One Day Soon (20 page)

My eyes fluttered shut and I waited to feel his mouth on mine.

Then nothing.

I opened my eyes to find Yoss had taken a step back and was staring at something just over my right shoulder. He looked as though he were going to throw up.

I turned around and didn’t see anything that would cause his expression. I only saw families. Lots of screaming children. A few flustered mothers and a bunch of indulgent fathers.

“Yoss? What is it?” I asked.

An older man with dark hair greying at the temples stood behind us with a small child. The little girl at his knee had bouncing blonde curls and a heart shaped face. She tugged on the man’s jeans.

“Daddy! I wanna go see the clown!” she whined.

Her daddy wasn’t listening to her. Because he was staring at Yoss intensely. Looking like, he too, was going to be ill.

Yoss turned quickly away. I recognized his shame. His disgust.

At first I wondered if this was Yoss’s father, but I knew, deep down, that wasn’t who the man was.

There was something odd in the way he stared at Yoss. There was recognition there.

But it was
wrong.

“Yoss,” I whispered urgently, trying to get his attention.

“I think I’d rather go check out the Tilt-A-Whirl instead, okay,” Yoss said lightly, forcing a smile.

I glanced back at the dad who was now holding his daughter close to his chest, stroking her hair, trying not to look at Yoss. And failing.

“Come on.” Yoss was already moving out of line. He didn’t take my hand again. He didn’t even look to see if I was behind him.

“Where’s the fire?” I called out, struggling to keep up with him.

Yoss came up short and I almost collided with his back. “Are you hungry? I can get you a hamburger. I’ve got money.” He pulled the cash out his pocket again and I noticed that his hand was shaking.

“Who was that, Yoss?” I asked him.

“Come on, the hamburger stand is back this way.” Yoss pulled on my hand, but I wouldn’t move.

“Who was that? Tell me!” I may have shouted a little. I noticed that a few people were looking at us. I made sure to lower my voice before I spoke again. “Who was that man?”

Yoss bent down so that his face was close to mine. “Sometimes you make good choices. Sometimes you make bad ones. But they’re all made for a reason that seems to make sense at the time.” He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again, they burned and I almost forgot to breathe. “I keep making those kind of decisions. They seem logical. I have my reasons. But then I look at you and I realize that those reasons aren’t good ones. But I’ve been stuck for a long time, Imi. I’m not sure that I know how to get
unstuck.”

“I’ll help you, Yoss. You help me every single day, let me do the same for you.”

He lifted our clasped hands and pressed them to his chest. I could feel the excited thump of his heart beneath his shirt. “You feel that?” I nodded. We stared at each other, long and hard. There was so much I wanted to say. I opened my mouth. Closed it again. Overwhelmed, but hopeful.

Yoss tapped my hand in time with the beating beneath my palm. He smiled. Just a small one. “I think that’s me getting unstuck.” He squeezed my hand and I felt full.

The moment was tense. But it was the best kind of tension.

Yoss kissed the back of my hand and I felt it everywhere. In my fingertips. In my toes. Deep down in my heart. “I want to buy you a hamburger. Or some cotton candy. Or a funnel cake.”

I shook my head. “You don’t need to buy me anything.”

What I didn’t say is that I didn’t want him to use
that
money. But I had a good idea who that man was. And some of that money in Yoss’s pocket had most likely belonged to him.

“I like buying you things. It makes me happy,” Yoss admitted almost shyly. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Earlier, Di called you my girl.” He cupped the side of my neck. “Are you?”

“Am I what?” I asked, being deliberately obtuse.

“Are you my girl?” He sounded breathless. His whole body vibrating with anticipation.

“How can I be your girl when you haven’t even kissed me yet?” I asked boldly.

“I’m scared to kiss you,” he whispered, his lips quivering, his green eyes full.

My blood whooshed noisily in my ears and I felt a little lightheaded. We were so close, but I wanted to be closer.

So did he. But I could tell that the idea terrified him.

“Don’t be,” I murmured, reaching out and placing my palm over his heart. He was beautiful.

And right then, in that moment, he was mine.

There were no faceless men.

There was no shame. No guilt.

No things left unsaid and smiles that turned sad.

Toe to toe.

Lips almost touching.

Eyes locked. Never letting go.

“I want to be yours,” I told him sincerely.

Yoss reached up and covered my hand with his. “I want to be yours,” he echoed.

He leaned down.

Just enough.

I felt his breath first and I shivered. Everywhere.

Then he kissed me and it was like waking up.

It was like flying.

It was like
everything.

Soft, firm lips melted against mine. I opened my mouth slightly and I moaned at the touch of his tongue.

Frenzied. Panicked. Delirious.

Yoss wrapped his arms around me to keep me upright. Fingers digging into my back. Through my clothes, into skin.

I gripped the front of his shirt, still feeling the beating, beating of his heart.

He pulled back slightly, looking almost dazed.

“I’ve never been kissed before. Not like that,” he whispered, his eyes bright.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my lips tingling from his mouth.

“Like I don’t ever want to stop.” He leaned down and kissed me again, harder this time. I could feel the slide of his tongue along the seam of my lips. “It feels like I’m falling, Imi,” he breathed.

“I’ll catch you,” I promised.

Lies. So many of them. They became our truth.

They would be our end.

Present

U
nexpected phone calls were not a great way to start the day.

“Hello?”

“Imogen Marie. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days!”

I locked my front door behind me, balancing my phone between my cheek and my shoulder, all the while trying not to sigh nosily in my mother’s ear.

“I’ve been busy,” I excused.

“Well I’ve got man troubles and I needed to talk to my girl.” I could practically hear my mom’s pout.

“What else is new?” I muttered, not bothering to be overly quiet.

“I deserved that,” Mom responded with a slight chuckle. “When will I learn that a huge dick and a hot set of abs doesn’t necessarily mean long-term commitment?”

“Seriously, Mom? I don’t need to hear about you and dicks and abs. It’s too early in the morning for those kinds of visuals.” My mother cackled on the other end, clearly enjoying herself.

It had taken us years to build any sort of relationship. It had been slow. At times painful. It had required a lot of adjustment—on my part. Because I had learned, the older I got, that my mother was way past changing. And I either had to accept her for all of her faults, or be miserable and resentful.

I had opted for acceptance. Though, at times, it was a bitter pill to swallow.

After I returned home following my time as a teenage runaway, it had been rough. Mom had been angry. Adam, her boyfriend at the time, was annoyed that I had put a wrench in his party-and-screw lifestyle he had going on with my mother.

She had screamed at me for what felt like weeks. I had thought her anger was over the top and I hadn’t understood it at all. It had seemed that she was just pissed I had the audacity to come home.

I had been debating whether I should leave again when one evening my mother appeared in my doorway after getting home from work.

Her mascara was smeared halfway down her face and I knew she had been crying. My mother had always been overly emotional and had never attempted to shield me from her highs and lows. I was always carried along for the ride. But since being on my own I found that I was less affected by her moods. I had learned to accept this part of her.

It was sort of liberating. Letting go of the anger. I realized it had eaten away at me.

There was no sense holding onto it any longer.

“Adam’s gone,” she had sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

I hadn’t been surprised. None of Mom’s boyfriends ever stuck around. Though Adam had been around longer than most.

I knew she expected me to pick up the pieces. It had been my role in her life since I was old enough to understand
I
had to comfort
her
and not the other way around.

“I’m sorry,” I had told her, not really meaning it. I didn’t feel sorry. Not in the least.

Mom had stood there, wiping at her face, smearing her makeup even worse. “I didn’t like it when you were gone,” she finally said.

“Even with Adam here? I figured you had your hands full,” I muttered.

“I kept your door shut. It made me too sad. I didn’t like knowing it was empty,” she went on, ignoring my statement. Not bothering to explain why, if she was so upset that I was gone, why she had never tried to find out where I went.

She wouldn’t really look at me. Mom could be incredibly immature and childish. Most of the time she acted as though she were younger I was. It made it difficult to relate to her as a kid to parent.

But I had also known that this was as close to an apology that I would ever get from her. I could have yelled at her for not coming to look for me. For allowing me to sleep on the streets. I could have cried and screamed at how she chose men over me time and time again. But I didn’t want to fight. I hadn’t wanted to argue.

Instead I had taken her words for what they were. A peace offering.

And after losing Yoss I had needed something to feel good about.

I had patted my bed, giving her a smile. One that I felt. Mom had come in, sinking down onto the bed beside me. I put my arm around her and she laid her head on my shoulder. She cried for the asshole that broke her heart while being comforted by the only person who ever really loved her. The person she so easily turned her back on when it suited her.

Adam hadn’t been the last boyfriend to sweep into our lives. But after those six months on the street and Yoss’s disappearance from my life, I learned to deal with it.

I focused on plans.

On making them.

On following through with them.

I had made a promise and I intended to keep it.

And Mom and I slowly came to a place where we could be almost normal together.

Almost.

I was pretty sure our definition of normal was very different from everyone else’s.

“You’re such a prude, Imi. Sometimes I can’t believe you’re my daughter. I didn’t raise you to be so conservative.”

It would have been so easy to remind my mother that she had very little to do with raising me, but I didn’t.

Picking and choosing battles had become a way of life.

“I’m on my way to work, Mom. Is there something you needed?” I asked, getting into my car.

“Can I come over sometime soon? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.” She was trying. In her crazy, egocentric way, my mother was working to build the relationship that had for a long time felt inconsequential.

“Sure, Mom. I’d like that,” I told her truthfully. As frustrating as she could be, I would always be a little desperate for her attention.

“Okay, great. I’ll bring some Chinese food and we can watch movies. It’ll be fun!” Mom enthused.

“Sounds great. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“All right, sweetie. I love you.”