Older

by Jennifer Hartmann

I guess that was why I loved too much. I had a lot of loveless holes to fill.

Life is like photography. You need the negatives to develop. —Ziad K. Abdelnour

“Swim to where?” “Anywhere.” I shrugged. “Everywhere.” “Mm,” he mused. “Bad night?” Bad day. Bad night. Bad life.

“Sorry to disappoint.” He paused, his eyes returning to mine, twinkling with what looked like pale-green flecks now that he was closer. “I’m not disappointed.”

“I guess I just love moments.” “Moments,” he echoed, nodding slowly. Processing. Allowing my words to sink in. “Blips.”

“Life is living. If you’re not living exactly the way you want to live, then what’s the fucking point?”

Everything was hollow. Everything except for my heart. And having an abundant heart in a hollow world was an affliction I was helpless to overcome.

Have you ever listened to the lyrics? They’re beautifully tragic.” “Huh.” He tilted his toes forward, pressing them to mine. “Can’t say that I have.” Do you like tragic things? Are you drawn to the ghosts in my eyes? Stupid, fruitless thoughts. If he ever sat down with my ghosts and had a heart-to-heart, he’d be running for the hills.

“Relationships are overrated. Love is nothing but a building block for collapse. A stepping stone for tripping and stumbling into a black hole you can’t climb out of it.”

But being jaded doesn’t come with age; it comes with hardship. And hardship can blow through like a stormfront, destroying everything in a blink. Five years old, fifteen, fifty. Doesn’t matter. Once you’re caught in the funnel, you never stop spinning out.”

“So, you hate peanut butter, house parties, and love. What do you like?” “I like you.”

“You don’t know me well enough to like me.” “Yeah.” I stared at him, held his gaze. “Maybe that’s why I do.”

“Goodnight, Halley Like the Comet.” I smiled softly. “Goodnight, Reed.”

Reed stared at me, his features illuminated with bulb light. Our gazes met, tangled, and clenched. I couldn’t hide my wide-eyed expression or steady the newly erratic beats of my heart. He was devastatingly attractive. The stars and moon had done him no justice, and I resented them for that.

His scent finally traveled over to me, making me think of fresh grass, open skies, and bonfires in the fall. A hint of amber, too. It was just as seductive as I’d imagined.

Are you here to save me?” Reed brought the nozzle of the beer to his lips and took a lazy pull. “Saving you would imply you’re in peril,” he noted, stretching out his infinitely long legs. “Are you?” “Maybe.”

twisted toward Reed to extend a hand. “I’m Halley. Like the comet.” He glanced at my hand with a confused expression. “I think we did this already.” “Nope. We never shook hands before.” “Is that how we make this introduction official?” “Yes.” I bit back a smile. Nodding, he reached out and wrapped long, warm fingers around my palm. “Reed.” My airways narrowed to a stifling pinpoint. Palms clasped, grip soft yet soul-churning, I felt heat flare from the tips of my fingers and whiz up my arms, staining my neck in a pink flush. I didn’t want to let go. A single touch was like a sunbeam neutralizing my blackened veins. When we finally pulled apart, it felt like a heavy loss.

“Come on, Comet.” A hand extended toward me to help me off the floor. “You can tell me the rest of your favorite songs.” The name processed like a drain trying to swallow down the swampy lake water. Comet. Something happened to me. Something devastating and beautiful unfurled inside my chest.

you dance?” “Aside from those cutesy daddy-daughter dances from a decade ago, no.” My mind spun with images of Reed and a little girl dancing in a gymnasium filled with balloon arches and a crooning Bette Midler, while his daughter danced on the toes of his big boots.

He inched forward. Leaned in. I inhaled sharply. “Is this why you came back?” Our mouths hovered a millimeter apart, his warm breath coasting over my lipstick stain in shaky bursts. “For a kiss?” Lifting his hand, he grazed the back of his knuckles up my jaw to my cheekbone. “I was curious.” “I was waiting.”

Our lips touched. Just barely. But the air left me like I’d toppled off a twenty-foot cliff and landed on my back.

Remnants of wintergreen chewing gum and a hint of beer. One kiss, and I was already addicted to the taste of him.

“Let me grab my jacket. I’ll meet you in the living room.” “Okay.” It was a shame he had to grab his jacket. I think a part of me would never understand why he’d brought a jacket in the first place, considering it was the dead of summer in northern Illinois and even nightfall came with eighty-degree temperatures. But he just had to grab the damn jacket.

“Hey. You’re⁠—” “Halley,” I provided, because there was probably no way he remembered my name like I remembered his. Then I waited for the residual anger to crease his brows and shadow his eyes. But all he did was nod once as snowflakes splashed across his navy hat. “Like the comet.” My heart jumped, lashes fluttering. It was nine degrees, but my skin sizzled with telltale heat as I pressed my lips together in an attempt to flatten the smile. “Reed.” Reed, the man with green eyes and golden words.

“I liked talking to you, too, Halley.” My face was hot, my cheeks as rosy as jolly ol’ St. Nick’s. Did he like kissing me? Touching me?

“Hear that?” I blinked, his question cutting my words short as I frowned, confusion settling in. “Hear what?” A smile hinted as he leaned forward on the cart with both leather-clad arms and glanced up at the ceiling. “Listen.” The clamoring of squeaky carts, busy shoppers, and checkout beeping drowned out as I focused on whatever it was he wanted me to hear. And then my belly pitched, a sharp breath leaving me. A song filtered into my ears. Oasis. I looked at him, looking at me, while he awaited my reaction. I couldn’t contain the genuine smile I sent him, and it only brightened his. “Wonderwall,” I whispered.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t crank up the volume dial every time the first chords rang out through my boombox. I’d also be lying if I said I didn’t think of him every time it played. “You like this one?” he wondered. “Yes. It’s my favorite.”

“Confidence is like a muscle,” I told him. “It needs consistent exercise. The more you practice, the stronger it becomes. It’s not about eliminating self-doubt entirely—it’s about pushing through it.”

“You had a thriving business you’d just built from the ground up. You were making a difference in the world. Changing lives. She knows that.” “Making a difference in her world is my priority.”

And when she sat directly across from me at the dinner table, looking far older than her actual age and more beautiful than I last remembered, I snatched the glass of wine Whitney handed me and chugged the whole thing, while the devil on my shoulder leaned in and whispered in my ear: Thou is royally fucked.

“Nothing happened.” That was a lie and we both knew it.

Then I scribbled my name on her cast with a black marker, telling myself it would be the only thing she’d ever claim from me.

“Are you real?” “Pretty sure.” “I was…dreaming…” He continued to brush his thumb along my forehead. “What did you dream about?” “Dancing…songs.” I wasn’t making sense, but it was hard to make sense of anything when Reed was near, and the fever wasn’t helping one bit. “There was music.”

Reed was warm, firm, and safe. I’d live with this fever till the end of time if it meant he’d stay here with me.

“It was sweet. I appreciate it.” “Sweet,” he parroted, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He said it like the word tasted anything but.

“Yikes. I guess I’m the romantic.” The laughter fizzled out, and Reed blinked at me before ducking his head. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.” “Feels like it is sometimes. It makes a person soft and hopeful in a world that’s hard and painful.” “Maybe the world needs more people like you.”

“Goodnight, Reed.” “Yeah,” he answered softly. “’Night.” When I turned away, giving the leash a light tug, Reed called out to me one more time. “Photography.” I stalled my feet, my back to him. My breath fell out like a feathering of white against the cool air. I swiveled around, staring at him from a few feet away as he straightened from the side of the truck. “You should do photography.” His eyes were soft as they held with mine. “For your blips.”

Reed took a seat beside me, his own water bottle dangling between his spread thighs. He didn’t smell like a locker room. He smelled like what I imagined salt clinging to seaside air would smell like, fused with whatever bodywash he used. Something clean and crisp, hinting with the warmth of amber.

HEHEHEBEHEHEHSBSHSHSHHSNZNZJS

“I don’t like being in pictures.” I faltered. “Really? Why not?” “Don’t know. I guess I prefer the fluidity of experiences, the way they come and go without being confined to a frame.”

he’s so me (I have body dysmorphia)

Inhaling a jagged breath, I raised the camera. He looked at me. Reed lifted his chin, glanced my way, and his eyes glittered in the sunshine as half his mouth tipped up with the tiniest grin. Click. I snapped the picture. I made it count.

He groaned. The sound sent a shot of wetness straight to my underwear.

I was pretty sure I knew what that look was. Regret.

I didn’t want to infringe on their quality time together. I wasn’t his daughter. Fate had made it so I’d never be his anything.

I wasn’t used to feeling worthy or appreciated; I was used to feeling like the opposite. A burden, a nuisance, a strain. I was a shadow, not a light.

The way you carry yourself, your ‘I-don’t-give-a-shit’ attitude.” “I do give a shit. I give an infinite amount of shits.”

“Everything is just…hard.” He stopped swinging his feet. But the sound still pounded in my ears, so I guessed it was my heart, after all. I froze, regretting the depressing monologue instantly. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say all that.” I started furiously stirring the ground beef mixture as I fought back tears. Reed dropped his chin to his chest, his jaw going tense as his fingers curled around the edge of the countertop, and he blew out a long breath. “Tell me more about your dreams,” he said softly. I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.” “It does matter. Sounds like you need someone to talk to.” I wanted to talk to him, but that was a terrible idea. Spending alone time with Reed while I ambushed him with my graveyard of ghosts and brittle bones, forced to stare at that look in his eyes that would haunt me till the end of time? It sounded more like a death sentence; like I’d find myself buried six feet under in that graveyard when all was said and done.

“I didn’t mean to lay all that on you. Like I said before, I’m not your responsibility.” “Doesn’t mean I don’t care.” I faltered, the saucepan tipped sideways as the ingredients sloshed across ceramic. “Are we friends?” “I don’t know.” He frowned, pondering the term. “I guess.” Friends. I was eighteen, and he was almost thirty-five.

“What?” “We can make a bet.” I huffed. “No.” “Rock, paper, scissors. If I win, you’re going to chase your dreams—wings spread, eyes on the sky, no looking back. If you win…” His face fell. “Then I guess you’re right.” My cheeks warmed, my insides fluttering like my tiny, weakened wings. “Okay.” “Okay.” His smile returned, and our hands went into position. I didn’t overthink it this time. One, two⁠— I did scissors. Reed did rock.

And then he bopped my scissor fingers with his fist until that fist unclenched and his palm opened, covering my small hand. His touch lingered. It lingered like his eyes always did as he brushed his thumb up and down the length of my index finger.

His touch was warm, thumb calloused yet gentle. Everything inside of me turned to sunlight. A fireball, a blaze.