“It’s not a problem. You’re a collector.”
“Reframing. I like it. Smart.”
“‘Reframing.’ Nice sunglasses joke.”
“Ha! And I wasn’t even trying. Wait until I set my mind to doing something amusing!”
He pulls onto the main road, and I look out the window, unsure what to say now that we’re officially en route and trapped in this car together. We’re quiet for the drive, and I’m glad for the music that fills the silence. But the truth is our silence is not as strange as it could be. It’s as though Esben is simply giving me space. My anxiety threatens to cripple me, but it’s so weird and wonderful how he creates comfort when there shouldn’t be any that my desire to take risks today remains strong.
I will fight for myself, really fight.
I have barely undone my seat belt before he has my door open. “The place is right here.” He points to a deep-purple awning and a storefront with large glass panels framed in dark wood. He starts to walk, but I call his name, and he turns back.
“Yeah?” He comes to stand in front of me. “Hey? What is it?”
I’m grateful that the sun is blinding me, because I don’t want to look at him when I say this. “I’m very nervous. I thought I should tell you that.”
“I’m a little nervous, too.”
“You are not.”
“Of course I am.”
“What do you have to be nervous about? I’m the one who is screwed up.”
“Allison.” He steps a bit to the side and blocks my face from the sun, so now I can see him clearly. “Are you kidding me? I’m totally nervous.”
I focus on the buttons of his shirt. “Why?”
“Because I like you,” he says. “Because I think there’s something between us, and I’m very afraid that I’m going to do the wrong thing again and send you running. And I don’t want that. If you’re going to go running anywhere, I’d prefer that you come running to me. I understand that we don’t know each other, not really, but . . . I’d just like to have coffee with you.”
“I’m worried that I’m going to do the wrong thing again. And maybe I’m worried that when I buy you a coffee—yes, I’m buying—that I’ll order for you, and maybe you have a dairy allergy, and I’ll send you to the emergency room with some hideous anaphylactic reaction that will kill you. And that would really be the end of everything, and it’s taking all I have to do this, because this is supposed to be when I start things, not end them.” The wind sends a chill through me and blows my hair over my cheek. “Sorry for babbling.”
Esben lifts a hand and tucks my hair behind my ear. “I don’t have a dairy allergy. But I’ll drink whatever you buy me, because you’re totally worth a trip to the ER.” He winks.
“Then let’s go have coffee, and I’ll try not to do anything that might kill you.”
CHAPTER 13
BABY BLUE
The coffeehouse is indeed very comfortable, and the dark wood and mismatched furniture make me feel as though I’m in someone’s living room. Acoustic music floats above us, but otherwise it’s a fairly quiet spot. There is only one other customer, an older man, sitting in an armchair across the room. He’s not reading or doing anything. Just sitting there. I am immediately struck by how lonely he seems, but I brush that off, because I know nothing about this man. I have no right to assume anything about him, just as no one has a right to assume anything about me. I probably look like a normal human.
Esben and I are seated on a couch. He has his body turned my way, looking open and relaxed. I, of course, am sitting stiffly, facing forward and clutching my steaming mug.
“You like your drink okay?” he asks.
I’m about to give myself third-degree burns, and then the emergency room deal might become a reality. I take a quick sip and set the mug on the glass table in front of us. “I do.”
“You said you’re from Massachusetts. That you’d lived all over. But you have a family there now?”
“Sort of. I mean, yes. Simon. He adopted me when I was a junior in high school. He has a house in Brookline.”
“I love Brookline. Coolidge Corner is awesome. Such a fun area to walk around.”
“You’re from Massachusetts, too?” While I’ve explored some of Esben’s online presence, I have presumably barely tapped the surface, and I still don’t know basics about him.
“Framingham. Not as exciting as Brookline, and it was a drag to drive into Boston when I was a teenager, but it’s all right.” He sets down his drink and focuses on me. “So, you’ve got a single dad? And you like him?”
“I do like him. A lot. I don’t think I’m . . .” I can’t figure out how to say this or if I should. But I want to; I know that. I want to connect. Where’s a motivational button when I need it, huh? So, I breathe, and I speak. “It doesn’t make sense that Simon wanted to adopt me. I wasn’t warm or . . . the typical teen girl. I didn’t throw myself at the idea of adoption. I wasn’t anything a potential parent should want. But he still went ahead. I don’t get it. And Simon had a boyfriend when I first met him. Jacob.”
I shift in my seat so that I’m facing him and hopefully looking less frigid and weird. I check to see if Esben has any iota of a negative reaction to the news that my adoptive father is gay, but he’s simply waiting for me to continue. “They’d been together for four years, and once it became clear that Simon wanted me, that he really wanted to adopt me, his boyfriend bolted. I haven’t asked Simon much about it, because it’s got to be a sore subject.”
Esben makes a face. “Kind of says volumes about that ex, huh?”
“Maybe. Simon wanted me . . .” I survey the room and take a second. “And he lost his boyfriend. Kind of proof positive that there’s always a trade-off. You let one person in; the other goes out.”
“I don’t think that’s true at all,” Esben says. “I’ve got two parents who are pretty awesome. And my sister, Kerry, who you met. She and I are really tight. Plus, I’ve got close friends. Jason and Danny are my best friends here, but I’m still in touch with people from high school. There doesn’t have to be a trade-off.”
“Maybe not for you.”
“Look, I imagine that spending most of your life in foster care didn’t exactly instill the belief that the world is all magical and full of glittery unicorns and fluffy bunnies and such. How could it?” Esben looks down and brushes something imaginary off his jeans. “Did you live with a lot of different families or only a few?”
I fall in love with the fact that his question is not filled with pity.
“Yes,” I say. “Too many.”
I tell him about changing schools and families and rooms and . . . everything. About how there were never constants. Ever. About the cycle of hope and the rejection that became routine until I was left with only rejection. I tell him everything, because once I start talking, I cannot stop. This purge, this truth, is a flood that I cannot stop. I have never told anyone besides Steffi these details, and they have been secrets that jailed me.
Esben listens attentively and allows me to tell him way more than he probably expected. I want him to know these facts about me and my life because if he’s going to bolt, I want him to do it now. I have a responsibility to make him aware of how fouled up my past is. It doesn’t take a genius to see how that would screw someone up. He should have an out if he wants it.
“So, Steffi was your one bright spot,” he points out.
“My savior,” I say definitively. “Yes.”
“I’m glad you had her. She probably made up for a lot.”
“What’s funny is that I didn’t much like her when I first met her. She was tough and glamorous and feisty. She still is, but at the time . . . well, I kind of thought she was a snot,” I say, laughing.
“So how did you become so close?”
“Oh. Well . . .” I reach for my coffee and take a drink. “Compared to other foster kids, I didn’t have it so bad. I lived with plenty of nice people. Just no one who wanted me permanent
ly. A few not-so-great people, but, overall, no one really crazy or mean.” Despite a second of hesitation on my part, I notice how easy it is to continue with this story. “But the family who’d taken in Steffi and me had also taken in two boys, both of whom were a few years older than us. One day after school, I came home. I shared a room with Steffi . . .” I pause. God, I haven’t thought about this in ages.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Esben says quietly.
“I do want to.” I know this as much as I know that I need to breathe. “I found her in our room with one of the guys, but I knew right away that I hadn’t just walked in on them fooling around. He had her pinned to the bed, and her expression was . . . all wrong. Scared, paralyzed . . .”
Esben visibly tenses and is clearly very shaken by my words. “Jesus, Allison . . .”
I make my speech confident, reassuring. “It’s okay. Really. Because when I saw the way her shirt was torn off her shoulder, when I understood that his weight was crushing her, I moved. Fast. It took me about two seconds to rip this guy off of her.” I almost laugh. “Who knew I was so strong? But I slammed him into the dresser so hard that its mirror shattered. Then I punched him and gave him a massive black eye. The look on his face was priceless.” Now, I’m actually grinning at the memory. “I still know exactly what I said to him. I won’t repeat it, but there were a lot of threats of severe bodily harm to parts he did not want injured. Then I called up her caseworker and mine and screamed at both until my voice was raw. The guy was removed from the house about an hour later.” I tuck my knees up and rest my head against the back of the sofa. “And that was that.”
“And you were friends ever since?”
“Ever since,” I confirm. “What’s funny, though, is that she’s rarely let me help her after that. I try, but she’s pretty independent. Strong as anyone could be, really, and she’s always doing more for me than she’ll let me do for her.” I smile. “She mothers me in a way, I guess, which I can’t deny feels nice.” I realize that I’ve just talked more to Esben than anyone besides Steffi. It’s damn wonderful, but, still, I dig my fingers into my knees. But the good outweighs the bad, without a doubt. “Now that I’ve told you all my drama and trauma, tell me about you. I bet you have less garbage to share, and I would like to hear something happy.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything . . . tell me about your sister.”
“Kerry is amazing. I know she got you involved in the video, but I promise you’ll like her.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t have anything against her.”
Esben throws an arm over the back of the couch and drops his head to the side. “Just me?”
“No. Not you either.”
“I’m glad.”
Neither of us says anything for a moment.
“So, anyway, Kerry . . . she’s an art major here, and she’s really talented. Drawing, painting, sculpture, she does it all. Oh, here’s a fun fact. She calls me Baby Blue.” He leans forward, his eyes sparkling. “Wanna know why?”
I laugh. “I do.”
“I was born with a congenital heart defect called pulmonary valve stenosis. It wasn’t a big deal, and it healed on its own over time, but I was unattractively blue at birth. When I was, like, twelve or so, and Kerry was eleven, she somehow found out about this, and for weeks, all she did was obsess over the fact that I’d been blue. She thought it was a riot, although my parents were not amused at how much she totally delighted in it, because they’d obviously been scared at the time. So, she started calling me Baby Blue and never stopped.”
“I don’t like that you were born with a heart condition, but I do really like her nickname for you. It’s very cute.” I am sinking into my spot on this sofa with more tranquility than I could have imagined. “Esben?”
“Yes, Miss Allison?”
“Thank you for making this easy on me.”
“I’m not doing anything. This is all you.”
I’m not sure if he’s right. “Either way, talking with you . . . it’s nice. It feels good. You’re probably used to this. I mean, people must thank you all the time.”
“Sometimes.” He gives me an utterly disarming grin. “And sometimes they come to my room all drunk and cute and yell at me.”
I hide my face in my hands for a second and laugh. “I’m serious. You obviously have an easy time being with people, listening to them, relating. All of it. I’m surprised you’re not totally full of yourself. I . . . I will confess that I thought you’d be more . . . I don’t know. Smug. Because you probably should be.”
“I get a lot back from the people I meet. They give me more than I’m sure I give them. I love meeting strangers, learning about what’s beyond first glance. Discovering everyone has a hidden story, a reason for their behavior.” He’s so thoughtful and earnest that he only enchants me more. “Sometimes simply getting someone to share frees them, maybe makes them examine who they are and change. I’m just planting seeds most of the time, offering opportunities. What’s so special is watching people learn about themselves. I try to help out when I can. And do you know how many times I’ve been completely blown away by the kindness of others? The willingness of people to share or give or help out? I know tons of people out there suck, I do. But mostly, Allison, people are good. They really are. And I am lucky enough to get to witness so much of that good.”
“You get a lot of attention for what you do. That can’t feel shitty,” I say, a bit challengingly.
His eyes sparkle a bit, and the half smile he delivers is too adorable for words. “Well, sure. To some degree. But my posts are not really about me. I actually try to avoid being in most, but there are invariably ones that I’m a part of. As you know.” He slips in a quick wink before continuing. “Usually, though, I try to keep the focus on other people.” He stops, and, just for a second, I see the nervousness he’d mentioned earlier. “I do not, however, go out to coffee with them. You’re the first.”
I look out the café window and watch a mother and daughter walk past. I feel a twinge of pain. I will never have a mother, and I’m lost in this dismay for a few minutes before I can return to Esben. As I’m coming to learn, he seems fine with me doing that. “Maybe you feel obligated to go out for coffee with me because of the kiss. Because your followers are all worked up about it.”
“Allison,” Esben says firmly. “Look at me.”
So I do.
“I don’t feel an obligation to do anything. I never do. It’s not how I operate. I’m here because I want to be. I’m the one who didn’t want that kiss to stop, so I’m the one wondering if you feel an obligation to be here. Maybe you’re just making peace with what went down. Finding closure.”
Intently, I look at him, falling into an already familiar sense of safety and wonder in those beautiful eyes. I think hard; I feel hard. I inhale and exhale, probably too loudly, probably too noticeably, but Esben does not flinch.
It takes another few deep breaths before I respond with deliberate and heartfelt words, and, with great intention, I open myself up to him. “I don’t want closure. I don’t want this to be done. Not with you.”
Esben moves to sit a bit closer and lowers his hand from the back of the couch, lightly grazing my shoulder with his fingers. “I like hearing that.”
“But I’m very fragile. And I don’t know how to do this. Whatever this is.”
“I know you’re fragile. I get that.” His touch lingers against me. “You’re also tougher than you think. You’re fighting right now, and fighters aren’t weak. But you don’t have to fight alone.”
This is a hard idea to accept. “Why are you doing this? Why . . . why me? You have thousands of girls following you and adoring you, online and here at college, so I don’t understand why you’re here with me and being all awesome and cute and getting me to ramble and tell my life story when I could never do that with anyone else.”
Now his hand rests solidly on my shoulder. “If
you’re asking me for a list of reasons, I can give you that. You’re beautiful and sweet and feisty. You’re intriguing and funny and quirky. You are a powerful force, and one I find myself remarkably drawn to. Not to mention, by the way, that you’re the best damn kisser ever. Like, ever. But the simple truth is that . . .” Esben squirms in his seat in what I see as needless insecurity. “Can’t I just like you without explanation? Just because I do?”
I’m dumbfounded. I let what he’s said—what he apparently feels—sink in. He’s handed me a certain freedom, which makes me feel so shockingly happy that I allow myself to give a truly flirtatious look. “So, the kiss was that good for you?”
Esben moves his hand beneath my hair, gently rubbing the nape of my neck. He speaks slowly. “The kiss was that good for me. No question.”
“Well,” I say as I reach for my coffee, “that’s something I like hearing. And it definitely makes skipping my second class today worth it.”
“I’ll take it, very happily.” Esben takes his mug and clinks it against mine.
When we leave, we walk to the car with our shoulders touching. He blasts music in the car, because we have spoken enough words for today, and we are both overtaken with a euphoria that leaves no room for anything else. After he parks, I go to the back passenger door to retrieve my bag. On the floor of the car, a paper bag has spilled open.
At least a hundred motivational buttons cover the floor.
A measure of exhilaration and wonder surges through me that I hope never leaves.
CHAPTER 14
WANTED
That night, I try to FaceTime Steffi, because I want her to see how flushed and idiotically glowy I am, but she doesn’t pick up. Instead, she phones me right back. “Sorry. I look gnarly and am not subjecting you to my greasy hair and the bags under my eyes. It’s as though I just flew back and forth across the country within a few days. Oh, wait. I did!”
“Then I am very grateful for your discretion.” I throw the phone on speaker and check myself in the mirror while we talk. While I don’t usually spend a lot of time examining myself, today is different. Today, I want to see myself happy. “How are you, eye bags and all aside? What do you have going on this week? Oh, and you never did tell me anything about that internship—”