19 - Jade[d]

19

Jade[d]

" S cale of one to ten, how do we feel today?"

I'm lying on the PT table, waiting for the therapist to return. Even though it's only day three, he's already become very familiar with Sophia. My phone rests on my chest on speaker, which is where Sophia's voice is coming from. "A seven. Mostly well, I suppose. Starting PT has been a Godsend to feeling like my life isn't wasting away."

Kian shouts from somewhere, "Can't keep a girl down for long!"

"I hate your husband sometimes."

Sophia chuckles. "Yeah, me, too."

"Liar."

"Says who?"

"Says me? You've got two gremlins with the guy."

She hums. "Yeah, yeah. You've got a point." I smile. "I just wanted to check in on you. Mom said she'll probably call later."

"Sounds good. Isaiah's picking me up, and then we're going somewhere? A movie or something. I'm not sure. He's been taking me to all my appointments since they don't affect his class schedule."

"Aurora and Isaiah…sitting in a tree," Kian sings, voice fading in and out of the phone. Mere seconds later, I hear a huff. "Ouch. Jesus."

"Shut up, Kian," Sophia says, but I can hear the smile in her voice. "So…have you spoken to Dad?"

"No. Not planning on it either since he couldn't be bothered to say anything about the National Team Selection, nor has he checked on me once. When he's man enough to talk to me, I'll listen."

"Alright. I'm here if you want to talk about it, okay?"

"I know. I love you," I say, and she responds—Kian, too—before hanging up.

I mean it about my dad. If he wants to talk, I'll talk. But I won't beg him to look at me, to care about me, to be proud of me. And especially not to love me like he should. Not when I have so many people who love me without conditions.

Exhaling, I prod my knee with my hands, pulling it back and releasing it, like I'm allowed. If there is anything about a knee injury to be thankful for, it's how quickly they instruct you to get back to PT. It still absolutely sucks, but at least I can do something other than elevate and ice. Shortly after, I'm set free with my crutches, brace, and new exercises to run through. It's sore from the bike work and all the stretches, but I'm able to walk at times, and I'll take what I can get.

I find Isaiah leaning against his car for me. My heartbeat jumps in milliseconds.

All I know is that since the injury, since the surgery, I hate not being around him more than I thought was possible. My body feels like it's constantly searching for its other half. Post-surgery, I spent two days at his house because I didn't want to risk an extended period of time without him.

When I did eventually go back home, he showed up that night with the key that I gave him with two large bags filled with food. He walked in and said he made enough for me to not have to eat my crappy frozen meals, to not have to order out if I didn't want to, and he made me dessert.

I read his book for longer than was probably good for my mental health, and I cried every time I turned the page.

He came over once a day at least, usually for dinner, and every time, his hands would end up on my knee with a gentle touch. Massaging the sensitive area with the utmost care and stealing bits and pieces of my heart at the same time.

Every time he looks at me, my brain short-circuits and has to re-route before I can function. He touches me, and I turn into a puddle. And he takes care of me without complaint or obligation, but because he wants to.

Isaiah shows up for me.

"Long time, no see." He smiles, and I swoon. Like a cartoon character with a crush.

"How do you function without me for an hour and a half?"

Isaiah blows out air, taking my bag from me. "It's not easy, really. I usually drive around missing you. Then, I drown my sorrows in some ice cream. The usual."

"Hm. Sounds about right." I look up at him, only inches away. We stand closer together every time we're near each other.

"I'm sure that makes you happy."

"Absolutely."

My grin grows when he leans down and places a kiss on my cheek. When he pulls back, he runs his hand up the back of his cropped hair. "Ready?"

"Sure." He pulls the door open for me, and I climb in. "So, what's the plan for this boring Tuesday evening?"

"I actually have a reading tonight. I thought you could come? We can get dinner after or something else. And you don't have to—"

"I want to. Can we stop for a snack first?"

"‘Course."

Isaiah moves into action, a shy smile gracing his lips as he heads out of the parking lot. We reach the convenience store quickly, and I crutch my way in, grabbing a Gatorade, a soft pretzel, and a pack of Twizzlers for Isaiah.

"Got you these." I hand the candy over, and he breaks into them in the next second.

"Thank you. I haven't had them in a while."

"How is that possible?"

He leans back, the ink on the back of his neck peeking out when his skin stretches. "I've been trying to cut back."

"To what? A pack a day instead of two?"

Isaiah scoffs, leaning over and pinching my thigh. "Such a brat."

I pull my normal leg up on the seat and rest my cheek against it, smiling. The squeeze of his hand lingers, and I take the time to stare at him. Something has shifted. All the years of pushing down everything. Acting like I wasn't in love with him when he left, acting like it didn't break my heart—it was all for nothing. Because all the facades have faded away, leaving me without a shell.

Reminding me that I never needed one with him.

"Why are you staring at me, Rora?"

"Want to make sure I don't miss anything else."

At the red light, he looks over at me. Yeah, there's no way anyone who loved someone with brown eyes would've ever said a single negative word. "I don't plan on you missing anything ever again."

The silence that follows is comfortable and easy. Like it used to be.

Time is passing so quickly. It feels like yesterday Isaiah just showed up. Now, it's mid-September, and I have a bum knee, but I also have Isaiah back. The drive is quick, the breeze slinking in through the open windows and the sun starting to set. The restaurant is in Fishtown, which always has an array of events going on if you know the right places. Inside, it's brick walls and neon signs. Seats are arranged to face the tiny stage with a stool. We take our pick of the seats, choosing a spot to the left of the stage but close up, and waiter drops off waters and menus.

Isaiah pulls out his book. "I'm third in the line-up. It should start in five minutes."

"Sounds good."

"Do you have a favorite yet?" He slides the book toward me. It's not my copy. The one that's underlined and marked in red pen in the margins.

"Right now, it's "Seven"."

That one's about him. And Elijah. It's about their relationship, and I know all the little details that make it even more heartbreaking. About how Elijah was born on the seventh, and his lucky number was seven, and because Isaiah idolized him, seven became his own favorite number.

He gives a small shake of his head. Under the table, his leg is curled around mine. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Is this counting as an air-hockey question?"

"I suppose it can. I have some to spare." Isaiah leans back in the chair, an assured air about him. "How would you feel about a date?"

Taken aback, I blink. A date? A date. With Isaiah.

"A date?" I'm having trouble forming words, thinking, anything.

A gentle smile captures his lips, and he leans forward. His fingertips brush the top of my hand. "A date."

"Why?" I sigh immediately after the words escape my mouth. Only he could make me flustered. The humor in his eyes tells me he is fully aware of that.

"Because I want to. I think you do, too." Isaiah swallows, nerves flickering briefly over his face before they disappear. "You're my best friend, but that's not all there is here. At least, I don't think so. Is that what you think?"

Do I think we're just friends? No. We never said it back then; we just…were.

I was in love with him when he left. Deeply and unshakably in love with him. The boy with brown eyes who turned into the man sitting in front of me.

"No, that's not what I think."

"And I'm not planning on going anywhere." Isaiah's eyes turn serious. The pressure of his touch deepens.

I swallow, nodding shallowly. Funny how poised with something you know you want, the fear of everything before comes rushing back.

"I know you aren't."

Isaiah leans in further, like there isn't a table between us. Like we aren't in public. No, with him looking at me like that, it's just the two of us.

"Then let me take you on a date. Please, Aurora. I can't—I don't—just want to be your friend. Let me show you."

"Okay," is all I can say. The influx of emotions has stolen the rest of my words.

I watch the tension dissipate from his shoulders. He takes my hand and intertwines our fingers again, his thumb rubbing gently back and forth.

"That absolutely counts as one of your questions."

Isaiah chuckles. "I expected nothing less."

Shortly after, the first performer is announced. We adjust our chairs to better face the stage, now sitting side by side. Isaiah's hand finds my leg and rests gently on my thigh. In turn, I rest my head on his shoulder, the warmth transferring from his body to mine. That's how we sit until it's his turn to get up there. Isaiah walks with confidence, and his slacks fit him perfectly, accentuating the strength in his legs, curving over his backside (he's got a great butt), and tapering at the waist. Tattoos are on display from the sleeve down, silver jewelry glinting in the light, and he slides onto the stool.

There's less formalities at this reading. Brief introductions but for the most part, all of them have jumped right into it. Isaiah does the same. This poem, "Cracks In the Sidewalk", is another heart-wrenching favorite of mine. It's a poem inlaid with childhood wistfulness, how soul crushing it is to love someone as a teenager. There's a line about how he used to count the cracks in the sidewalks that led to my house, alluding to the idea that he memorized them. There's another line alluding to the idea that he lost that path, that he lost all his paths. I know that he means Elijah and perhaps the depression that followed.

"Cracks rose from the cement, taking on physical bodies

beside me. Step by step, I started to wonder

would the times of the past release me? " he reads.

Despite the sorrowful tone of some of the lines, I love the poem, how it tracks him from childhood to part of his adulthood.

I'm locked onto him, the way the words flow off his tongue, the quiet yet commanding voice that has everyone hooked. During his reading, aside from the occasional glance to the crowd, he looks at me the entire time. It's like having a spotlight directly shown on me but one that I bask in. It's heated; it's a gaze full of life and wonder and a gaze that scorches every place it lands.

His fourth and final poem of the night is titled "Jade[d]". Jade is my middle name. He used to call me that sometimes— " Aurora Jade ," he'd say. It was a surefire way to get a smile out of me. Isaiah treated it like our secret, and it was—no one else has ever called me that.

" Is the world still beautiful with a Jaded gaze?" is the first line of the poem.

I've only read it twice myself, and each time, it makes my chest cave in. We were two people who were everything to each other, and then, we weren't. Despite the reasons, the why or the how, being without the person who made your world colorful was like being thrust into a black and white movie. Suddenly, it was noiseless and gray.

I think we did our best on our own. Still accomplished some of our dreams. But I think we both know that this, being together again, is living life on the full spectrum of vivid colors.

It's terrifying to think this is only the beginning.

It's also beautiful—feeling like life is available in every shade again.

I hope it never goes dark again.