Authors: R. K. Ryals
TWENTY-FOUR
My mother’s world
Denmark
I TAKE HIM to my room, to the paper empire he’s seen in the videos.
He steps inside, and at first, I’m afraid to look at him.
“It’s incredible,” he breathes, spinning. “I mean it, Reagan. It’s seriously incredible.”
It’s a fragile world where everything is breakable. He seems to understand this because he touches everything, but he handles all of it like he’s cradling an egg on the verge of cracking.
“The details … the way it’s all put together,” he murmurs.
He glances at me, and I make sure he can see my lips. “I received an origami kit for my tenth birthday, and I guess it spoke to me. There were all these things I could do with it, including bringing my mother’s world alive. It seemed right.”
Rather than say anything, he kisses me again, backing me against my bed until the back of my knees hit the mattress, and I fall.
He falls with me, jerking his jacket off in the process, the slow kiss from downstairs turning desperate. We’re surprisingly quiet, the only sounds our breathing as he rolls with me. We lay side by side, facing each other, his hand on my hip, my hand on his.
“How’s everything here?” he asks.
“Quiet,” I answer because it has been.
“We have our first game coming up. You should come.”
“Okay.”
Surprisingly, despite not being much of a sports fan, I really want to go. I’ve seen school games before, even games he’s played in, but it was from the outside, little glimpses here and there when my cousin still lived at home. Naomi would drag me with her, and I’d hide behind my hair waiting for it to end.
We’re quiet for a long time.
“So, how long have you dreamt about this, Lawson?” Matthew asks suddenly, lips curling.
I grin. “Don’t spoil it, Moretti.”
“Admit it, you’ve been lying in your bed at night wondering exactly what I’m doing and—”
I cover his mouth with my hands. “A bit of advice: Dial back the ego, buddy, before it’s too big for this bed.”
I can feel his smile against my palm.
“Size matters,” he counters when I remove it.
I groan.
Outside, it begins to rain, the drops hitting the roof with a soft
thud,thud,
the sound soothing. Until I hear the thunder, the rumble shattering the stillness.
I sit up, worried.
Matthew sits up with me. “What’s wrong?”
“Are we expecting any storms tonight?”
“Not that I know of.”
Reaching for my phone, I check the local weather, see a forty percent chance of thunder and wince. “Mom’s scared of storms.”
As if on cue, another low rattle shakes the house.
Mom cries out.
I bolt from the room.
“Mama?” I call, cracking open her door.
She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, her fingers clutching the mattress. It’s too late for her medicine.
“Shhh … you’re okay,” I promise, climbing onto her bed.
She looks at me. “My jewel,” she whispers.
I smile even though the nickname cuts me, ripping through my heart. “We’ll think of other things, okay?”
There’s a sound at the door, and Mom tenses.
“I’m sorry.” Matthew leans against the frame, watching. “I can leave.”
Mom smiles. “The Italian boy. So handsome. Come.”
She doesn’t question his presence, and I wonder if beyond her delusions, she realizes who he is and what he’s come to mean to me.
He glances my way, and I shrug.
Mom has forgotten him.
Distant thunder sounds. She reaches for me. I hold her, shushing softly.
Making his way to the side of the room, Matthew takes out his cell phone, touches a finger to his lips, and begins recording.
Even though I’ve already attempted filming her on my own, seeing him do it feels too real. Other people will see this, see her. The thought makes my heart race and my stomach hurt.
“I’ll braid your hair,” I tell Mom.
She leans away.
Retrieving a ponytail holder from her dresser, I return to her, separating her long, sandy brown strands.
“You’re a princess,” Mom says suddenly, eyes roaming the room. “There’s a large castle in Denmark called Kronborg Castle. From the outside, it’s eerie, spires rising up to the sky, looming over lush, cut lawns. Water sparkles in the distance.” She closes her eyes, clasps her chest, and quotes, “My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thought never to heaven go.”
“Shakespeare,” Matthew breathes.
Mom’s eyes open, her gaze sliding to Matthew. He’s still holding his phone, but she doesn’t seem to mind his filming the same way she did with me.
“Do you know which of his works?” she asks.
Matthew’s gaze finds mine, his eyes piercing. “Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.” He exhales. “It’s
Hamlet
.”
Mom claps. “We’re there now. The home of Shakespeare’s Hamlet.”
“That’s the play with all the depression and dea—” I stop myself just in time, gaze falling to my lap.
“It has beautiful moments,” Matthew insists, smiling.
I wonder if he’s forgotten he’s filming.
“There are crypts and catacombs beneath the castle,” Mom informs us. “Come see!” She waves us forward.
Thunder rumbles, softer now, but Mom is so lost in her delusion, she barely notices. “Darkness is like a choking shroud that suffocates us when we sleep.”
Beside me, Matthew hisses, “Is that another quote?”
“No, all Mom. She should have been a poet or a writer. Maybe she could have been if—”
“Hold your breath!” Mom orders.
We inhale.
A few long seconds later, she exhales. “We went over a bridge.”
So caught up in her fantasy, Matthew and I blow out a breath, a startled laugh escaping.
“Keep close, the tunnels are dark. Can you imagine Hamlet here? Maybe hiding?”
“Maybe tortured,” I murmur.
“That, too,” Mom concedes.
She stoops, and we stoop with her. “See this?” She traces the air. “We’re deep in the catacombs now.”
She moves slowly around the room, and we inch forward behind her, the creepiness of it sending chills down my spine.
We are on the third loop when Mom squeals.
It scares the shit out of me, and I squeal with her.
Matthew jumps.
“It’s there!” Mom declares. “Holger of Dane!”
Matthew and I look at each other.
“Like a Great Dane?” he asks.
“A statue,” Mom explains, running her hand over an invisible figure, reverent and awed. “Holger is legendary. Should Denmark ever be in trouble, he will come to life and protect her.”
“Wow!” Matthew says, genuinely impressed.
I gaze at Mom, my heart very, very big. She continues to stroke the ghostly sculpture, and I think how amazing it must be to have something that extraordinary to believe in. To have faith in this renowned man who could protect an entire country.
“The world is full of beautiful stories,” I whisper.
Tragedies and dramas, too.
Stories of true human endurance. We become who we are through the ones we love, the pain we suffer, and the dreams we have.
In essence, I have just finished my history project.
TWENTY-FIVE
The real world
Finally awake
THANKSGIVING BREAK ARRIVES, and because Matthew invites us, we join his family for the holiday.
Kagen comes, too, and I can’t help but wonder about him. It must be bad at home if he doesn’t want to spend it with his parents.
I take my plate outside despite the chill to keep an eye on the house while Aunt Trish and Uncle Bobby eat with Matthew’s parents and grandmother.
Later, when the festivities are over, Aunt Trish and I will walk upstairs and share a quieter lunch with Mom. She’ll eat cereal, and we’ll eat leftovers.
Matthew’s family is loud. Laughter fills the house, teasing banter echoes off of the walls, and Nonna shares family stories that leave everyone enthralled.
Their dog, which I’ve discovered is a mutt of epic proportions—no one knows the breed mix—slinks under the table searching for food.
Mia toddles behind him, shouting, “Shoo, shoo!” whenever she sees him grab a scrap. I feel sorry for the dog, until I discover that’s actually his name.
“You really did that to the dog?” I ask Matthew. “Really?”
He grins. “We told him to shoo so many times, he just started answering to it.”
Matthew finds ways to touch me throughout the day—a little nudge here, a hand on my waist there, a finger hooking with mine, and his breath against my neck—and even though it isn’t much, I feel the touches down deep into my bones.
Watching the Morettis is like watching a holiday movie, the way Thanksgiving is supposed to be.
“It’s enough to make you sick, isn’t it?” Kagen asks, catching me alone.
“No, actually, I think it must be nice being part of something like that.”
He glances at my aunt and uncle. “Aren’t you already?”
I follow his line of sight. “Yeah, I guess I am. Not as big, but nice. I have a cousin, too, but she can’t come down until Christmas break.” I peer up at him. “What about you?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to,” he mumbles.
Being the queen of avoiding questions, I don’t push him. “You aren’t spending Thanksgiving with Vanessa?”
He laughs. “She’s a show pony, darlin’.”
My lips part. “That’s awful!”
“God, don’t feel sorry for her.” He looks aghast. “She might be a show pony, but I’m her stud horse, and she uses it, trust me. Works both ways.”
“That’s sad.” I mean it.
He glares, eyes shuttering. “No pity. Especially from you.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You two look serious.” Matthew appears, his intense gaze locking with Kagen’s.
I excuse myself, suddenly uncomfortable by the tension between them.
Matthew’s nonna is sitting alone inside the kitchen, staying warm from the chill, and I join her.
“Tea?” she asks. “We have iced and hot.”
“Hot,” I reply. “Thanks.”
Getting up, she pours me a cup, handing it to me before resuming her seat. “How are you, Reagan?”
Pulling my knees up, I circle them, the teacup keeping my hands warm. “I’m doing okay.”
Her gaze slides across the room to where Matthew and Kagen argue in the corner. “Would you mind a little advice?”
“About what?”
“Boys.”
I laugh. “I don’t really have enough going on there for advice.”
“Don’t you?”
My gaze locks with hers. “I don’t know? Do I?”
She leans forward. “Being a teenager is complicated. Take it from me. Even more so for you because you’ve been so caught up in stuff with your mom you’re ‘waking up’ to discover yourself in the middle of other things.”
I glance at Matthew and Kagen.
Matthew’s fist is clenched, dark circles painting the skin under his eyes, and I want to go to him, to wipe the weariness away. Is that why he came to my house the other night? Because he needed me for that?
Kagen massages his forehead, jaw tightening.
“I don’t understand.”
Nonna takes a sip of her tea. “I gave birth to three boys, and all of them have had more sons than they have daughters. Anyone who says boys aren’t as complicated as girls hasn’t raised a son.” She nods at Matthew and Kagen. “Those two have been friends for as long as I can remember. Kagen’s dad travels a lot, and when he’s home, he dates. For lack of a better word. Francesca has spent as much time caring for that boy as she has her own sons. And sweetie,” she salutes me, “you’ve been the thorn in those boys’ sides since you were a little girl.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“Boys, remember? You don’t have to do anything. Just be you.” Nonna places her cup on the table. “Between you and me, Matthew started noticing you when you were eight. He’d just turned nine, and we were throwing him a birthday party when he saw you sitting in your yard. He came to me and asked, ‘Why didn’t we invite her, Nonna?’ Your cousin, Naomi, was here, but you didn’t want to leave your mother.”
Nonna smiles. “You have a beautiful face, but your heart is prettier. The things you’ve given up for your mother and the stuff you do when you’re not overthinking things—the kite with Kagen—leaves an impression. Those two boys,” she nods at the wall, “used to make excuses to play outside just so they could see if you were in the yard or up in your mother’s window.”
Her eyes darken, gaze dropping. “Things got worse for Kagen at home, and he grew angry. He lashed out at people, especially those who cared, those who’d do anything for the people they love because he doesn’t have that. You became his main target because everyone knew Reagan Lawson would do anything for her mother.” She glanced at the wall. “I think he wanted you to see him, so that you would do anything for him, too.”
Her gaze found her grandson. “It didn’t help when I asked Matthew to interfere. He’s always been the shyer of the two. Strong, charming, handsome, but a lot more reserved. Often overlooked when in Kagen’s shadow. But he can hold his own. Never doubt that. Your mom is about to leave, Reagan, and you needed drawing out. I didn’t plan on it becoming what it has.”
Reaching across the table, she takes my hand in hers. “It is what it is. I stepped in when I shouldn’t have. Just know, it is entirely possible to care about more than one person in a lifetime. It’s possible for more than one person to need you. So the better question is, what do you want?”
“Matthew.” His name slips out so fast there’s no chance of snatching it back.
Nonna sits back, surprised.
“He’s the only one who’s tried,” I say.
“Kagen hasn’t tried?”
I shake my head. “Until now. Matthew has been upfront with me from the beginning. About Kagen. About everything.”
She smiles. “I’ll be honest … I’m surprised and glad. My grandson is a fine looking young man, but sometimes I worry about him. I worry that he’ll get passed over. That he’s too reserved and kind-hearted to put himself out there.” She gives me a strange look. “I guess I underestimated him.”
She doesn’t know him as well as she thought. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Matthew since his first letter. He put himself out there even when it made him uncomfortable. He’s a fighter, a quiet fighter who holds his hands up, protecting himself until the time is right to fight harder.
“What does he need?” I ask suddenly. “From me?”
Because now it’s time for me to put
myself
on the line.
Her smile grows.