Chapter 18 Ella

Chapter 18

Ella

My eighteenth birthday arrives two weeks later, and I wake up to a bouquet of orange roses on my front porch. The late-November sun sets them ablaze like the embers of an autumn campfire, and I glance around the yard as if a secret admirer might be lurking in my hydrangea bushes. Mom already left for work, leaving my favorite breakfast spread out on the kitchen table with a bundle of balloons, their ribbons tied to chairbacks.

I gulped down orange juice, then feasted on the meal of citrus cakes and scrambled eggs with candied bacon. A few months ago, I was dreading my birthday. I had no plans, no friends, nothing to celebrate but another year lost to sadness. But I woke up today feeling oddly renewed. My belly is full, it's a bright and shimmery Saturday morning, and there are orange roses on my doorstep.

Bending over, I pluck them up by the stems and read over the attached note.

My heart skips.

Ella,

Happy birthday. I Googled the meaning of orange roses and I guess they symbolize energy, new beginnings, and good fortune. I also found this: "Orange flowers are a symbol of the sun and all things positive." I thought they were perfect because the sun suits you. Flowers do, too.

—Max

PS: Get your dancing shoes on—we're going to Knoxville.

I smile.

Guess I'm going to Knoxville.

Following an overly ecstatic text message from Brynn! an hour later, I'm now standing in the middle of her kitschy living room after snagging a ride over from Max and McKay. The walls are plum purple. The carpet is bright green. Neon-red furniture is littered throughout the space, eclectic art pieces stare back at me from all angles, and Cher's "If I Could Turn Back Time" serenades us from a record player in the corner of the room.

"Ella!" A man in a Halloween sweater crocheted with black bats and jack-o'-lanterns appears from the kitchen, his hair a shock of white-blond.

Oh, my God. It's another Brynn!.

A second man appears, his hair darker, his sweater brighter, and he pretends to sing into a spatula as he leans back and lets loose. Then he turns to me and grins wide. "Ella!"

Oh, my god. It's another Brynn!.

I can't help but return the smile because it's impossible not to. "Hey." I give them a little wave that feels lame and listless compared to the greeting I've received. Then I frown with confusion. "Uh, Halloween was last month. It's almost Thanksgiving."

"Halloween lasts until Christmas Eve around here," one man says.

" Hocus Pocus is always in season," adds the other.

I blink slowly. "Oh."

Brynn! skips between the two men and waves madly at me. "Ella!" she calls out, her enthusiasm on another level. "You finally get to meet my dads. This is Daddy Matty," she says, pointing to the blond man. "And this is Papa Pete. I call them Daddio and Pops."

Max and McKay are seated side by side on the red floral sofa. Max shoots me a small smile, his eyes sparkling.

I blink back to Matty and Pete. "It's so nice to finally meet you. Thank you for the fruit tray when I was sick."

"Sugar is the only thing that works for me when I have a lung infection," Pete says, sliding the spatula into his waistband. "Feeling better?"

"I am."

"It was the sugar."

I grin. "Antibiotics are overrated."

Brynn! trots forward in her knee-high cowboy boots and denim skirt, plopping down beside McKay on the couch. As soon as she sits, the doorbell rings and she jumps back to her feet.

"Oh, it's Kai! We've been bonding in art class, so I invited him. I hope that's okay?" She glances at me before moving to the front door. "I know it's your birthday. I hope I didn't infringe."

"Of course not. Kai is awesome."

Kai trudges through the threshold, looking timid and supremely out of place. He glances between the five of us, brushing jet-black bangs out of his eyes and slamming his hands in his pockets. "Hi."

"Kai!" both fathers and Brynn! announce at the same time while Kai stands there like a cat at a dog show.

Five minutes later, our group shuffles out the door in preparation for our hour-plus drive to Knoxville.

Matty hollers from the porch step as we make our way to the slew of vehicles packed in the driveway. "There will be treats aplenty when you get back! Spiderweb taco dip, hot dog mummies, graveyard cake, and my ultra-famous bat wings. Mwahaha!"

Pete quickly snags the spatula from his waistband and shoves it in Matty's face. "Redo that."

"Mwahaha!" Matty repeats into the spatula.

A giggle falls out of me as we all wave goodbye and I beeline to the back seat of Max's truck.

"You're riding shotgun with me," Max says.

McKay grumbles. "Hell, no. I always ride shotgun. Ladies can do their girlie gossip in the back." When Kai clears his throat, McKay adds, "And Kai."

"Actually, let's take two cars," Max suggests. "Brynn, are you cool driving?"

"Sure!" she chirps.

"Then we need two DDs," McKay snaps.

"A non-issue. You're the only one with whiskey in your Coke."

"We don't need two rides, Max. Waste of gas. We can all fit."

"I want some alone time with Ella."

Everyone goes silent. My ears burn underneath my beanie as my gaze ping-pongs from face to face. The memory of holding Max's hand beneath the Taurid meteor shower flashes through my mind like a falling star zipping across the sky, and the heat from my ears travels to my cheeks.

McKay sets his jaw and tosses Max the keys with more force than necessary. "Fine. See you there."

Brynn! does a funny, hurried skip over to me while everyone else tromps to their respective vehicles. She snatches both of my wrists and shakes them up and down with a little squeal, her pigtails bobbing over her shoulders. "Ella!" She manages to both shout and whisper my name, which is impressive. "There is an actual chance we could be sisters."

The moment has escalated. "Sisters?"

"If you marry Max and I marry McKay, we'll be sisters-in-law. That would be amazing!"

My cheeks never had a chance to cool before another wave of warmth permeates them. "Um, it's not that serious. We're just friends."

"The way he looks at you, though! And he wants to spend ‘alone time' with you." Her grip on my wrists strengthens. "I saw the way you danced together at the Fall Fling. Max has never taken much interest in girls before. I thought he was gay."

"He could be. We're just friends so I wouldn't know." Something tells me he's not.

Max rolls down the passenger's side window and leans over the console. "Ready, Sunny?"

Brynn! grins wider, her eyes bugging out. " Sunny . Oh, my gosh—text me updates during the car ride!" Another squeal, and then an extra smooshy hug until we almost tip over. "See you there!"

My beanie is lopsided and my hair is full of static when she finally releases me. I can't help but chuckle as I watch her flounce over to the black sedan beside the truck and hop inside.

I fling open the door and nearly topple again from the weight of it. "Ready," I mutter, steadying my balance before tugging off my beanie and tossing it to the floor of the truck.

"That was quite the hug. It's almost like she never planned to see you again."

"The opposite, actually." I slam the door shut and yank the seat buckle across my chest. "She wants to be sisters-in-law. Bound together by our respective matrimony to the Manning twins."

Max hesitates before sticking the key in the ignition. "Interesting."

"Mm-hmm."

"The pressure is on for a proposal now," he says. "At least I set the scene with the roses. Did you like them?"

When he twists around to glance out the back window while he reverses out of the driveway, I watch his biceps bulge and flex for a beat before slinking further in my seat and staring straight ahead. Then I study my fingernails as we pull out onto the road. "Sure. They were beautiful."

"I thought so. What kind of rings do you like?"

I chuckle and bite my lip. "The candy ones. Orange, specifically."

"Low maintenance. I can appreciate that."

"Thank you, by the way. For the flowers." Still gnawing on my lip, I peer over at him and catch the smile he's wearing. "The last time someone gave me a flower, I was seven," I say pointedly, playground magic sprinkling across my memory. "Then my dad came along and ruined everything."

"I still remember picking that flower for you. It was bright like the sun, and the sun was bright like you." Smiling softly, Max reaches for a pack of cigarettes on the dashboard, then falters. He leaves them there, untouched, and turns the dial up on the radio instead as a crisp wind shimmies through the open window. "Tell me about him."

"My dad? He left us all for good a few months after that. Drove me back to Nashville to live with my mom because my teacher's tits were more appealing than taking care of his daughter. They'd agreed to split up the siblings for whatever stupid reason, and Dad didn't want to deal with Jonah's anger issues, so he chose me. Mom and Jonah became close during that year we were all apart." My teeth grind together as I stare out the window. Grudges are a burden on the heart, so I turned my heart into stone. Too bad there are cracks. It would be a lot easier to hate him if there wasn't. It would be easier to hate Jonah, too. "Anyway…he's a bastard."

"Tell me about the before," Max prompts after a moment of silence. "Before he left."

I clasp my hands together in my lap and glance down. Memories, like water, always seem to find their way through even the smallest of fissures. I think about the times when love was effortless and trust wasn't so hard-fought. I wish I could seal the cracks and remain watertight, but hearts—even stone ones—have a way of remembering what they once held dear. "My father took me to a Stevie Nicks concert a week before he ditched me for my teacher," I tell Max, ignoring the stinging in my throat. "He propped me up on his shoulders so I could see better. I was so young at the time, but I still felt the magic of that moment."

Max sets his elbow on the console between us, his bare arm grazing the sleeve of my sweater. There's a heavy charge in the air, so he tamps it down by singing. "‘This magic moment…'"

A smile breaks through my sorrow and I throw him a look of gratitude for redirecting the mood. Then I purposely avoid thinking about the lyrics that come next. The part about lips. "I'm excited to see the bands tonight. You should play some of their songs for me."

"Open up my Spotify," he says, gesturing at his phone. "I made you a playlist."

"Ooh, another list. But in song form."

"Yep. Sorry this old truck doesn't have Bluetooth, but you can play it off my phone."

Nodding, I reach for the cell phone and browse through his library that features a single playlist.

It has a title.

Sunny Songs .

I blink over to him.

He answers before I have time to question the discovery. "Those are some of my favorite bands and a lot of the songs have lyrics about the sun. They make me think of you." He sweeps a hand through his tousle of hair and clears his throat. "Two of those bands are playing tonight at the concert. Wilderado and Bear's Den. They're kind of—"

"You have songs that make you think of me?" I interrupt, because that's all that registered.

He hesitates, swallows. "Yeah." When we stop at a red light, Max plucks the phone out of my hands and scrolls through the list, landing on a song. He presses Play. "Especially this one. It's called ‘Surefire' by Wilderado."

Melodies burst to life as he turns the volume up. The song is upbeat. Happy. I wonder why it makes him think of me. I'm constantly a dark cloud raining on him, and this song is so pure. It feels like living. Real, authentic living.

And suddenly…

I'm angry.

It happens so fast.

My hands clench in my lap as the lyrics ring loud and hot pressure burns behind my eyes. I see Max turn to glance at me in my peripheral vision.

"What's wrong?" he wonders, pulling off onto an open road as sunlight pours down on the infinite stretch before us. Rocks and pebbles light up, a tapestry of gold. Tree branches sway and shake.

"Nothing," I croak out while my fingernails dig into the heels of my palms.

He presses down on the accelerator and the landscape becomes a blur of motion. "If you're mad, let it out. You're safe with me."

I shake my head. "No."

"Let it out, Sunny." He rolls both windows down all the way. "Let it go. You'll feel better."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can."

Anger blooms in my chest, searching for a way out. I try to keep it contained like I always do, but it teases me, pokes me, and then it starts to claw. Right between my ribs. A sharp talon, jagged and mean. My breathing escalates, morphing into steady pants. "Fuck Jonah," I hiss through my teeth, emotion balling in my throat. "Fuck him for being on death row, for abandoning me. Fuck my father for leaving us behind without a backward glance, and fuck my first-grade teacher and her stupid tits. They deserved each other."

"Fuck them," Max agrees, his fingers bleaching white around the steering wheel. "Fuck them all."

"Fuck them all," I repeat. "And fuck the kids at school who look at me like I'm some kind of monster. The teachers, too. Mrs. Caulfield, especially. Fuck her and her pointy head and cruel words. She's supposed to be a teacher, but all she's taught me is that people can be so horrible to one another."

"Fuck her."

"And fuck Andy Sandwell and Heath and all of their asshole friends. Fuck my mother who worked so hard for her money and then worked so hard to lose it, hiring the best lawyers, thinking she could set Jonah free," I confess, feeling positively rageful. "He wanted to take the plea deal, you know. A guilty plea for life without parole. Mom begged him to go to trial. She was certain he'd get off, because she's convinced he didn't do it. Turns out, she was wrong. She sentenced him to death."

Max remains silent, glancing at me every few seconds as we gun it down the vacant dirt road.

I keep going.

"Fuck everyone who crucified me for that interview, who punished me for my sad, bleeding heart. It's not fair. It sucks. I hate being so mad." I'm near hysterics, so I turn to Max and ambush him with what's left of my pain. "And fuck you, Max Manning. Fuck you for being kind to me. For making me feel safe and vulnerable when I know it's a mistake. For dancing with me, for holding my hand beneath the stars, and for making me laugh like there are still things worth laughing about. Fuck you for giving me flowers, then and now, as if I really matter to you, and for making my birthday special. And for playing me this stupid song that I absolutely love because it makes me feel the same way you make me feel." I catch my breath and swallow hard, my voice softening to a hoarse whisper. "Like…I have no reason to be mad anymore."

A few tense beats roll by.

He says nothing, his hands still curled around the wheel, his jaw tense. He's looking straight ahead, processing my tirade, probably thinking I've lost my mind.

I have. I really have.

My face burns with shame. My palms are close to bleeding from my angry nails and my stomach coils into anxious knots.

I'm about to apologize. Maybe tuck and roll from the car while we're going seventy—broken neck be damned. I'm going to. I am.

But then…

"Fuck you, Dr Pepper," Max finally says.

I suck in a sharp breath. A laugh almost falls out, but I'm too stunned to laugh right now. He heard me that day at the vending machine. He heard me and he remembered.

I stare at him and nod slowly, my heartbeats ricocheting. "Fuck you, Dr Pepper," I murmur.

"Say it louder."

I straighten in my seat and tip my face to the truck's ceiling. "Fuck you, Dr Pepper!"

"Again."

I'm breathing like I just ran a marathon. High jumps, long jumps, pole vaults. Lifting up, I lean out the open window as my loose hair obscures my vision and the wind tries to choke me. And then I shout at the top of my lungs, " Fuck you, Dr Pepper!"

No one is around us, not a single car on the road. Only Max can hear me. Only the wind feels my grief as I release it with wild abandon, my hands clinging to the passenger side door, my heart in my throat. I scream it again. And again. I purge and shriek and bend and break.

I laugh.

I laugh with mania, with defiance, with soul-churning awareness. The song plays loud, volume up all the way, a forever soundtrack to this moment.

This magic moment.

When I flop back into the passenger seat, I'm breathless, boneless, and more alive than I've ever been before. It takes a second for me to notice the wetness trickling down my cheekbones, creating little pools along my lips and jaw. I stick out my tongue and taste the salt.

Tears. I'm crying.

I'm crying.

I swipe at the teardrops with the sleeve of my sweater, another sob-drenched laugh spilling from my lips. I'm crying, but not because I'm sad. It's because I finally found what I've been searching for. What I've been desperately craving for years.

Peace.

Just one peaceful moment.

I'm not broken. I'm not beyond hope. I'm worthy; I'm so worthy of this moment. Of this precious pocket of peace.

It's here.

It's mine.

I found it.

I found it in this rusty old truck on an open road, the music loud, the sun blood orange. I found it with dust in my eyes and wind in my hair as Max reaches for my hand and links our fingers together with a tender squeeze.

And I realize it's not the first time I've found it. It's merely the first time I've let myself acknowledge it.

I'm a mess of tears and joy when I look over at Max, our hands tightly locked together. He holds on to me. He's with me. He feels it, too.

The truth is I've had many peaceful moments.

And every single one of them has been with him.