Juniper Limits (The Juniper Series Book 2) Page 7

  He’d gotten up and made some microwave popcorn. She didn’t want to eat, but he convinced her it would help. He was too tired to talk to her, so he turned on an old western, and they watched that until she dropped off to sleep and he snuck back to bed. When he left in the morning, she had still been asleep on the couch. He wondered if she made it to work. He let his head fall to the side, and tried to relax.

  “Paul? What are you doing back here? Wait, is he sleeping?”

  Startled awake, Paul looked around, and scrubbed his hands across his face to try and get his bearings.

  Celia stared down at him, and then nudged the bottom of his shoe. Esta stood beside her, a look of amusement on her face.

  Esta gave them a little wave. “Well, have fun, kids. I’ve suddenly decided to take my break inside.”

  Once she retreated back through the doorway, Paul shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to look at Celia. It seemed sort of hard to meet her eyes. The things Malcolm and Marigold said this morning swirled around his mind. He didn’t want to screw this up, and that talk had made him worry that any direction he took could be a mistake.

  “I’ll walk you home.”

  “It’s too late and too early to go home.”

  “Whoa, a riddle.”

  Her lips curved in a small smile. “It’s too late for my parents to expect me home for dinner, but too early for me to want to be there.”

  “I get it.” He noticed she hadn’t taken one step toward leaving the parking lot. “Let’s get away from this dumpster, at least.”

  Still she didn’t move. “Where are we going?”

  What was between them was as fragile as a bubble, and he didn’t want to breathe too hard and pop it. “How about ice cream? Just a friendly ice-cream-getting-thing. Friendly ice cream, no pressure. And I have money this time, so I’ll buy. I owe you ice cream. You bought mine the day Fay left, which I’m still sorry about. These days I always carry enough extra for ice cream, should the occasion arise. Sorry I mentioned Fay. I know you miss her. I’m going to stop talking now.”

  The tiniest of laughs escaped from her lips. He looked down at them, painted red and parted slightly. He forced himself to lift his eyes quickly back to hers, but he knew from her expression that she saw him see her mouth. He was getting this all wrong.

  She looked up at him for a minute longer, her eyes revealing nothing. Finally, she uncrossed her arms and took a few steps in the direction of the Dream Cone, looking back to make sure he followed.

  He sighed, right on her heel. He was forever saying too much and she was forever not saying enough. Once they hit the sidewalk, he took his hands out of his pockets and caught up to walk next to her—but not too close. He tried to picture how he walked down the sidewalk with Malcolm. His forearm brushed against hers, and he felt dizzy. “Sorry. Juniper needs wider sidewalks.”

  “It’s fine, Paul.” After a silent couple of blocks, they rounded the corner and Dream Cone was up ahead. It was crowded, as usual.

  “Oh, look,” Celia pointed to the side of the building. “Those people are leaving. I’ll snag the table while you order?”

  Paul rubbed his palms together, relieved she was going to let him pay her back. “So what’ll it be? Banana split? Hot fudge sundae?”

  “A small vanilla cone, please.”

  “But that’s a dollar. The banana split you bought me was four dollars.”

  “It’s what I want.”

  “Okay then, I’ll just have to buy you three more, on three different nights.”

  Celia shook her head as she slid onto the bench at the empty table, smiling faintly.

  Paul headed over to wait in the massive line, hoping she didn’t bolt while he was away. She always seemed fine when they were together, but any time apart lost them any ground they had gained. He couldn’t keep himself from looking over at her every three seconds, then looking away before she noticed. Eventually he gave up the pretense and watched her blatantly.

  Most people, when they sat alone, occupied themselves with their phones, but Celia didn’t have a phone. She was a people-watcher. A small scowl played across her face as she listened to the kids at the table beside her. Paul had to chuckle, wondering what they were talking about.

  Eventually it was his turn, and he got their ice cream and carried it over. “One tiny cone for the lady, and one massive hot fudge parfait for the growing lad.” He sat on the bench across from her.

  She reached for her cone, and it wobbled this way and that as they both struggled not to touch fingers during the transfer. “Surely you’re done growing. You’re probably six feet already.”

  He swallowed the huge bite he had just shoveled in. “Yeah, I am, but I haven’t caught Malcolm yet. I won’t rest until I have surpassed that bastard. Mom says my dad was really tall, and I can see from the pictures he was a big guy, so maybe I won’t always be so skinny.”

  “I don’t think you’re skinny.”

  “I’m kind of skinny.”

  “You only think so because you hang around Malcolm. He’s the abnormal one.”

  “It’s the weight room. They make all the players lift.”

  She wiped her mouth with her napkin, and didn’t look at Paul as she said, “Well, I like the size you are.”

  “Yeah?”

  She smirked. “Any bigger and your head would look way too small.”

  His laughter drew the attention of the people nearby. He ignored them and leaned in, trying to be quieter. “Oh man, now you’re getting vicious.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Ronan and another guy on the sidewalk, approaching the Dream Cone. Contempt twisted him in knots. Paul’s sensible side hoped Ronan would just walk on by and ignore them, but his dark side wanted to be provoked. The anger built as Ronan got closer. It balled up in his arms and hands, and he hid his fists under the table.

  Ronan walked to the edge of the patio, and stopped with his arms crossed over his puffed out chest. “Hi there, Babe.” Babe. Damn, Paul hated his smug, arrogant voice.

  Celia angled her head away from him, letting her hair hide her face, and stared at the sticky surface of the table. Paul sat up taller and glared at Ronan.

  Even though Celia hadn’t acknowledged him, Ronan continued talking. “Out with this douche, I see. Didn’t take you long to move on. But don’t worry, I’m not mad. I wouldn’t expect any different from a slut like you.”

  A sharp gasp escaped from Celia. Paul shut his eyes tight, concentrating on the red behind his eyelids so he wouldn’t do something reckless. He took a steadying breath and opened his eyes to look at the anxious girl before him. He needed something to ground him, to link him to her feelings instead of Ronan’s. It was risky, but he unclenched one fist and brought it to her hand, the one that wasn’t holding her dripping ice cream cone. He brushed his fingertips across the back of her hand.

  “Celia, do you want me to go punch him in the throat?” He wanted her to say yes, was also scared she’d say yes. He’d never hit anyone before. He’d never wanted to hit anyone before. He didn’t like the feeling.

  She laughed. A deep, true, belly laugh. He hadn’t heard a laugh like that from her, and it invaded him, pushing the anger out, crowding out the worry, and replacing it with something new.

  “No, Paul, don’t go punch him in the throat.” She paused to laugh again. “It’s nice of you to offer, but I’ve had my fill of violence. I kind of figured you for a guy who was more into peace.” She looked out into the evening, behind the building and past all the people. “It’s one thing I really like about you.”

  Paul swallowed, wondering if he should confess to her all the anger that had just visited him. He decided against it, but moved his hand away from hers. It didn’t seem right that he touch her when she didn’t know what he was capable of thinking. He looked over to where Ronan and his friend had stood, to see that they were gone. Celia had banished them with her laughter.

  8

  “I need to confess something. I hav
e to be honest.”

  “Paul. You’re plenty honest. Too honest.”

  He laughed. “I’m sure people say the same thing about you.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, maybe they do. They say a lot of things. You just heard one of them.” We were wandering the streets now, having quickly finished our ice cream and leaving by silent agreement. I’d watched Ronan walk off with that stupid swagger he had, laughing, John patting him on the back like he thought it was awesome how Ronan laid into me. Babe. Douche. Slut. Ronan may have walked away, but his words pursued me.

  Let them laugh. It didn’t matter to me. Paul’s reaction had been perfect, but he better not be planning to throw me a pity party right now.

  “When I held your hand—”

  My heart pounded in my chest. I would never forget the gentle way he touched my hand and how it turned everything around me into background noise. How it made those words go away for one perfect moment. If he said he was sorry for that, I’d be the one to do some throat punching. I interrupted him to keep him from saying it was a mistake. “Yeah, about that—” Slut. Babe. Slut. Douche.

  He interrupted me back. “When I touched your hand, I liked it. A lot. I mean, I will be your friend—I am your friend. And I’ll try to stop liking it, but since I did like it so much, I thought you should know. Full disclosure, and all that.”

  I stared at him. Why was he forever saying every little thing he thought and felt? He kept walking, all relaxed and easy like he didn’t just say what he said. Trying to think was like trying to run through water. I waved my hand, brushing it off. “You’ll get over it once you know me better.”

  “Celia, I’m trying to tell you something.”

  “And I’m trying to stop you from saying it.”

  “You don’t want me to say it?”

  “No way. Full disclosure scares me to death.”

  He chuckled. “I thought you liked risks.”

  “Not that kind. Say the word and I’ll go sky diving. Take me to a volcano and I’ll look down into it. Drive me around too fast in a car. Put me on any roller coaster. Cut two feet off my hair. But don’t expect me to talk about feelings.”

  He bit his lip, and was quiet a moment. “I won’t make you talk about feelings.”

  “Good.”

  We stopped walking, and he just stood there, staring at me. “It’s just that I need to make sure I’m being fair. I don’t want you to end up mad at me if I have feelings you don’t have.”

  “You’re still talking about feelings.”

  “Yeah, but mine, not yours.”

  I sucked in my cheeks so I wouldn’t smile. “You’re making too big a deal of this, Paul.” I wasn’t sure how I went from being certain he wasn’t really serious about wanting to be with me, to trying to talk him out of it, but here we were.

  He swallowed, and then he moved his right hand forward a few inches, until it brushed against my left hand. He slid his pointer finger along the side of mine, slowly, from knuckle to tip. He brushed the back of his hand over the back of mine. I inhaled sharply, but didn’t move away. “I’m not making it a big deal. It is a big deal.”

  I looked up and met his eyes—a mistake which emboldened him. He inched his hand around mine until our palms touched. He didn’t grasp my hand, but feathered his fingertips over mine, and I nearly fell against him when I saw him tremble.

  He quickly pulled his hand away, just before I could close my fingers around his. I felt the absence. It was like when somebody tugs off your hat on a freezing winter day—a shock to the system. He took a step back and gave me an uncertain smile, and I did the only thing I could think of. I turned and ran.

  I rapped on the glass a little too hard. As I waited, my own breathing sounded too loud, the car that drove by went too fast, my heartbeat pounded in my ears with too much pressure. Everything was too much. It was nearly dark—too dark.

  I didn’t know what to do after I ran away from Paul, so I just kept running. I ran all the way to the edge of town and turned down a gravel road and kept going. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but it didn’t feel as deathly this time. All that was required of me was to pump my legs, which was a relief. So much so, that I planned my next run for tomorrow morning before work. It was the walk back into town that was problematic—all that time thinking things and then trying to unthink them.

  Esta slid up the window and stuck her head out. “Good grief. Just come in the front door.”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t want to have to say hello to your parents. Now give me a hand.” I stuck my hand out, and she grabbed my hand in a fist and braced my elbow with her other hand.

  “I should put a step ladder out there.”

  “You really should.” I jumped up and heaved my body through the window. When I righted myself, I looked around her room. “This place is a sty.”

  “If you’re going to complain about it, I can shove you right back out that window.”

  I laughed, and Esta sat in the chair by her desk.

  I went to her bed and pushed a pile of clothes onto the floor, straightened her blanket, then flopped backward onto her pillow. “I am in over my head.”

  “You’re always in over your head. That’s why being your friend is so fun. I’m so boring I’m only in up to my knees. Maybe someday, if I keep taking lessons from you, I’ll be in up to my waist.

  I smiled and stared up at the ceiling.

  “So, how are…things?” Esta asked, a hair elastic dangling from her lips, as she swept her hair up into a ponytail.

  She was asking about my parents. I still didn’t know what to think about the way Fay blabbed all our family business to Esta. On one hand, Esta was my best friend, and having her know was freeing. I didn’t have to pretend everything was fine if it wasn’t.

  On the other hand, I didn’t like to talk about it, and it felt like we had to figure each other out all over again. For weeks now, she’d been tiptoeing around me and acting like I was made of glass, which was incredibly annoying. Especially since things were really, really good at home at the moment, and right now I just wanted to talk about a boy.

  I waved my hand at her. “It’s not about that. I came here to ask you a question.”

  “Okay, shoot.” She sat down on the chair by her desk, and propped her feet up on the bed.

  I cleared my throat. “Why did I kiss Jared Decker?”

  She gave it to me straight, no pandering, no pretending she didn’t know what I meant, which was the reason I came to her. “Because he told you Danielle would kiss him if you wouldn’t.”

  I sat up. “Exactly! That’s exactly what he said. But why did that convince me to do it?”

  She thought for a minute. “It was probably lots of reasons. You’re competitive. You don’t like people to think you won’t do stuff. You didn’t want him to call you a baby. You didn’t want him to kiss Danielle.”

  I crossed my legs and looked at her. “I notice you didn’t say it was because I liked him.”

  She looked down. “You were, what, thirteen years old? Nobody knows what they’re doing at thirteen.”

  I looked down, too. “Yeah. I guess. But here’s another thing. Jared started out as a jerk, so I should have known better, but what about all the guys who started out nice and then turned into jerks?” I glanced at her, my best friend of a million years. I was too ashamed to tell her what Ronan said to me earlier, so I danced around it. “I’ve never had a good boyfriend. Why is that? Why have all the boys I’ve kissed, been out with, heck—looked at sideways; why has every single one of them been mean to me eventually? All of them started out nice in the beginning.”

  Esta looked at her knees and murmured, “They weren’t actually nice in the beginning.”

  “What? Yes they were, aside from Jared they totally were.”

  “No, they weren’t.”

  “They weren’t?” My heart pounded in my ears. Weren’t they?

  She sucked in her bottom lip, crossed her arms over her chest, and studied
me. “They weren’t.”

  I took a deep breath. “Okay, so I’m a shitty judge of character. I can’t even tell who’s nice and who isn’t.” My voice wobbled and I lifted my chin. Slut. Babe. Would the words never stop?

  “It’s not about being able to tell who’s nice. It’s about listening to your gut. And the things coming out of their mouths.”

  I glared at her, but lovingly.

  “You liked being liked. It’s understandable. You really wanted that, so you ignored a lot of stuff. You kind of do that. I think sometimes you ignore your gut feelings—and just your feelings in general, gut and otherwise.”

  I pondered it. It was true I didn’t much like feelings. Life would be a lot easier without those freaky, unreliable things. “Maybe.”

  We were quiet for a minute. My cheeks felt hot as I thought about how I literally ran away from Paul. I’d made a fool of myself, again. What was he thinking of me now? I didn’t think he was like the other guys, but how was I supposed to know for sure? “I’m such an idiot.”

  “No you’re not,” she said quietly. “I mean, you live with a lot of mixed signals.”

  “Don’t.” I did not want her to bring my family into this. I would not blame my messed-up family for my mistakes. I slammed the door shut on that thought.

  “Okay, I won’t. But someday you’ll have to address it in therapy.”

  I rolled my eyes, but I had to laugh a little, too.

  “So, how’s Paul?” Her voice trailed off at the end, not wanting to make it seem like a big deal.

  Paul. My stomach spun in a delicious way. I had discovered I could will that feeling to happen, if I wanted. All I had to do was close my eyes and pretend we were back in the water, or standing on the sidewalk with his fingers touching mine again. Or that he was giving me that look he gave me when he said that thing about hope.

  Hope. This morning Dad scrubbed the pancake griddle for Mom, and kissed the top of Abe’s head before he left for work. My mom put her hand on her hip and smiled at me after he was gone, as if to say, See? I told you things would be good from here on out.