The Two of Us

by Taylor Torres

“But… why?” His eyes soften, even in the dark. “You’ve lost enough.”

Pulling the rest of the caramels from his pocket, Ambrose drops them into my hand. “Here, have them all.” He snorts. “I know they’re your favorite.” I look at him sideways. “You remembered that?” “I remember everything about you.”

When I left Speck Lake, I made it clear I was leaving its people behind too. He smooths out the crease in my forehead with his thumb. “Hey, I understand why you left. I’d never hold it against you.” I nod. It’s all I can do.

Ambrose grabs my arm. “Mouse, stop.” I yank it away too forcefully and it collides with the wall behind me. I curse under my breath, cradling my elbow in my hand. “Don’t call me that.” “What are you so afraid of? You know she’d love it if you visited her.” “Oh, really? Did she tell you that?” Ambrose flinches as if I’ve smacked him. “I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” We stare at each other in the dark. Two broken people, trapped between four walls that look shiny and new. “I’m not ready to see her, Ambrose,” I whisper. “Not like that.”

The inside of the tree house is flooded in warm amber from the firefly lights woven intricately across the ceiling. He lifts his chin toward the entrance and there’s not a trace of anger when he says, “So you can see where you’re going.” “Why didn’t you have those lights on the whole time?” I grumble, making my way out the way we came. His warm breath curls around my ears. “Some things are easier to say in the dark.”

Every now and then when I lie in my bed and stare at the glowing green stars glued to my ceiling, I wonder why I don’t replay Brandon’s kisses at night like I do the kiss on the cheek I received years ago. But then I push the thought away before it riddles me with anxiety. I’m seen and I’m wanted.

“You can’t be here,” I hiss, keeping my voice low. “Brandon will be here any minute.” “What is Blandon up to these days?” he drawls, shaking the snow from his hair onto me. I gasp. “You little mother—” “Finally!” My dad laughs, scooping Ambrose into a bear hug. “I was waiting on you to get here. You want some coffee?” “This isn’t happening.” I groan, pressing into my temples. “I’m a good person, so this isn’t happening.” “Coffee would be great, Sol.” “Sol?”

Brandon lays his coat over the chair, facing me, a tight smile marring his beautiful face. “You started without me?” My smile falters. “I just took all the stuff out and organized it. I wanted it all to be ready for you, see?” “Gotcha.” His lips thin into straight lines. “Just thought it would have been nice to do it together. I didn’t realize you wanted us to get through it so quickly.” I gasp, my eyes widening like saucers. “That’s not it at all, I—” “Hey.” He chuckles, touching my arm gently. “It’s okay. You didn’t know. We all make mistakes.” Ambrose’s heavy boots stomp across the floor and my dad’s hand shoots out, clutching his shirt. “Why don’t you come help me with something, son,” he murmurs. I force a smile, pulling out a chair. “Let’s start.”

Ick

“I mailed you your gift too, but I’m not sure when it’ll get to you. Customs confuses me.” “That’s okay, baby. I have everything I need here.” Except me.

“What do we have going on here?” Brandon is already making his way onto the ice, the rest of us staring at him in shocked silence. My body stays frozen in place as he stops at my side, his warm lips meeting mine in greeting. They make me feel colder. I find my voice. “What are you doing here?” “I’m here to play.” “I mean, how did you know I was here?” He shrugs nonchalantly. “I followed you.”

Ick

“How did I get out?” My dad scratches the back of his head. It must pain him having to talk about this. “You wouldn’t have if that boy wasn’t so stupid as to jump in after you,“ he says, but there’s a hint of admiration in his voice. Worry hits me straight in the chest. “Is Brandon okay? Where is he?” “Brandon?” “You said he jumped in to save me. Is he alright?” My dad’s jaw goes slack. “Brandon didn’t save shit. That boy clammed up the moment you hit the water. Ambrose is the one who pulled you out of there.”

“It’s not like I could let my little sister’s best friend die.” He flips the page in his book with force. “What kind of brother would that make me?”

“You’re kind of like the young George Bailey.” He scrunches his eyebrows. “George Bailey. From It’s A Wonderful Life. When he was a kid, his little brother falls through the ice while they were sledding. George jumps in after him, saves him, and gets an ear infection. You’re George. I’m little Harry Bailey, the damsel in distress,” I ramble. “I guess technically, he couldn’t be a damsel in distress since he’s a boy. The very fact that there isn’t a male equivalent to a damsel in distress is so sexist and—” “Why does he do it?” Ambrose whispers, almost to himself. “What?” “Why does George risk his life to save him?” I trace the stitching on his quilt with my thumb. When I look up, I hold on to his gaze like he held on to me under that ice. “Because he loves him.”

“Do you want to wait inside until he comes back? He should be here in a few.” I meet her saccharine smile and it immediately makes me sweat. A trap. She’s a siren beckoning me toward the dark, murky waters and alarms sound off in my mind, but I still reply, “Sure.” Like a dumbass.

I am a coward. A coward who abandoned everyone I loved when I couldn’t face the repercussions of my actions. “I want to be gone just as much as you want me gone, Anya.” She freezes at my admission and I almost laugh. Poor girl doesn’t realize that I hate myself more than anyone else ever could.

“He’s made peace with what happened,” she whispers. “Don’t drag him back to that place—he blamed himself enough.” My throat seizes. “What did you just say?”

“You know, I used to have the biggest crush on you.” I cough out a laugh. “Excuse me?” “Yep.” “No, you didn’t. Get out of here with that.” I chuck my balled-up napkin at his face and he easily deflects it with a grin. “You barely talked to me when I came around your little posse.” “Only because you were already spoken for.” “Bullshit.” I snort. “Brandon and I didn’t start dating until my freshman year.” “I wasn’t talking about Brandon.”

“Have you seen him yet?” Then he shakes his head with a laugh. “What am I saying? Of course you have. You two always find your way back to each other.” That soothes something in me.

I look at Dean and frown, my vision drifting in and out. “You traitorous man. I thought we had something.” His laugh is soft as he signs for the large tab we’ve created. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, beautiful. You got her, man?” “Always.”

“On second thought, I don’t need a ride,” I slur. “Oh, really?” he grits. “And how will you get home?” “My friend.” Ambrose crosses his arms. “What’s your friend’s name?” “Car.”

Ambrose draws closer, dwarfing my small frame. “Get in the damn car.” I puff out my chest and lower my voice as deep as it can go, imitating him. “Get in the damn car. Oh, look at me, I’m Ambrose and I can be bossy because I’m as tall as the Chrysler Building.” I roll my eyes, scoffing. “You know, you can’t tell me what—” Ambrose lifts me over his shoulder like I weigh no more than a sack of flour and I shriek.

“Mom, I’m exhausted. I’m sorry. Is it okay if we rain check?” Her shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t express any negative emotions. She never does. Feel something. Anything. Show me that it’s okay to do so.

“But she is selfish. I don’t think she means to be. She simply… can’t see the people or things beyond her own light.” I slip my hands under my blanket to hide their trembling. “And I love her,” he whispers like it’s a curse and a blessing. “I would choose to disappear in her light any day. But I am sorry for you, Mara. I am sorry that you did not get to choose.”

Baffled, I ask, “Why?” He doesn’t miss a beat. “Why what?” “Why let me go on and on every day about her life? Why sit there through it all? You probably know more than I do—why listen to me?” He tips his glass back, chugging the rest of his water. Shrugs off his jacket and throws it on the coat rack in the entryway and when he returns, his eyes are solid. “Because you have things to say. And people should listen.”

“I think that’s why Ambrose likes you so much. You just got it.” I throw my head back, laughing at that. “Oh yeah? And what’s ‘it’?” “I dunno.” He shrugs. “The thing that he needs.”

“Damn, you hit the jackpot too. There’s not a bare nacho in here.” “I scooped up the top,” he says. “What?” “The top of the nacho platter,” he clarifies. “I only took the ones that were loaded with the good stuff.” “You stood there and carefully extracted the only nachos that had adequate toppings? You don’t even like nachos.” “No. But you do.” “Ambrose King, are you flirting with me right now?” I shove another nacho into my mouth because honestly, I don’t know what else to do with my hands. A light chuckle escapes him. “Trust me, Mara. When I flirt with you”—he brushes a crumb from my mouth—“you’ll know.”

“What are you thinking?” I whisper. “I’m thinking I want to kiss you.”

“I don’t want you to thank me for showing up for you. I want you to expect it from me. Because I’m confident enough to know that I’ll follow through every single time. In whatever way you need me, I’ll follow through.” Then he says, “Rest. I’ve got you.”

“Hey, Ambrose?” “Hmm?” “I’m sorry I left you when you needed me.” His body stills as he looks down at me. When he doesn’t say anything for a few heartbeats, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake, but then he slips his hand under the sheets and laces his fingers through mine. “I forgive you.”

Cars are sensitive machines, so be gentle with them. Go slow. Not too much pressure—” “I want to drive the car, not go to second base with it.” He snorts, but I see a patch of red blooming on his neck. “What do you know about second base, Mouse?” “Mouse?” I shake my head. “I’m not a child anymore, Ambrose.” Piercing green eyes flicker to my face and linger there. “I know you’re not a child anymore.” His voice lowers. “Trust me.”

“Hey.” I nudge his side. “Why didn’t you use my birthstone?” He laughs like it’s a stupid question. “Because I don’t know it.” And I laugh along with him, ignoring the little voice in my head telling me that there’s nothing even remotely funny about that.

Brandon returns to the table, dropping a bread roll onto my plate. “Oh, I asked for two,” I say. He spears his fork into his salad. “You already ate two. Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.” Sasha laughs from across the table and my face burns with humiliation. Something slams down hard on the table and we all jump. “Apologize to her.” The sound of Ambrose’s voice, the unfiltered anger in it, makes all of us look up. His glare is firmly locked on my boyfriend.

“You see this suit I’m wearing?” he says in a deadly tone. “It’s nice. Very nice. My mom worked a double shift to get me this suit.” His eyes flicker to me briefly. “You couldn’t have come here tonight with a more beautiful girl if you fucking tried. Now, you apologize to her or I’m going to have to hit you in front of all these people. It’ll ruin my suit and trust me when I say, that will piss me off even more. So tell me, Brandon”—his head tips toward me—“am I going to mess up my suit tonight?”

Hehehe

“You know you don’t have to convince me, but this one?” I point at Ambrose. “You’ll never get him—” “I’m down,” Ambrose says. Cat and I say, “What?” at the same time. “You want a restart.” He runs a hand through his wet hair. “I could use one of those. Leave all the old shit behind. Let’s do it.”

As Princess Bride begins to play, I lean back into the free space on his pillow and he shifts his body slightly. I can’t prove it, but I think he knows I’m here. And I think he’s happy about it. I blink rapidly against the wetness in my eyes. “This is a special book,” I say, reciting the lines from the opening scene. “It was the book my father used to read to me when I was sick and I used to read it to your father. And today, I’m gonna read it to you.”

“If I lost you? If I fucking lost you, Mara?” His voice cracks. “I wouldn’t survive it. I just got you back.”

“Tell me what you want, Mara.” I can’t answer him. Because it’s not about what I want. It doesn’t matter what I want. Not anymore. I no longer allow myself the privilege of wanting anything. Ambrose shakes his head, disheveled hair falling into his eyes. “You can’t do this anymore. You can’t keep punishing yourself.”

“I want you, Mara. God, you have no idea how much I want you. How much I’ve wanted you. But I won’t touch you again until you ask me to. When you’re ready to admit what it is that you want, you come find me.”

“Wait,” I say, grabbing her sleeve. “What if… what if they don’t like me?” She shrugs like the answer’s simple. “Then they don’t like us.” She extends her hand and I grab on tight, the identical scars on our palms melding together.

“I like that,” he says, jerking his chin toward my top. I point at my chest. “This? Oh, it’s not mine. Ruby lent it to me. It doesn’t really fit right.” I laugh, pulling the chain strap back over my shoulder. There’s no way to adjust the tightness so it keeps slipping off every few minutes. “Well, considering every guy in here can’t take their eyes off you, I’d say it fits you just fine.” “What? I—No.” He bites down on his smile. “Come on, Mara. You know you’re gorgeous.”

I tuck myself into Cat’s side and she bumps her hip with mine. “Go for it,” she whispers, handing me the little white ball. Her smile is light, but her eyes are serious—overflowing with deeper meaning—and a part of me thinks she may not be referring to the game.

“You keep… flirting with me and while it’s fun and feels good at the moment, it’s confusing. We didn’t reestablish a friendship just for me to become one of your little playthings.” “Okay let me stop you right there.” His voice hardens. “You are not and never will be a plaything to me.” “Then what am I?” “Everything. You’re everything to me.”

“What do you want me to say?” he grits. “That the moment I found out you broke up with Brandon, I couldn’t pretend for one more second that it wasn’t you I wanted the entire time?” A breath shudders out of me. “That I hated myself for wanting you the way that I want you after treating you less than you deserved?”

“You don’t understand,” he says, distressed. “Don’t tell me what I don’t understand.” I hold up a finger. “I understand that you used to be one of my best friends in the entire world and then one day that meant nothing to you. I understand that you never even told me why you pushed me away. You still haven’t. And now I’m supposed to believe that you cared about me the entire time? That you wanted to be with me?” My voice goes raw from the yelling. “You owned every part of me and you threw me away like trash.” He moves closer, reaching for my hand but I pull away before he makes contact. “I know, Mara. Trust me, I know. I hate myself for it and I’ll accept you hating me too if you just let me explain.” “No.” My voice cracks as I back away, hands searching for the door knob. “It’s too late, Ambrose. It’s too late.”

There isn’t a single part of me that has inherited my mom’s artistic skills, but at this moment I’d kill to paint the man in front of me.

“You kept it all this time?” A vein ticks in his jaw. “It was all I had left of you.” This time, I move first. I hurl myself toward Ambrose, knocking the breath out of me as our teeth clash.

“Did you miss me?” His nose grazes the dip in my throat and a needy whimper escapes me. “Because I missed you. I missed you every fucking day. I miss you right now and you’re right in front of me.”

“My gorgeous girl,” he whispers, dropping a soft kiss on the inside of my wrist. “This is the last gentle touch you’ll be getting from me.”

“Ambrose, please. Are you gonna make me beg?” “I don’t know.” He smirks. “Would you?”

My fingers inch along the side of his bicep and a tattoo I’ve never noticed peeks through. I angle his arm to get a better look and my heart stops. Con amor para siempre. With love forever.