The Distance Between US by Lindsey Osorio (read an ebook week TXT) 📕

“You two are the most in-love not-dating people I’ve met. Hold on.” She walks toward the back of the store and calls to Lydia, the owner. “The books are in order and the sign is flipped. Do you need me to do anything else?”

“No. Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Skye hooks her arm around my elbow and leads me out the back door, cutting across the alley to the back of the doll store. “Where’s your mom?” she asks, pointing to the empty space where our car is normally parked.

“She ran to the store after we closed.”

“So anyway, back to career day. I don’t get what you’re going to do with Xander.”

“Neither do I. I was planning on spying on my mom. But I can see it’s a bad idea.”

She laughs.

“I had one other idea for a career day.”

 

We walk up the stairs to my apartment.

“I talked to Eddie last week and he said he’d teach us how to make his famous muffins.”

Skye makes a face. “Why?”

“Because Xander likes them. He likes all food, really. Everywhere we go we end up at his favorite restaurant. I thought maybe he could talk to Eddie, see if owning his own restaurant is something he’d enjoy.”

“Aww,” Skye says. “Now that’s thoughtful. And sweet.” She walks to the fridge once we’re inside. “And you pretend not to love the guy.”

I smile as she digs through the contents of the fridge. The light on the answering machine is blinking. I hit the button. “One new message,” the robotic voice says, followed by a lady. “Hi, Ms. Meyers, this is Tina from Dr. Saunders’s office. We went ahead and scheduled that ultrasound for you on the fifteenth. Please show up half an hour early and make sure you drink all the water we talked about. If you have any questions please don’t hesitate to call.”

I hear the fridge close behind me.

“I didn’t know your mom was pregnant,” Skye says.

“Pregnant? What?”

“Ultrasound. That’s what they do for pregnant people.”

My brain is just barely registering the words she said. “No, she’s not.”

“Oh, then why is she getting an ultrasound?”

There have to be other reasons people get ultrasounds. “I don’t know.”

“Has she been nauseous? Tired?”

I think back. She hadn’t been eating very well lately. Maybe it’s because she’s been sick to her stomach. And she has definitely been tired. I nod.

“So she’s probably pregnant.” She nods her head toward the answering machine. “Plus they asked her to drink all that water. That’s what they tell pregnant people to do so they can get measurements.”

I shake my head back and forth over and over.

“It’s kind of exciting, though, don’t you think? You’re going to have a little brother or sister.”

“Exciting? Yeah, right. No. She’s not pregnant. That’s ridiculous. She doesn’t even have a . . .” I realize I was about to say “boyfriend.” It’s very possible that she does have a boyfriend. “She’s not pregnant.” But if she’s not pregnant then what is she? Anxiety washes over me. Is something wrong with her? People don’t get ultrasounds just because. . . . Do they? Maybe once you’re older that’s a standard procedure.

Skye moves in front of me and pets my shoulders. I must’ve gone completely catatonic. “It’s probably not a big deal. Even if she is pregnant it’s not a big deal.”

“She’s not pregnant,” I insist. “She’s too old to be pregnant.”

Skye laughs. “She’s only thirty-five.” Her phone chimes and she pulls it out and smiles after reading the text. “It’s Henry. The band is hanging out at Scream Shout. You want to go?”

I look at the now-solid light on the answering machine. Then I glance at the door. I can’t catch my breath. When will my mom be home? I need to ask her about this. But will she tell me? She’s been refusing to tell me anything for weeks now.

It’s nothing. My mom is fine. Standard procedure. “Yes. I’ll be right down. Give me one minute.”

She hesitates but then leaves. I scribble a note about spending the night at Skye’s and leave it on the counter. I pack a few things in my backpack and lock the door behind me.

We walk into Scream Shout and it’s practically deserted. The bartender points to the door off to the side of the stage when Skye gives him the questioning shoulder raise. Then she marches across the club and straight to the door. Music from a back room seeps down the dim hall. We follow the sound. The band is sitting on couches in a small back room and look up when we enter.

Henry greets Skye by singing a soft “There’s my beautiful girl,” accompanied by a few strums of his guitar.

She smiles and slides into the small space between him and the arm of the couch.

Mason winks at me. “Hey, Caymen.”

“Hi.” I throw my backpack against the wall, find some floor space, and settle in. I just want to melt into the floor and fade from existence for a while. It seems to work as the guys start goofing around with lyrics and music. I let the blended melodies bounce around inside me.

Derrick, the drummer, randomly sings about his day. How he drove in his car and listened to the radio. How he went to the store and picked up some milk and on and on. I stop listening until he asks, “What rhymes with ‘fire hydrant’?”

Mason gets serious and I think he’s going to say something like “Don’t be an idiot. Why are you singing about a fire hydrant?” But instead he says, “I don’t know, ‘wire tyrant’?”

“What’s a wire tyrant?” Henry asks.

“You know, someone who hoards all the wire. It’s a rising epidemic.”

I give a small laugh.

“How about ‘tired rant’?” Skye says. “If you draw it out, it rhymes good enough.”

“This is our tired rant about a useless fire hydrant,” Henry sings.

Mason laughs. “This is our tired rant about Henry the wire tyrant.”

“How can a rant be tired?” I ask. “Aren’t rants by nature lively?”

Henry strums a chord, looks up at the ceiling for a minute while playing several more chords, then sings, “I’m so tired of the same old rant when what I really need is a second chance.”

Mason points at him. "Yes. Let's call the song 'Fire Hydrant.'"

They laugh, but Derrick starts writing on a notepad as they yell out more lines about making up and starting over. I don’t believe I just witnessed the birth of a song that started out with the words “fire hydrant.” It’s weird to see something created from nothing. I think about myself and how Xander is trying to create something out of my nothing life. How he kind of has. He took the ridiculousness, the fire hydrant, from my song and made me realize it could be something more, something different.

After the day I had, this thought makes me happy. I start shouting out lines with them. They get pretty far on the song before ridiculousness is reintroduced when someone yells, “And why won’t you just let me eat turtle soup?”

Skye gasps in offense but then everyone laughs.

At ten o’clock the laughter has not ceased. We’ve gotten past laughter and into slaphappy stupidity. Skye is on the floor draped across me. “I better get you home, little girl,” she says. “It’s a school night for the underage one.”

“I’m spending the night at your house!” I yell.

“You are?”

“That’s what my note told me so it must be true.”

“Yay! Slumber party.”

“We should toilet paper someone’s house,” I say.

“Yes. We should TP someone’s house. Whose?”

“I don’t know.” Then I raise my hand like she’s a teacher. “Xander’s!”

She laughs. “Who wants to TP Xander’s house?”

The guys just look at us and groan.

“We don’t need you.” I stand. “Let’s go.”

Skye runs ahead, but just as I clear the door, I’m tugged back by my arm. I whirl around and face-plant against Mason’s chest. We’re standing just outside the door in the dim corridor.

He kisses my cheek. “You left without saying good-bye.”

I step back and meet his eyes. “I’m . . .”

He blinks hard. “You and Xander, huh?”

“I think so.”

“Are you sure you fit?”

I know exactly what he means, but as an image of Xander pops into my head I nod.

He shrugs a lazy shrug. “You know where to find me.” With that he disappears back into the room.

Chapter 31

 

Skye and I each hold two rolls of toilet paper and stare at the gated fence of Xander’s house. “Isn’t it too early to TP?” Skye asks. “It’s not even ten thirty. The house lights are all on.”

“It’s never too early. The real question is how are we going to get inside?” I try to squeeze through two wrought iron bars and my thigh gets stuck. I start laughing.

“Have you ever been this irresponsible in your life?” Skye asks.

“I don’t think so.”

“The silly you is fun.” Skye takes me by the armpits and tries to pull me out. She’s a laughing mess. Finally she tugs me free and I land on top of her, both of us falling to the ground.

“Let’s just TP the bars of the gate.”

“Is Xander going to find this as funny as we do?” she asks.

I have no idea. “For sure.”

It’s dark, but we manage to wrap toilet paper around the bars. When did being immature provide so much entertainment? It takes me a minute to realize I can see my task better and another minute to realize it’s because someone is shining a flashlight. The flashlight holder clears his throat. “Ladies. You enjoying yourselves?”

“Yes, very much,” Skye says, and we both turn around to a security personnel of sorts giving us a disapproving stare.

“How cute. It’s a rent-a-cop,” Skye says.

He lowers his brows. “A rent-a-cop who knows the number for the police station. Let’s go have a word with Mr. Spence, shall we?”

This news should’ve introduced some somberness into the evening but it doesn’t. Maybe because it didn’t seem real when we were standing there holding toilet paper in the dark. It seems a lot more real standing on Mr. Spence’s porch with him scrutinizing us. Then how come I still can’t stop laughing?

“What would you like me to do, sir?” Rent-a-cop asks.

Mr. Spence looks at me again and tilts his head. I wonder if he’ll remember having met me before. Why would he? I’m just a name he met weeks ago. So when he says, “Caymen? Right?” the smile is shocked from my face.

I nod. Of course he remembers me. I am the symbol of his son’s rebellion. I am the last girl on earth Mr. Spence would approve of. My name and face are probably ingrained in his memory.

“Are you pranking my son?”

I nod again.

He laughs. “I’ll be honest. None of my kids have ever been toilet-papered. Is that what it’s called?” He turns to the rent-a-cop. “We’re fine, Bruce.” Then back to us he says, “Why don’t you girls come in?”

My chest tightens in panic as I look at the toilet paper rolls still gripped in my hands. “No. That’s okay. We’ll go now. If you loan me a trash bag we’ll even clean up the mess.”

He waves off the suggestion. “No. We have grounds-keepers for that. And I insist. You must come inside.”

“It’s late. We—”

“Caymen?”

 

Xander’s voice is like an instant