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I sneak into my bedroom through the window, which I always keep unlocked for such occasions when I don’t want to run into Mom.
After kicking off my boots, undressing and donning an over-sized t-shirt, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling. Sleep is impossible with all the conflicting ideas in my head and similar feelings in my heart. Or is it my stomach? I’m not sure. The general area feels tight, like the day Sensei accidentally kicked me in one of our class demonstrations.
A dark shape moves in the heavy drapes by the window. My eyes snap to the spot. Nothing’s there. I’m seeing things now. A sad smile visits my lips and I’m reminded of Grandma’s old saying, which never translated quite right from Spanish to English.
“Smile when you don’t want to cry.”
Why do I want to cry? Why, all of a sudden, do I care about who Xave is dating? It never bothered me before, and he’s dated plenty, has even asked me for my advice once or twice. Not that I’m qualified to give anyone advice, not when I’ve never even been on a date.
Am I only upset because he picked Judy Pratt? Or is there something else behind this portentous weight on top of my breastbone?
The slight squeak of hinges takes me away from my thoughts. I look toward the door and find it tentatively swinging open. I squint, trying to make out Mom’s features in the dark gap. Instead, I find Luke. What the hell?! What is he doing here at—I look at the clock—10:30 P.M.?
“Can I come in?” he whispers.
He’s in already. I get my naked legs under the covers.
“I thought I heard you come in,” he says, shutting the door behind him.
I find myself speechless as I try to work this out. Is Mom still up? Were they perhaps talking, bonding like the most perfect mother and son duo? What is going on here?
Luke sits on one corner of the bed. Wait! Is that pajama bottoms he’s wearing? What?!
Noticing my puzzled gaze, Luke pinches his checkered pants. “Um, I’m sleeping in the living room,” he says with a rueful smile.
“Wait a minute,” I say, fidgeting, disguising my discomfort by rearranging the covers and pillow. “You’re sleeping here, on the sofa?”
“Futon,” he says, chagrined. “We replaced the sofa.”
“Replaced the sofa?” My voice rises from whispers into a normal tone.
“Yeah, and we were thinking that ... since we’re not moving, maybe we could build an addition. You know ... another bedroom.”
Unbelievable! I stand and start pacing the floor along the opposite side of the bed. “I like how you two make all these decisions and inform me after the fact.” I try to make it sound like a joke.
“What else are we supposed to do?” Luke asks seriously. “You’re never here.”
Hmm, I wonder why?
“Mom and I—” he starts.
“Mom?!” I don’t know why but the word is a sharp dagger right through my heart. I give a sad laugh, feeling strangely deflated, numb. I slump on the desk chair and stare at my bare feet.
“Marci, I never had a mother.” I can feel Luke’s earnest eyes on me. I want them to turn away and take their accusation with them. “I just—”
“It’s fine, Luke. You don’t have to explain. An addition is fine. Maybe, if you wait long enough, you may not even need one.”
Luke slides across the foot of the bed, reaches the nearest corner and leans tentatively toward me, until I can’t bear the closeness. “What do you mean?”
I don’t know where the thought came from or if I’d be allowed to do it, but suddenly, I’m considering moving into The Tank. They have bedrooms where Kristen, Aydan and Rheema spend the night most of the time. I could do the same and I probably wouldn’t even have to ask. There, among the other Symbiots, is where I belong—the only place where I don’t have to hide who I am. Mom doesn’t care what I do. I bet she’d actually be relieved if I leave.
“Nothing,” I say with a shrug. “Just thinking out loud.”
“If my presence here makes you want to leave, I’ll go.” Luke’s voice is quiet. Straight blond hair hides his eyes as his chin dips low. “I won’t be responsible for interfering between you and your mom. I couldn’t stand that.”
Damn Luke! Now he’s got me feeling sorry for him and something tells me he’s just playing me. None of this can be for real. This is not the same boy I’ve known since kindergarten. He was never meek or touchy-feely. He’s faking it. He’s gotta be.
Yet, I can’t bring myself to call him on it, because it’s possible the “Before Luke” was just a façade. And this—without the cool, cocky exterior—is really him. I know all too well about living different lives.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I’m not going anywhere.” A short snort punctuates what feels like a lie. “I’ll stop causing trouble. You make yourself at home.” As hard as I try, I can’t leave the sarcasm out of my last few words. “Like you said, I’m hardly ever here, anyway.”
Luke locks his gaze with mine. He looks deep into my eyes, as if he’s searching for something. A strange chill runs the length of my back, and having him here—in my room at this hour—suddenly feels way off.
“Um, I need to catch some sleep or I’ll be worthless tomorrow.”
“Me, too.” He smiles and walks to the door. Before leaving, he says, “Thanks, Marci. I know this isn’t easy for you. I promise you I’ll do everything I can to make this work out.”
His hand rests on the door knob for a few seconds as he seems to ponder what else to say. I can tell there’s something else in his mind, but he doesn’t say it. He simply says good night and leaves me wrapped in shadows.