Keep what?”

“The picture. It’s a memory worth keeping.”

He smiles, and his dimples make an appearance. “Yeah, Goldie. You should keep it.”

The next stop on the house tour is his bedroom.

Needing a little extra force to push the jammed door open, we make it through the threshold.

I’m sent back in time noticing his outer space curtains and football bedding draped over his twin sized bed.

There isn’t much furniture besides the bed and a few shelves drilled into the wall.

The shelves house what I can only assume are Hartley’s football trophies.

I walk up to them and dust off the plates to get a closer look.

I snatch one off the shelf in the shape of a microphone and flip my attention to Hartley. “Wait. Wait. Wait.”

“Here we go.” He laughs.

“You won a singing contest? Why haven’t I heard your vocals?!” I place one hand on my jutted out hip and push the trophy into his chest.

Taking the trophy from my hand, he flips it to face him and reads the golden plate.

“It was a middle school talent show.” He shakes his head back and forth, and lets out a belly laugh.

“Violet wanted to enter badly, but she was terrified to perform by herself in front of a crowd. I didn’t care about making a fool out of myself, so I told her we should do a duet. ”

“This is the best untold story I’ve ever heard.”

“Needless to say, I’m a winner, so we took home first place.”

“Cocky much?” Moving closer to him, I wrap my hands around his neck.

“The proof is in the plastic trophy, Goldie.”

“You’re ridiculous.” I plant a kiss on his nose and then on his lips.

“I like this,” he whispers. “Making better memories in this place.” A small smile spreads across his face. “Now when I envision my home, you’re in the memories.”

“I like the sound of that.”

After the house tour, Hartley drives us a few blocks down to a small park with overgrown grass and a rusty swing set.

“It’s locked,” I say at first sight of the gate denying us entry.

“Watch and learn.” He extends his interlaced hands in front of him, stretches, and cracks his knuckles before moseying up to the lock. Violet giggles behind us, and I begin to realize I’m missing something.

Sneaking up behind me, Violet whispers in my ear, “It’s fake.”

Hartley jolts the lock and chain down a bit, and the weight of the creaking gate flings open with reckless abandon. He gestures his arms out as if to say ladies first , so Violet and I enter and walk through the ankle high grass.

“I’ll be in my spot.” Violet flashes us a grin, waves, and jogs off to a far corner of the park.

“What’s her spot?”

“A wooden bench around the playset. It’s tucked away behind a huge oak.” He smiles, reliving a memory that they share. “There’s always a bird’s nest on one of the thinner branches that Vi likes to visit. She used to call them her children.”

“That’s adorable.”

“Yeah. We’re both screwed up.” He chuckles.

Hartley and I settle on the metal swings. I can’t remember the last time I saw, much less played on, a metal swing. This one has character. Rust crawls up the chain links like a vine, carving years of laughter and memories.

“While Violet was off talking to the birds, I was here. . .”

“Doing what?”

“Thinking. Losing myself in what ifs.”

“That will eat you alive,” I say, wrapping my hand around his as rust flakes off the handles. “What haunted you?”

“What if I’m never good enough. What if I let her down. What if my mom was right to leave. . .”

Dragging my feet through the sand beneath to slow my swing down, I jolt my head his way. “She wasn’t.”

“You don’t. . .”

“I do know. I also know you would never let Violet down. You saved her.”

He flips his hat around and cracks his knuckles once more, no sound coming from his calloused hands. Barely audible, he releases what’s been on his mind, “What if I let you down.”

“Hart, that’s too much pressure. You can’t take on the world. No one expects you to.”

“I want to be that guy for you. The one that takes everything on.” He stares off across the park, kicking small rocks under his feet as the swing rocks forward. “The one that loses himself in the one he loves.”

Coming out more aggressive than anticipated, I snap, “I don’t want that.” His eyes haze with confusion. “I’m sorry. I. . I meant I don’t want a prince or knight in shining armor. I want a partner . Someone who can go to battle with me. An equal.”

His chest heaves as he exhales an audible breath. “I could do that.”

“You already have,” I reply, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.

“I’m new to this,” He points at me and then back at himself, “boyfriend thing. I’ve never wanted a girl like I want you.”

“Want to know a secret?” I ask.

“Hit me.”

“You’re my first love.” I stare down, unable to face the passion in his eyes when he looks at me like that .

“No,” he argues. “You loved Layne.”

“I thought I did.” I nod with finality. “But, now I know I didn’t.”

“How do you know it’s different?”

“Loving Layne felt like what I was supposed to do. He was my boyfriend. We’d been together for a long time, and I thought that’s what it should be like. He’d planned our entire lives out, and I went with every plan.”

“Why’s that?” he questions with no judgment in his tone.

“That’s the thing. I don’t know. I put my dreams on the backburner for him.

My sole purpose in life was to follow him and make him happy.

” My eyes mist at the memories of broken promises, false love, and dreams being taken away from me before I’d had the chance to reach for them.

“With you, it’s an all-consuming love. One that feels like breathing life into my lungs for the first time. ”

His lopsided smile cracks through the hard exterior. Words of affirmation do it for him. “One where I don’t need to suppress my goals or be anyone other than myself.”

He doesn’t reply or fill the silent void with any fluff words. His energy tells me everything I need to know. I’ve got him, and he’s got me for the long haul.