still have the car?”
I begin to shake my head but then halt, contemplating how to respond. “Well, it’s parked in the garage at my mom’s house, but it’s not his anymore.” I summon a breath as he gives me a confused look and even though I don’t want to, I add, “He died six years ago. He left the car to me, but I don’t know… I’d feel weird driving it.” I have no idea why I’m telling him this. I never talk to people about my father, except for Landon and sometimes the camera.
“I get it,” he states. This look crosses his face; sadness, mixed with anger, tinted with shame. “Sorry about Nikki. She’s just pissed off at me about… well, I honestly can’t fucking remember.” He gazes off, looking lost, and I notice how red and bloodshot his eyes are. He’s probably stoned and by morning he probably won’t remember any of this. Or me. Strangely, that thought makes me a little depressed.
“You don’t need to apologize for her.” I place my feet underneath me and stand up, dusting the dirt off the back of my legs. “It’s not your fault. Nikki is always kind of bitchy, if I’m remembering right.”
A smile starts to form at his lips, but it dissolves by the time I take my next breath. “Well, that’s nice to know. That it’s not just me that unleashes it from her.”
I relax back against the railing and prop my elbows against the wood. There are only the steps between us, but he seems really far away from me. “How do you know her? You don’t live here, right?”
He shakes his head as he puts the cigarette into his mouth and takes a drag. “I’m just here for the summer. Tristan’s my cousin, and I need a place to crash. He stepped up.” Smoke eases from his lips as he shrugs with a miserable look on his face.
“Tristan’s nice,” I say, shuffling my toes back and forth in front of me. “I’ve known him since I was a kid.”
“Yeah, he’s a good guy.” He frowns at the ground, his brow puckered. “He can totally look past stuff, you know.” He lets out a faltering exhale, and when he looks up at me I nearly fall down. It’s too much. He looks so much like him, and I don’t know what to do. My heart feels like it’s rupturing open again. I want to run, hide, and not go through this again, but I also what to take the pain away from him, like I couldn’t do the first time around.
“What’s your name?” I ask, taking a tentative step toward him, knowing that by asking I’m pushing the door open a little.
“Oh, sorry,” he apologizes, extending his hand. His palm is covered with smudged charcoal. “It’s Quinton.”
I half-expected him to say Landon. My fingers tremble as I place my hand into his, but once I come into contact with him, I find myself feeling calm for the first time in a year. “It’s nice to meet you, Quinton.”
“And it’s nice to meet you, Nova-like-the-car.” A small trace of a smile appears at his lips again as he wraps his long fingers around mine and his skin is warm. I don’t like that it is because the last time I touched Landon’s skin it was ice-cold, and it painfully reminds me that Quinton’s not him, that he’s just someone who looks like him, and not even that. He’s just someone who carries anguish and torture inside, like Landon did.
“So you’re going to be here for the whole summer?” I ask, unable to let go of his hand, aware that the calm will leave me the moment I let go—let go of Landon again.
He nods, adjusting his hand, and I think he’s going to pull away. But he continues to hold on to mine. “Yeah, at least until I can figure out a plan.”
“A plan?”
“Yeah, a life plan, or whatever the hell people call it.”
“I don’t call it anything,” I say with honesty. “I don’t really have one.”
He assesses me closely with a confounded expression. “Yeah, me either.” His forehead creases and he bites at his lip, fleetingly glancing at mine. “Do you want to—”
The screen door
I begin to shake my head but then halt, contemplating how to respond. “Well, it’s parked in the garage at my mom’s house, but it’s not his anymore.” I summon a breath as he gives me a confused look and even though I don’t want to, I add, “He died six years ago. He left the car to me, but I don’t know… I’d feel weird driving it.” I have no idea why I’m telling him this. I never talk to people about my father, except for Landon and sometimes the camera.
“I get it,” he states. This look crosses his face; sadness, mixed with anger, tinted with shame. “Sorry about Nikki. She’s just pissed off at me about… well, I honestly can’t fucking remember.” He gazes off, looking lost, and I notice how red and bloodshot his eyes are. He’s probably stoned and by morning he probably won’t remember any of this. Or me. Strangely, that thought makes me a little depressed.
“You don’t need to apologize for her.” I place my feet underneath me and stand up, dusting the dirt off the back of my legs. “It’s not your fault. Nikki is always kind of bitchy, if I’m remembering right.”
A smile starts to form at his lips, but it dissolves by the time I take my next breath. “Well, that’s nice to know. That it’s not just me that unleashes it from her.”
I relax back against the railing and prop my elbows against the wood. There are only the steps between us, but he seems really far away from me. “How do you know her? You don’t live here, right?”
He shakes his head as he puts the cigarette into his mouth and takes a drag. “I’m just here for the summer. Tristan’s my cousin, and I need a place to crash. He stepped up.” Smoke eases from his lips as he shrugs with a miserable look on his face.
“Tristan’s nice,” I say, shuffling my toes back and forth in front of me. “I’ve known him since I was a kid.”
“Yeah, he’s a good guy.” He frowns at the ground, his brow puckered. “He can totally look past stuff, you know.” He lets out a faltering exhale, and when he looks up at me I nearly fall down. It’s too much. He looks so much like him, and I don’t know what to do. My heart feels like it’s rupturing open again. I want to run, hide, and not go through this again, but I also what to take the pain away from him, like I couldn’t do the first time around.
“What’s your name?” I ask, taking a tentative step toward him, knowing that by asking I’m pushing the door open a little.
“Oh, sorry,” he apologizes, extending his hand. His palm is covered with smudged charcoal. “It’s Quinton.”
I half-expected him to say Landon. My fingers tremble as I place my hand into his, but once I come into contact with him, I find myself feeling calm for the first time in a year. “It’s nice to meet you, Quinton.”
“And it’s nice to meet you, Nova-like-the-car.” A small trace of a smile appears at his lips again as he wraps his long fingers around mine and his skin is warm. I don’t like that it is because the last time I touched Landon’s skin it was ice-cold, and it painfully reminds me that Quinton’s not him, that he’s just someone who looks like him, and not even that. He’s just someone who carries anguish and torture inside, like Landon did.
“So you’re going to be here for the whole summer?” I ask, unable to let go of his hand, aware that the calm will leave me the moment I let go—let go of Landon again.
He nods, adjusting his hand, and I think he’s going to pull away. But he continues to hold on to mine. “Yeah, at least until I can figure out a plan.”
“A plan?”
“Yeah, a life plan, or whatever the hell people call it.”
“I don’t call it anything,” I say with honesty. “I don’t really have one.”
He assesses me closely with a confounded expression. “Yeah, me either.” His forehead creases and he bites at his lip, fleetingly glancing at mine. “Do you want to—”
The screen door
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