Lola and the Boy Next Door

chapter thirteen

It’s been years since I’ve been here, but Muir Woods still makes me feel as if I’ve stepped into a fairy tale. It’s an enchanted forest, I’m sure of it. Amid the trees are devilish wood sprites and red mushroom caps with white spots and faeries tempting mortals with golden fruit. The redwoods have the same soothing effect on me as the moon. They seem as old as the moon. Ancient and beautiful and wise.

And I need that right now.

The remainder of the drive was restless, but at least it passed quickly. The park is only forty minutes from home. After strolling the trail for a while, we split up. Nathan and Andy, Cricket and me. We’ll meet back at the car in a few hours, and because it’s not Max, my parents don’t ask me to check in with them. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear they’re trying to set me up.

Wait. Are my parents trying to set me up?

No, they know I have a boyfriend. And Nathan hates the idea of me dating anyone. They must see Cricket as the trustworthy friend he is. Right?

“Is it okay if I eat this in front of you?” Cricket sounds hesitant.

We’re sitting beside the creek that runs through the park, half of the picnic spread before us. He holds up the sandwich Andy made for him. It’s smoked salmon with cream cheese and sliced avocado.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

He points at my hummus wrap. “You’re still a vegetarian, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. But it doesn’t bother me to see other people eating meat, I just can’t stomach the thought for myself.” I pause. “Thanks for asking. Most people don’t ask.”

Cricket turns toward the bubbling creek and stretches out his legs. His pants are well-worn, faded pinstripes and frayed hems. It’s appropriate for the outdoors as far as his wardrobe is concerned, and once again, I find myself admiring his sense of style.

God, he has good taste.

“I just don’t want to offend you.” He sets down his sandwich but picks at the poppy seeds on the bread. “I mean, any more than I already have.”

A lump forms in my throat. “Cricket.You’ve never offended me.”

“But I hurt you.” His voice grows quiet. “I wish that I hadn’t.”

The words are tumbling out before I can stop them. “We were so close, and then you just dropped me. I felt like such an idiot. I don’t understand what happened.”

He stops flicking poppy seeds. “Lola. There’s something I need to tell you.”

The acceleration of my heartbeat is sudden and painful. “What is it?”

Cricket faces me with his entire body. “When we talked at our windows that last night,” he says, “I knew something was wrong. I could tell you were hurt, when I thought I was the one who was supposed to be hurt. But I was so upset about the moving thing that it took me weeks to put the pieces together.”

I draw back from him. Why should he be the hurt one? He’d excluded me.

There’s an excruciating pause as his fingers tense and flex. “My sister lied. I didn’t know about the party until we got home and a crowd of people jumped out and yelled ‘surprise.’ Cal told me that she’d invited you, and that you’d turned her down. I believed her. It wasn’t until later that I realized you were hurt because she hadn’t.”

Anger swells inside of me. “Why would she do that?”

He looks ashamed. “She dodged the question, but it’s obvious, isn’t it? She claimed she was trying to do something nice—throw a party for me, not for her or for the both of us. Sometimes . . . I get overlooked. But she did it out of fear, because she thought she was losing me.”

“You mean, she did it out of spite, because she’s a bitch.” My own fury startles me.

“I know it seems that way, but it’s not. And it is.” Cricket shakes his head. “It’s been the two of us for so long. Her career hasn’t given her much of an outside life. She was scared of being left behind. And I’m just as guilty; I let her get away with acting like that, because she was all I had, too.”

No. She wasn’t.

He stares at his hands. Whatever word he wrote there, it’s been crossed off. There’s only a black box. “Lola, you were the only person I wanted there that night. I was crazy about you, but I didn’t know what to do. It was paralyzing. There were so many times when I wanted to take your hand, but . . . I couldn’t. That one small move felt impossible.”

Now I’m staring at my hands, too. “I would have let you take it.”

“I know.” His voice cracks.

“I had a present for you and everything.”

“I’m sure I would have loved it. Whatever it was.” He sounds heartbroken, and the sound breaks mine. “I had something for you, too.”

“On your birthday?” That’s so like him. There’s another sharp pain in my chest.

“I made this mechanism that could run between our windows, and I thought we could use it to send each other letters or gifts. Or whatever. It sounds stupid now, I know. Something a little kid would think up.”

No. It doesn’t sound stupid.

“It was supposed to be ready on your birthday, but I wanted it to be perfect. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. But I was stalling. I blew it. I messed up everything.”

I rip off the end of my hummus wrap. “Calliope messed up everything.”

“No. She never would have been a problem if I’d told you how I felt. But I didn’t, not even when I knew we were moving—”

“You knew you were moving?” I’m shocked. For some reason, this news is worse than Calliope’s betrayal. How could he keep that from me?

“I couldn’t tell you.” His body twists in misery. “I thought you’d give up on me. And I kept hoping the move wouldn’t actually happen, but it was confirmed that night.”

He waits for me to look at him. Somehow, I do. I’m overwhelmed by sadness and confusion. I can’t take any more. I want him to stop, but he doesn’t. “I’ll only say this once more. Clearly, so there’s no chance of misinterpretation.” His eyes darken into mine. “I like you. I’ve always liked you. It would be wrong for me to come back into your life and act otherwise.”

I’m crying now. “Cricket . . . I have a boyfriend.”

“I know. That sucks.”

It surprises me, and I give a choked laugh. Cricket pushes a napkin toward me to blow my nose. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Was it wrong for me to say that?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

We’re able to laugh as I wipe away my mascaraed tears, but our lunch is resumed in agonizing silence. The distance between us feels too close, too far, too close. It’s warmer than it should be underneath this green canopy. My mind throbs. I’ve always liked you. What would my life have been like had I known this unquestionably?

He still would have moved away.

I’ve always liked you, I’ve always liked you, I’ve always liked you.

But maybe we would have stayed in contact. Maybe we’d even be together now. Or maybe I would have lost interest. Am I only fixated on Cricket because of our traumatic history? Because he was my first crush? Or does something about him transcend that?

He’s polishing the skin of a golden apple against his arm. Faeries. Temptation.

“Remember that day I made you the elevator?” he suddenly asks.

I give him a faint smile. “How could I forget?”

“That was the day I had my first kiss.”

My smile fades.

“I’m better now.” He sets the apple beside me. “At kissing. Just so you know.”

“Cricket . . .”

He holds my gaze. His smile is sad. “I won’t.You can trust me.”

I try not to cry again. “I know.”

Despite this complication—knowing he liked me then, knowing he likes me now, and knowing he never purposefully hurt me—as we walk through the woods, the smoky haze between us lifts. The air is tender but clear. Am I that selfish? Did I just need to feel desired? But when I study him on the drive home . . . I can’t help but notice his eyes.

There’s something about blue eyes.

The kind of blue that startles you every time they’re lifted in your direction. The kind of blue that makes you ache for them to look at you again. Not blue green or blue gray, the blue that’s just blue.

Cricket has those eyes.

And his laugh. I’d forgotten how easy it is. The four of us are laughing about something dumb in that silly way that happens when you’re exhausted. Cricket tells a joke and turns to see if I’m laughing, if I think he’s funny, and I want him to know that I do think he’s funny, and I want him to know that I’m glad he’s my friend, and I want him to know that he has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known. And I want to press my palm against his chest to feel it beat, to prove he’s really here.

But we cannot touch.

Everyone laughs again, and I’m not sure why. Cricket looks for my reaction again, and I can’t help but laugh. His eyes light up. I have to look down, because I’m smiling so hard back. I catch my parents in the rearview mirror. They have a different kind of smile, like they know a secret that we don’t.

But they’re wrong. I know the secret.

I close my heavy eyes. I dream about reaching across the backseat and touching his hand. Just one hand. It closes slowly, tightly around mine, and the sensation of his skin against mine is astounding. I’ve never felt anything like it before.

I don’t wake until I hear his voice. “Who’s that?” he asks sleepily.

Some people claim to know when something bad is about to happen, right before it actually occurs. I feel dread at his question, though I can’t say why. His tone was innocent enough. Maybe it’s the silence in the front seat that’s so deafening. I open my eyes as the car stops in front of our house. And I discover the deep feeling in my gut is right. It’s always right.

For there, passed out on the front porch, is my birth mother.