Small Miracles

Nick and I have fallen into this strange routine now. Ever since Halloween, something has clearly changed between us, but neither of us are particularly interested in talking about it. At least, I’m not. I can tell he wants to very, very badly, but is respecting my wishes.

Mom, however, isn’t. “Honey,” she says while we’re closing the diner about two weeks after Halloween. “What is going on with you and Nick?”

“Excuse me?” I say.

“Come on, you can tell me. I want to know everything.” She leans her elbow on the counter, propping her chin in her hands. Lately, I’ve been noticing that Mom is sort of trying to live vicariously through me. Whenever my friends come in and I stop to talk to them, she’s happy to pass by and try to listen in on the gossip or ask about boys. At first, it was kind of cute, but after a while it just got weird.

I know this will be hard for her to hear, but I have to do it. “Mom . . . you know you’re not ‘one of the girls’, right?” I say.

She looks surprised. “What?”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” I say. “But some stuff I just want to keep to myself. And so do my friends.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“It’s just . . . sometimes, you can be kind of invasive. Like, you’re my mom, you know? None of us really wanna talk about boys with you. That’s all.”

Mom stares at me for a second. And then she says, “Well. All right. Thank you for telling me.”

“Ma, come on,” I say, because I know I hurt her feelings. “We can talk about Nick if you really wanna. What do you want to know?”

“No, no,” she says, backing away and going to clean some other tables, “It’s fine. I shouldn’t be getting into your business like that. None of your friends’ mothers do that, so why should I?”

“Mom.”

“I’m going to be forty soon,” she continues. “I’m not in high school anymore. I need to be your mom, not your friend.”

“Mom,” I say again, but she doesn’t answer. I sigh. Lately, it seems like she and I are always at odds, that there’s always some type of tension between us. Every day usually ends up with both of us going to bed without speaking, only to try again in the morning. I know that all seventeen-year-old girls fight with their moms, but deep, deep down there’s an irrational fear that one day I’ll wake up and she’ll be gone, too.

She and I finish cleaning up in silence before we get in the car and go home, retrieving James from our next-door neighbor Mrs. Bevan, who watches him sometimes. She insist to do it pro bono since we’ve known each other for so long, but we all know it’s because she feels bad for us. Mom talks on and on with James, who can literally hold a conversation about nothing, but I’m shunned to my room. She doesn’t say that, of course, but I can take a hint.

I think about texting Savannah, but then I realize there’s only one person I feel like talking to. So I send Nick a message.

Hey

He and the rest of the Falcons had an away game today. If they won (which they probably did), then they only have one or two more teams to play before they qualify for the quarter-finals, just like last year.

He responds a few minutes later

Hi

Did you win the game?

Sure did

Just for good measure, he sends a selfie with the team. Nick’s holding the phone, obviously, holding it up high to get everyone in, and they’re all holding up one finger, clearly meant to symbolize being number one.

Talking to Nick puts me in a better mood, so just to be funny, I send a selfie back, mimicking their pose.

That picture is going as my wallpaper Nick answers a few seconds later.

I’ll kill you

Yeah right

I’m just about to respond when he sends another text.

Everyone is making fun of me :( FaceTime when I get home?

Sure

I throw my phone down and sigh. I have some time to kill before he gets back, so I get some homework done until I hear my phone beeping. I wait a few seconds before answering, to make it look like I was busy (I know, I’m pathetic). “Hey.”

“Hey there, sunshine.” Nick’s lying on his bed, apparently having just gotten out of the shower. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Not much,” I say with a shrug. “How was your game?”

Nick’s eyes light up and he immediately launches into an extremely detailed report of the game, barely pausing for breath. I indulge him, nodding and half-listening, mostly focusing on how excited he gets when he describes their successful plays.

Finally, Nick finishes, “So yeah, that’s it. It was awesome. What’s up with you?”

“Oh, nothing,” I say lightly, hoping he won’t notice how fake my voice sounds.

He does. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t sound okay.”

I don’t answer, debating over whether or not I feel like opening up to him. Nick raises his eyebrows and says, “Whatever’s going on, you can tell me. If you can listen to me talk about football, then you deserve to have me listen to you talk about . . . anything, really.”

Finally, I open my mouth, and everything just comes tumbling out. I tell him all about my mom and the little spats we’ve been having and how scared I am that eventually they won’t be little spats, they’ll be big fights, and that one day I’ll wake up and she’ll be gone too.

I half-expect him to laugh, because even I know how dumb it is to think that, but he just looks thoughtful. “I know it’s stupid,” I add. “I can’t help it.”

“It’s not stupid,” Nick says immediately. “If it’s how you feel, then it isn’t stupid, Julianna.”

“Okay,” I say meekly. “So what do I do?”

“I think you should tell her what you just told me,” he says. “Just talk to her. Your mom loves you, and I don’t believe for a second she’d ever even think about leaving you and James.”

I sigh. “You’re right. Which is annoying.”

“I think you mean hilarious,” he corrects me. “Oh, how the tables have turned.”

“Shut up, or I’ll tell all your friends you sang the rap in ‘Waterfalls’ word for word the other day when we were working.”

“Don’t you have to go talk to your mom or something?”

I laugh. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay. Bye.”

I reluctantly go downstairs. James must be in his room, because Mom is alone in the TV room, sitting on the couch. Her shoes are off and her feet are propped up on the ottoman, eyes closed.

For a moment, I don’t say anything, just staring at her. Sometimes I forget that my mom is so young. Despite the bags under her eyes and the worry lines on her face, she’s still pretty, all blonde hair and brown-eyed. Getting married straight out of high school and pregnant at 20 was probably not an ideal situation, and it’s easy to let that slip my mind. Now I feel even worse.

“Mom?”

She opens her eyes and everything starts moving again. “What?”

“Can I talk to you?”

“Now you’d like to talk?” she says. I don’t answer, and even she must know how nasty that sounded, because she sighs and moves over. “I’m sorry. Of course you can.”

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier. It was mean.”

“It’s okay,” she says, sighing again. “I’m sorry for being so nosy. I just want to be close to you and be more involved in your life. I know it’s been hard for you.”

“It’s been hard for you too,” I point out. She shrugs. I continue, a little more hesitantly, “I don’t like it when we fight. Sometimes – and I know it’s dumb – but sometimes I’m afraid that we’ll fight so much that one day you’ll leave, too.”

Mom stares at me for a moment before she bursts into tears. Horrified, I move closer. “Oh, Mom, no, I didn’t mean to make you cry –”

“I’m so sorry,” she says, grabbing me and pulling me into a tearful hug. “I’m so, so, sorry that I ever made you think that. I would never, ever, ever leave you or your brothers. Ever. I promise.”

And oddly enough, I feel relieved. “I believe you,” I say into her shoulder. “And it’s not your fault. You didn’t make me think anything. It was all –”

“Don’t,” Mom says. “Please don’t.” And while part of me wants to keep on going and say it was all Dad’s fault I just nod and hug her for a little while longer.

▲ ▼ ▲

I wake up the next morning to the doorbell ringing and Mom knocking on my door. “Julie, baby, you have a visitor.” She sounds like she’s trying not to laugh. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, and check my phone: it’s only 8:30. Since Savannah never wakes up on weekends past 11, I know it’s not her.

I get up and go downstairs, but stop dead when I see Nick in my front hallway. He’s in a t-shirt and jogging shorts and looks slightly tired, but he smiles when he sees me. “Morning, sunshine.”

“Hey,” I manage to say. “What – what are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d come by.”

“To my house?”

“Yes,” Nick says, his smile faltering by the second. “Is that – is it okay? Am I intruding?” He starts to back up.

“Don’t be so rude, young lady,” Mom says, entering the room again. “Of course you’re not intruding, Nick, don’t be silly. Would you like to stay for breakfast? Have you eaten yet?”

“No ma’am, I haven’t,” Nick says respectfully. “I would love to stay for breakfast.” He glances at me, lips twitching. “That is, if Julianna doesn’t mind.”

“Whether she minds or not is irrelevant,” Mom says. “I run this house, and I say you can stay. I even made funfetti pancakes, and I know those are your favorite.” She turns and marches into the kitchen.

“Yes ma’am,” Nick says. He winks at me as he follows her into the kitchen, leaving me speechless.

I have no choice but to follow them, and I do with a sigh. Mom serves all of us pancakes, and we eat it in companionable silence, even James. Then, Mom looks up from her coffee cup and asks, “So, Nick, what exactly brought you in the neighborhood?”

Nick, to his credit, just scratches the back of his neck and smiles sheepishly. “Well, uh, I had to take my truck in for an oil change a few days ago, but I just got it back this morning? So –” He makes a vague gesture.

“That’s nice, honey. So what does that have to do with my daughter?”

I almost choke on my coffee. Nick swallows audibly. “Um, I was just – I just wondered if I could take Julianna out? To the lake?”

Mom looks at him for a long time. Then she says, “Okay.”

Nick glances at me. That was surprisingly easy.

We leave half an hour later. I have my bathing suit on and a tank top and shorts over it, and I’m carrying a stupid picnic lunch Mom insisted on packing for us. She watches from the porch, James peering out from behind her leg, and raises her eyebrows when Nick opens the door for me. I motion for her to go back inside, but she just waves.

The drive to the lake is only about five minutes. I flip through the radio stations, but they’re all either lame country songs about summer and pickup trucks and girls in shorts, or church masses being broadcast live, so Nick plugs in his phone and we listen to some song by Real Friends the entire way there.

The lake is empty, but Nick and I go further down the beach to a little clearing anyway, just to have some privacy. Even though it’s November, we do live in south Texas, so it’s still in the mid-70’s at the moment.

While I spread a blanket out on the sand and put our stuff down, Nick’s whipping off his shirt and his shoes and running into the water, whooping. I watch with amusement as he dives around and shakes his hair out like a dog. I’ve never seen him shirtless before, and while his abs aren’t chiseled, he’s definitely got muscle. I have to look away after a second.

I’m so busy studying the tadpoles that are swimming around my feet that I don’t hear Nick stealthily approaching me until he grabs me around the waist and throws me over his shoulder. “Nick!” I shriek as he wades out into the water. “Put me down! I’m serious!”

“Jules, meet water. Water, meet Jules,” he says cheerfully.

I barely manage to scream, “Nonononononono” before he throws me into the water with a huge splash. It’s cold, and I come back up sputtering and gasping before snapping, “What the fuck, Kingston?”

His face falls. “C’mon Jules, I was just joking –”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t funny.” I turn away from him, arms folded.

I hear him come closer. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –”

I spin around and splash a huge wave into his face, taking him completely by surprise. “Just kidding, asshat!”

“Hey!” he shouts, and a water fight breaks out, with both of us splashing the lake water at each other and occasionally screaming insults through mouthfuls of water. Finally, Nick says, “Okay, okay, truce! I’m getting tired.”

I splash him one more time, just for good measure, before I agree. “Okay, truce.” He gives me the finger before wading back onto shore and flopping onto the blanket.

We spend the rest of the morning like that: Nick brought a portable radio and we manage to find a non-country, non-gospel station. I brought some magazines and end up doing the crossword puzzles while Nick dozes next to me in the sun. It feels oddly domestic; we don’t talk much but it doesn’t feel like we need to.

“What’s a three-letter word for ‘business VIP’?” I say with a frown, hoping that if I talk out loud the answer will come to me.

“CEO,” Nick says sleepily. Well, that fits. I write it down, nodding.

“Thanks.”

He sits up, stretching. “I’m hungry. Let’s see what we have here.” Mom packed us some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chips, water, apple slices, and of course, her homemade chocolate chip cookies.

I want to throw away everything else and just have the cookies, but Nick, being the good athlete he is, makes me eat my sandwich and some apples first. All in all, the lunch is delicious, and I lay back on the blanket feeling very full and satisfied.

“Wish I brought a football,” Nick says wistfully, picking up some rocks and skipping them across the water idly. “Then we could play.”

“Who says I’d even want to play?”

“Well, you know how to.”

“Those are two different things.”

“You wouldn’t play? Even just with me?”

“I told you, football’s not my thing anymore.”

“It was.”

I feel like we’ve had this conversation dozens of times. “Yeah, well, that was before, okay?” I close my eyes.

There’s silence. Then, Nick is poking me in the side. “Jules. Hey, Jules.”

“What do you want.”

“Look at me, will you?”

I open my eyes and jump a little. He’s practically looming over me. “Can you smile?”

“Nope.”

“Not even a little one?”

“Nope.”

“Not even for your old pal Nick?”

“Not a chance.”

Nick’s looking at me with so much fondness in his eyes it makes my chest hurt, but I force my face to stay blank. “Well then,” he says casually. “I guess I’ll just have to . . . tickle it out of you.”

“Don’t you dare –” I start to say, but it’s too late: he pounces on me, tickling every part of me he can reach. I shriek and kick out at him; he dodges it and I take that opportunity to scramble up and run down the beach. I don’t get very far when I hear his footsteps pounding behind me. I’m stupid for trying to outrun a football player. I try to cut through the water and loop back around in an attempt to fake him out, but no such luck.

Nick tackles me and we both go falling onto the sand, landing a few feet away from the blanket. We end up so I’m flat on my back and he pushes himself onto his side, hovering over me. At first, we’re both laughing, but then as we both stop, the air grows tense.

I know I could break it by just getting up, but for some reason I don’t. He doesn’t move either, and we continue to stare at each other, not saying a word. He swallows audibly and I can tell something is about to happen.

And then, Nick mumbles what sounds like, “Fuck it,” before leaning down and kissing me. It’s a soft, gentle one that lasts for few seconds before he pulls back and we stare at each other wide-eyed.

“Oh God,” Nick says, breaking the silence. “Oh shit. I’m sorry. I should’ve – I should’ve asked you if that was okay. I’m – I just fucked everything up, didn’t I?”

“No,” I say finally, surprising both him and myself. “No, you didn’t. That was okay. Very okay.”

“Oh,” Nick answers in an even smaller voice. “That’s good.”

I nod, and now it’s me who’s reaching up, putting a hand on the back of his neck and pulling him down to meet me. This time, the kiss is deeper, his hand on my hip and his mouth open against mine and his heart beating fast against my chest. He tastes like peanut butter and he smells like soap and he just feels so, so good and I realize that this, this is what I want. I want warm and I want good and I want him.

I don’t know how long we stay like that, but when we finally break apart again, Nick’s mouth is bitten and red and I’m sure mine is too. “Well,” he says.

“Well,” I repeat, and then we both start to laugh.

We pack up our things and get ready to go back, but it’s different this time, because now Nick keeps leaning over and giving me these soft kisses. We drive home in silence, although he hums along happily to the radio.

He pulls up in front of my house. “See you later,” he says, shyly.

“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks for today.” Before I can lose my nerve, I lean over and kiss him again.

When I pull back, he’s got that dopey grin on his face. “Anytime.”

I get out and watch him drive away, and it’s only when I go up to my room (after dodging Mom’s questions) and look in my mirror that I realize I have a stupid smile on my face too.