The Space In Between Page 4

  Which made me actually miss the sandwich my dad made me.

  It was gross, and my first stop when I get in the door—after calling out for my dad on the off chance he got off shift early—is to head straight for the bathroom, stripping off pieces of clothing as I go until I’m jumping in the shower the second I flip the hot water on to the highest setting.

  After standing under the spray until the water began to turn cold, I towel off and head down the hall to my room, grabbing my bag and dragging it with me as I go, throwing it down onto the desk chair before grabbing my phone out.

  Swiping across the screen, I notice the three texts waiting, all of which once I’m in the app, I see are from my dad.

  Heading back to the station now and headed home from there.

  Want me to pick up dinner on the way or make something when I get there?

  And a few minutes after those, the news that couldn’t wait until he got home or I answered back.

  I got called in to work tomorrow morning, so gonna have to drop you at the school early. Talk about it when I get home.

  Great. It’s starting again. The same way it was when we lived in Port Hope.

  At least there it was gradual and not right away.

  This blows.

  Moving here was supposed to be different.

  Closing the messages out and ditching the towel for some clean clothes, I head out to the kitchen, making a beeline for the fridge and grabbing out a soda. Starting to shove the door shut, I remember his text from earlier and grab it before it can completely close. Pulling it all the way open, I scan the contents, seeing the trays at the bottom stocked with vegetables and lifting and opening the freezer door, am greeted by pack after pack of various meats.

  Everything I need to rectify the lunch he made me.

  Homemade dinner it is.

  Popping the can of soda open and taking a long drawn out swallow, I put it down on the table and pick up my phone to text him back.

  Eat here. I’m sick of fast food.

  We moved here three weeks ago and in that time, we’ve tried every available fast food place in the surrounding area.

  Tacos, pizza, chicken. Chinese, Thai and every other country under the sun, you name it, we’ve eaten it, and I’m over it.

  My stomach is definitely going to thank me for this later.

  Taking another swallow of soda, I open the fridge again, pulling out everything I need to make an edible meal, tossing it all on the counter as I go about finding the pans and pots I’m going to need, grabbing my phone when I’ve got it all set up, putting my earbuds in and getting to work preparing it all.

  Placing the meat into the frying pan and placing it on the oven to simmer, I look down at my phone and remembering the last time I actually had it out, I head back into the messages.

  This is probably going to be a long shot, but with an assignment to do and a dad about to go MIA, I’m in need of a distraction, especially one of the musical kind.

  Please let this work.

  Having only been at the school a day, not knowing anyone else and having to work with her in order to get this week’s music assignment done anyway, I give myself the king of all pep talks as I pull up her contact info and text her.

  Staring at the message, deleting more than half before typing it out again, each try looking no better than the one before it, I finally get to a version I can actually stand and hit send before I can back out.

  Hey. My dad’s gotta leave early tomorrow morning, so I was thinking maybe we could get together and start working on our music project. Let me know. :)

  Not wanting to admit how nervous I am about doing it, I put the phone back on the table and turn back to the dinner, but just as I’m about to check on the meat, I hear the vibration as it begins shaking on the table.

  Making sure that everything is going according to plan, the vegetables boiling away in the pot and the meat simmering nicely, I pick up the phone and sure enough, it’s from Emery.

  A girl that my grandpa, had he gotten to meet her, would call an odd bird, but just about the only good part about today.

  And with her response to my text, also the girl that I’m going to be seeing bright and early in the morning.

  You’re on. Is 7 okay?

  Tapping the phone for a few seconds, not wanting to text back too quick and seem too eager, after about a minute, I decide it’s been long enough.

  That and keeping someone waiting annoys me. Who cares how desperate I sound? It’s just Emery.

  She’s more than just Emery and you know it.

  This is not the time for this, even if it is true.

  7 is fine. You mind if I bring my bass?

  Her response is instantaneous.

  I’d be offended if you didn’t, since I’m bringing my own. It plays better than the one in class.

  Okay. I guess I’ll see you then.

  See ya, Mikey ;)

  I have no idea what possesses me to do it, but seeing her text and the cheeky way she winks at me, it’s an opportunity I can’t pass up.

  Laters Ems ;)

  Nice one, new guy, but everyone calls me Em. That’s not original at all. :P

  Tossing the phone back on the table and focusing again on dinner complete with a smile firmly planted on my face, I stir the vegetables, all the while promising myself that when I’m finished, I’m going to find something original to call her.

  Unable to resist bugging her after I’ve done everything I can as far as the dinner goes, I head back to the table and shoot off another message, this time not giving it a second thought before sending.

  Challenge Accepted.

  Emery

  What the hell have I done?

  Agreeing to meet him in the morning was one thing, but continuing to text back and forth, winking at him and grinning like an idiot at his last text, I’ve clearly been abducted by aliens.

  I don’t do this sort of thing.

  Challenge Accepted.

  Why do I get the feeling that he means it? That my joke about everyone calling me Ems is going to come back and bite me and he won’t rest until he digs up an original name to call me.

  I hate this. I was supposed to text him back and tell him thanks, but no thanks, I’d just see him at school and somehow, that’s not what my fingers did when they started their walk across the screen.

  No instead, I’d gone ahead and betrayed myself.

  Damn him and those eyes of his. This is all their fault.

  “Emery? Are you home?”

  Slipping my phone into my back pocket, I make my way out of my room to the railing at the top of the stairs, just in time to see my mom shrugging her jacket off and tossing it on the hook before lifting her eyes to meet me.

  “Ah, there you are. So how was it?”

  It. My first day of senior year. The very thing she should know after spending the last seventeen years living under the same roof as me, I don’t want to talk about.

  “Same as last year.” I answer, making my way down the stairs and hugging her.

  “It can’t possibly be the same as last year.”

  “You obviously have no idea the way high school works, Mom. Trust me, it’s exactly the same. Right down to Jordan being a total jerk and my teachers giving out assignments right away.”

  “Is he making you take pictures of all the new students again?”

  The way things work with me and my mom, it’s not like a lot of families. We don’t really fight and I make a habit of keeping her updated on what’s going on with me. Well, most of it. We talk, we’re honest with each other always and I think because of that, this works well for both of us.

  It’s in being so honest with her the last few years that she knows the way things have been for me since I started at Greenville. She knows all about the devil known as Jordan and the torture he puts me through just because he can.

  “You guessed it.”

  “Well, personally, as much as I think that boy needs to take a minute t
o relax, what he’s got you doing isn’t such a bad thing. It’s the perfect opportunity to meet new people. That can’t be a bad thing.”

  She obviously has no idea who her daughter is. It can be most definitely be a bad thing and the way the day went is proof of it.

  “If you say so. I’m just glad there’s only like five people this year, instead of the ten that started last year.”

  Moving past me, she heads into the living room, calling back over her shoulder and continuing the conversation, despite my wish that she would just drop it.

  “You’ve never been one to shy away from hard work, Emery. In fact, you thrive on it as long as there’s a camera involved. So is there another reason you’re so happy it’s less people?”

  I have no idea how she does it, but her knowing me this well is starting to creep me out.

  “No reason. I just don’t need any more pressure than I already have.”

  “I’m not quite sure I believe that, but I’ll drop it for now.”

  Thank God.

  “So, dinner. What are we doing tonight? Your turn to cook or mine?”

  Looking up with a smile, one that I haven’t seen her wear in a while, she clasps her hands together. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  “O-kay.”

  “So something strange happened today on the way to work and I was thinking that we could just order something in.”

  “I’m confused. What does dinner and what happened at work have to do with each other?”

  “I was thinking of heading out after dinner to grab coffee.”

  She’s being cagey, which considering how strange I can be, shouldn’t be that much of a tipoff to something more, but it is. She’s not usually this evasive.

  “If you want me to talk about the day I had, then the same has to go for you, Mom. So spill it.”

  “When I was grabbing coffee this morning, something, or rather someone, happened.”

  “Which was?” I press, now officially curious.

  “I met someone while I was waiting in line. Someone that I haven’t seen in years. It was the strangest thing, but by the time we’d both grabbed our coffees and were heading out he asked for my number and a few hours ago called to ask me out for coffee.”

  Holy crap.

  My mom met some random guy at the coffee shop the same way I almost ran down a random guy this morning.

  What are the odds?

  “You met a guy and you wanna go out for coffee later?” I repeat back, wanting to make sure I heard her right.

  My mom isn’t exactly a monk, but I swear with the way she’s been since I was a kid, she might as well be. Dating just never interested her. I remember a total of two times in the last ten years where she actually went out with someone and both times it had been a blind date that ended in disaster.

  I was starting to think she would never move on from the time-bomb that was her relationship with the guy that made me.

  Maybe I should be wary of her meeting up with some random guy, but honestly, I’m kind of happy to hear it. My mom, despite never acting like she wanted it, deserves to be happy. If this is a chance at that, then I can make a frozen dinner for one and push her out the door.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying, Emery. So, what do you think?”

  “Well, I think we need to dig out some take out menus for dinner, and then I think we should go through your closet because if you’re serious about meeting up with this guy for coffee, you can’t wear your work clothes.”

  “Since when did you become invested in the way I look?”

  “About thirty seconds before I said it.”

  Laughing, she stands from the sofa and following behind we head into the kitchen, where she heads to the drawer in the far corner and starts digging the menus out.

  As fun as it is cooking dinner and spending time together talking, the idea of having a dinner that’s just loaded in grease and fat sounds even better.

  If this ever goes past coffee and I get to meet the guy, I’m definitely gonna thank him for making her like this. I’m almost as in love with the idea of eating out as I was for the chocolate chip cookies earlier.

  Almost.

  Damnit. I almost made it a whole twenty minutes without thinking about him.

  “You want to tell me what that look is about or keep me guessing?”

  Great. I’ve been caught.

  “What if I said you weren’t the only one that had a random moment with a stranger today?”

  “Is this stranger male or female?”

  Feeling the heat beginning to rise in my cheeks, I attempt to cover it up when she laughs.

  “Male, obviously.”

  “Name?”

  “Chris.” I admit, shortening his name, not quite ready to give her everything yet.

  “Hmmm,” she taps her chin. “That’s a nice name.”

  “Whatever. Did you find the menus yet?” I redirect, and after laughing again she plays along, handing the menus over.

  Thank God.

  “All you gotta do is choose.”

  “Are you serious? I can choose from any of them?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  I really need to thank this guy.

  “And maybe when you’re done, you can tell me about your stranger encounter.”

  Grrr. I knew there was going to be a catch. There’s always a catch. She never lets me get away with something for free.

  “I almost ran him down with my bike.”

  “Emery! What did I tell you about paying attention when you’re riding?”

  Ignoring the question, I look down and seeing a flyer for pizza and wings, I pluck it out and hand it over.

  “This. I want this. And you must have missed the part where I said I almost ran him down.”

  “What happened?” she pushes, taking the flyer from my hand and heading over to the corner of the counter and pulling the phone off the base, punching in the numbers as she brings it to her ear.

  “I called out, he didn’t hear or didn’t care until it was too late, and at the last second I swerved, lost my balance and the pavement paid for it.”

  “Emery!” she exclaims again, about to lay into me, but the voice on the other end of the line stops her. As she starts ordering, I use the distraction to my advantage and duck out the kitchen quickly, not stopping until I’m back in the safety of my own room and away from having to tell her anything else.

  Sure, I might be pleased about my mom’s random encounter today, but I’ve had more than I can take thinking about mine. In fact, the only thing I want to think about right now is getting her ready for her coffee date and figuring out a way to blow off whatever this thing is with Christian.

  Crushes, hanging off their every word, being fascinated and drawn in by a guy’s eyes, and everything else that comes along with being into someone, it’s only for one Carmichael at a time. And right now that’s my mom.

  But if that’s true, why does the thought of bailing on him tomorrow bother the hell out of me?

  Ugh. I’m officially screwed.

  Chapter Four

  Christian

  “I’m not feeling this. It doesn’t sound right.”

  We’ve been sitting in the music room for a little over an hour, and every way we try to piece together music to go along with the lyrics that Emery wrote overnight, is not working.

  “Hmmm,” she ponders. “Do you think that instead of it being slow the way I figured, we should change the tempo a bit?”

  “I’m not sure. I mean, I agree with you. The lyrics seem to fit a slower song, but what we’ve come up with so far doesn’t flow right. Show me what you mean, maybe?”

  “Okay.” She agrees easily and begins playing the passage again, but this time with the speed picked up just the slightest bit, and just like in music class all week, I’m lost watching her the second her fingers touch the strings.

  No matter how long I played with the guys back home, it never felt like this. I watc
hed Eric and Mark play quite a bit, and never once did I watch for longer than a few seconds. With Emery, it’s almost impossible to look away.

  At first, after a week of meeting up in the morning and attempting to put a song together, I couldn’t figure out what it was about her playing I was so drawn to, but I think I know now.

  She immerses herself completely in the music when she plays. Everything she might be thinking and feeling or whatever crap she might be dealing with, the second her fingers touch the guitar, even just the slightest touch, it all drains away and all that’s left is her love of what she’s doing.

  The same way I feel when I play. Why I started playing to begin with. Having everything fade into the background and being taken over by something infinitely more powerful, is intoxicating.

  Just like her.

  “How was that?” she asks and I bring myself back to the present, realizing the moment I hear her words that she stopped playing.

  Damn. I zoned out on her again.

  “How long was I out that time?”

  “A minute, tops.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I am curious what’s got you spacing out like that all the time, though.”

  Don’t say her. I repeat to myself, and thankfully when I summon up the will to actually say something, I don’t say it out loud.

  “He went out again last night.”

  Three days ago, after my dad dropped me off in the morning, explaining to me before I got out of the car that he was going to head out for coffee after work, I dropped it on Emery.

  Well, not exactly. More like I snapped at her and instead of calling me on my crap, she’d read into it and made me spill, and now it just pours out easily, like water from a tap.

  “Is that such a bad thing?”

  “Not really. He seems happy, it’s just happening a lot lately and with the way he is about work, kind of out of left field.”

  “Have you tried talking to him about it? Maybe letting him know it bugs you and that if you had more info, you wouldn’t spaz out so much?”

  “I don’t spaz.”

  “Oh, Mikey, you so totally spaz. I mean you’re setting up to do it again now. I can see it in your eyes.”