Feels Like Fire Read online

  After the dread passes, I change into last night’s pajamas and grab my toothbrush and facewash from my bag at the foot of the bed.

  The bathroom door is open when I get there, and Lennon is at the counter brushing his teeth. He’s changed into a tank top and gym shorts. Motioning me in, he steps aside to give me access to the sink. And then we’re standing side by side brushing our teeth together, the same way Lucas and I always do—did. It’s stupid, because it’s only a mundane task, but it makes me sad. Although, if I were standing here by myself, it would be so much worse.

  I make eye contact with Lennon in the mirror and he gives me a foamy smile before he spits in the sink and rinses. I follow suit, then begin a half-assed version of my nightly face washing routine.

  Lennon doesn’t leave. He perches on the counter next to the sink and rests beside the antique mirror. His eyelids are heavy as he watches me, but he’s sticking around so I won’t be alone.

  When I’m finished, Lennon slides off the counter and trails me to Lucas’s room. He leans against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets, and I wonder if he could fall asleep right there. In a way, I wish he would so he won’t leave. I don’t want him to leave.

  “Well…I know it’s hard, but try to get some sleep, okay?” he says. “Good night, Casey.” He steps backward into the hallway.

  “Lennon, wait.”

  He stops, once again attentive, his concern chasing away all traces of fatigue.

  “Please don’t go. I don’t want to be alone.” I’m blurting out thoughts I’d planned to keep to myself.

  Lennon hesitates for a beat, then steps into the room, closing the door behind him. “Okay.” He seems relieved, like maybe he doesn’t want to be alone either.

  I pull down the quilt. I’m assuming Victoria made the bed while Lennon and I were out, because I sure didn’t. I climb in and lie on my right side, facing the empty half of the bed. Lennon hesitates again, then lies on his back beside me, his forearm tucked between his head and the pillow.

  “Can you just stay till I fall asleep?” My voice sounds so small, so childlike. I remember asking my mother the same question—one of the terribly few memories I have of her.

  Lennon nods, his eyes fixed on the whirling ceiling fan above us. It’s spinning so fast, the blades are invisible. In my tired stupor, I imagine it taking off and slicing through the wall like a giant ninja star.

  Despite my exhaustion, my mind won’t stop. The news articles are seared into my brain; I can’t stop seeing the words. I can’t stop picturing what happened to my Lucas. It hurts. It more than hurts. There’s no word for what this feels like. It’s bigger than agony and devastation and all their equivalents combined. How will I make it past this?

  Lennon sighs and I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder how he’s staying so strong, holding me up when I’m sure he needs to be held up, too.

  “Thank you for hanging out with me today,” he says, closing his eyes. “It helped more than you know.”

  His statement surprises me. “Oh. You’re welcome.”

  “I feel closer to him when I’m with you.” Lennon’s deep voice is soft and sleepy, a hypnotic hum that instantly makes my eyelids feel heavier.

  “I think I can say the same about you.”

  six

  Lennon

  When my eyes open, Casey’s face is all I see—the intricate patterns in the blue of her eyes, the subtle sprinkle of freckles on her cheeks. I feel her body against me. My arm is wrapped behind her, holding us together, face to face.

  Oh, God.

  I jerk away and roll to my back. “I’m so sorry.”

  She stays still. “It’s okay.”

  I rub my eyes and notice the soft morning light peeking through the curtains. I spent the entire night with her.

  “I’m sorry, I fell asleep.”

  “Lennon, it’s fine. I’m glad we both actually got some rest.”

  I sit up and throw my legs over the side of the bed, putting my back to her. I feel surprisingly rejuvenated. And all kinds of embarrassed.

  “Well, good night,” I say with a sheepish chuckle as I stand. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Okay.”

  I glance at Casey before I leave the room. Her eyes are already closed and she looks so peaceful, it makes me want to stay.

  I’ve been sitting in this ugly floral armchair for what feels like an eternity. I stare at the clipboard in my lap, tapping a pen against my knee as my stress level escalates.

  So far, all I’ve written on the form is ‘Lucas Milo Reid’ and the date we came into the world together. I haven’t brought myself to make the dash mark or write down the other date. The end date. His death date.

  I think of those clichéd quotes about making your “dash” count, spending your life in such a way that you can look back proud and fulfilled at the end. Whoever came up with that was naïve. Not everyone gets the same chance. Not everyone is granted numerous decades to try and fail, to explore and indulge, to love and build, to grow and achieve. To fondly reminisce with a completed bucket list clenched in their weathered, wrinkled fist.

  Lucas hardly got the chance to even write his list, let alone experience any of it. In the very least, he got to experience genuine love in his short years. Although, now, the love he leaves behind is dead while still breathing, forced to continue beyond that end date. What happens to Casey’s dash now? It won’t be what it would’ve been. Can it still be as beautiful as she deserves it to be?

  I grind my teeth as a teardrop falls to the paper. I run my forearm across my face and sniffle away my visible sadness. It doesn’t help knowing Lucas is here. And I try not to think about Casey and my mother in the showroom with the funeral director, browsing through the selection of caskets. How do you pick out something like that? I’m as lost about that as I am about choosing the final tribute to represent the man my brother was. Who am I to decide what that should be?

  As I stand, Casey comes barreling through the showroom door, her cheeks streaked wet. I see it in the way she’s looking at me that this is all too big for her, too difficult, too painful. I drop the clipboard on the ugly chair behind me and we meet in the center of the lobby, arms locking instantly around each other.

  It’s like someone has stuck me with a pin, letting the air out and depleting the tension. “Are you all right?” I run my palm over her back.

  “No,” she whispers.

  I pull away, my hands on her shoulders. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

  A tear rolls over her lips and then dangles from her chin. “It’s midnight blue…the casket.”

  “His favorite color,” we say in unison.

  Casey’s face twists in torment, and I want to cry for her more than I want to cry for myself.

  “Where’s my mom?” I ask to deter my thoughts.

  “She’s signing some papers and going over…the service details.” Casey swallows as if the words have left a bad taste in her mouth. “How are you doing? Did you finish the form?”

  Groaning, I grab the clipboard from the ugly chair and show it to her. “Not so much.”

  I watch her sad eyes scan what little I’ve written. I can tell that just reading his name has struck a chord. Casey takes the pen and does what I couldn’t. She fills in that other date. The end date. Lucas’s death date.

  ∞∞∞

  Somehow, by some divine miracle, we completed the plans for my brother’s gravestone. We gave him the titles of son, brother, friend, and soulmate. For the rest, Casey didn’t want one of those trite, tacky sayings, some of which rhyme, only amplifying their cringeworthiness. She chose an Ernest Hemingway quote from memory that tore me apart, leaving me sobbing in that lobby. It’s heartbreaking, but it’s perfect. Something about kissing goodbye—I can’t think about it right now. I don’t have the energy to fall apart again.

  “What are you thinking about?” I hear Casey’s voice from the passenger seat as I stop at a red light. I look at her. Her face is tinted with
a rosy hue in the dusky light.

  I decide to be honest. “I was thinking that you did really good today. I never could’ve done it by myself.”

  She rotates her head toward the window. “Thanks.”

  The light turns green and I accelerate. I don’t know where we’re going. We spent the afternoon at my mom’s after returning from the funeral home, but Casey decided she couldn’t sit around anymore and needed to get out.

  So, we’re out. But with no place to go. Maybe that’s the point. This seems like it’s already becoming our thing. It feels normal. And we need normal. As the city lights flicker on, neon glows bright, and the hot wind whips through the windows at my face and rustles my hair, I realize this feels better than stagnancy, than dwelling. I can’t feel life in the childhood home I once shared with my brother, where I count down the hours until we bury him. But I feel life in this city. I feel life with Casey.

  “I can’t imagine doing this without you,” Casey says. “That’s what I was thinking about. It’s strange because I’d never even spoken to you before yesterday.”

  She doesn’t know that isn’t true.

  We’re running out of city and it’s difficult to talk in the windy car, so I park along Central, pop a few quarters into the parking meter, and we take a walk. Most of the shops are closed by now, so the crowds have dwindled. Although hot, it’s quite pleasant out here. But I guess anywhere is pleasant as long as it’s outside my head.

  “I have a confession,” I say, breaking up the comfortable quiet.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yesterday wasn’t actually the first time we spoke.”

  Casey stops walking. “What?”

  I sit on a nearby bench and she flocks to my side, her eyes eager and inquisitive. “Remember, like, five months ago when Lucas came to visit me in LA, and you didn’t come because you had that wedding?” I ask.

  “Yeah, Rowan’s sister’s wedding. I remember.”

  “Remember when you called Lucas from the reception? Because you’d had a few drinks and you were feeling sentimental?”

  Casey tips her head back and groans. “He told you about that?”

  “No. I told him about it.”

  Her face goes blank. “What.”

  “When you called, Lucas was in the shower, so I answered his phone to tell you that, and maybe to finally kind of meet you. But you never gave me the chance.”

  The way she closes her eyes and places a hand on her forehead tells me she remembers exactly what she said to me that night. “Why didn’t you stop me?” she asks, giving me a little shove.

  I chuckle. “It was so sweet and I didn’t want you to be embarrassed.”

  “Yes, embarrassing me in person is so much more fun,” she says with a laugh and a playful eyeroll.

  “I’m sorry! I just thought you should know that yesterday wasn’t the first time we spoke.”

  “Nope. Because apparently, I gushed about having your babies and declared my undying love for you five months ago.”

  Casey’s words give me a touch of butterflies in my stomach, almost the way they had that night, when she said things to me I felt guilty for hearing. Like I’d stolen them from Lucas.

  Her passionate speech was the kind you make when you’ve spent all day celebrating true love. Or the kind you make when you fear it’s your only chance. She’d professed her devotion to Lucas and promised him her entire future, and it concluded with raising babies together in their little old house.

  It was endearing and thoughtful and beautiful, and for a moment I’d allowed myself to pretend she was talking to me. I’d give anything to be loved like that. I admit I was a little jealous, but I gave Lucas my full approval. I knew he’d found something incredible. I wish to God he was still here to let Casey fulfill her promises.

  “Wait a second.” Casey turns sideways on the bench to face me. “Why did you tell me you loved me too before you hung up?”

  My face is on fire. “I didn’t think you heard me.”

  “I definitely heard you. Lucas and I never hung up without saying it.”

  I rub the back of my neck. “I let it go on so long by that point, I had to play along. I didn’t want you to think Lucas was a jerk.”

  Her smirk softens into a smile. “Thank you for being such a good brother to Lucas. That’s one thing I did know about you.”

  My eyes sting but I fight the sensation. “I tried to be a good brother. I hope he really thought I was.”

  “He did,” Casey assures me, patting my knee. “It’s weird that he never told me about that phone call, isn’t it? He never told me it wasn’t him I thought I’d spoken to.”

  My gaze follows a passing car and I think of Lucas’s journal entry. Whether I knew it or not, I had a knack for stealing girls from him. And for some reason, those girls willingly chose me over him.

  My chest is suddenly tight. I know why Lucas made sure Casey didn’t know me. He was afraid she would do what the rest of them did. He was afraid she would choose me instead.

  ∞∞∞

  “Hey, Lennon?”

  I pause the movie and turn to Casey. It’s the fourth one we’re on today. The more ridiculous the premise, the better. Anything to distract us from tomorrow and the funeral, and today and all this pain.

  “I think I want to go home,” she says.

  “Oh. Okay. Are you sure? I mean, do you think you should be alone tonight?”

  Casey lets a heavy breath puff out her cheeks. “No, but I feel like I should be home tonight. I need to get ready there tomorrow anyway.”

  I nod slowly. “Okay.”

  “Also, I really need to water my plants.”

  The serious expression on her face makes me laugh.

  “What? Why is that funny?”

  I clear my throat. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny. It’s just…cute, I guess. I wasn’t expecting you to say something like that.”

  “Well, I love my plants. You know the expression ‘crazy cat lady?’ Well, Lucas called me crazy plant lady. Because I name all of them and I can’t stop buying more.”

  I think I’m smiling bigger than I have in days. “You name them? Really? Who’s your favorite?”

  Casey sheepishly bows her head. “Amadeus.”

  “Oh, yeah? And what is he?”

  “He’s just an aloe plant, but he was my first. We’ve kinda been through a lot together.”

  I’m still grinning. I can’t help it. “What are some of his friends’ names?”

  She sighs and counts them off on her fingers. “Well…there’s Archibald, Hemingway, Fleetwood, and Ferdinand, all assorted succulents. Tennyson and Icarus are the ferns. Vladimir—he’s a devil’s backbone. Chester, Augustus, and Knox, all golden pothos. Sebastian, the snake plant. Gideon, the jade plant. Nicodemus, the lavender. Adelaide, the kalanchoe…” She glances up at me and I’m sure I look quite amused. “Okay, forget it. I know it’s really silly.”

  “No, it’s awesome. And your name choices are superb.”

  “Fine, there’s also Poe, the rubber plant, and Finn, the fiddle leaf fig.” She chuckles as she gets up from the couch. “I’ll be ready to go in five.”

  ∞∞∞

  The tension is visible in Casey’s shoulders as we stand at her front door. She unlocks it and pushes it open.

  “Do you want to come in for a little bit?” she asks.

  “Sure,” I say, slipping my hands into my pockets as I follow her inside.

  Casey stares at the living room the same way I did a few days ago. When I realize she’s holding her breath, I bend to level our faces.

  “Are you okay?”

  She finally releases her breath and she’s practically hyperventilating. I trace her stare and it’s fixed on one of the framed photos of her and Lucas. How is she going to spend the night here alone if she can barely make it in the front door?

  I pull Casey in to me, and she buries her face in my chest. Her fingernails sink into my skin as she grips my back.

&nb
sp; “Are you sure you wanna do this?” I whisper.

  She nods against me. “I have to. I live here.”

  I let her go. She dries her face with her hands, then frowns at the wet spot on my shirt.

  “Hey, let me help you water your plants,” I say.

  Casey brightens ever so slightly as she leads me to the kitchen. Over the farmhouse sink is a large greenhouse window, its shelves adorned with various potted plants. I spot Amadeus, front and center, and I smile.

  Casey grabs a watering can from the cabinet and fills it from the tap. She carefully waters each plant, standing on tiptoe to reach the ones on top. She doesn’t let me help her. I watch as she breezes around the living room, pausing at each of the plants scattered about on bookshelves, table tops, and even suspended from the ceiling in macramé hangers. Her last stop is the two large ones by the front windows—Poe and Finn?—then we’re back in the kitchen.

  “I should get some plants for my apartment,” I say, marveling over the aesthetic appeal.

  “You should.” Casey returns the empty watering can to the cabinet. “So, do you live alone?”

  “Yeah. I used to share a house with a few guys, but it was too much. I mean, I like to have fun, but they were just too wild. Constantly.”

  “Do you ever get lonely?”

  I shrug. “Sometimes. But I keep pretty busy.”

  Casey casts her gaze to the wood floor, her eyebrows pulling together like she’s worried about something. I wonder if she’s thinking about living alone and getting lonely, and if she can keep herself busy enough. Then she snaps out of it like it never happened at all.

  “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” she says.

  “I’ll do whatever you need me to.”

  Casey draws her bottom lip between her teeth and bites it, her eyes flooding.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  She shakes her head and lets out a nervous chuckle.

  “Casey, just tell me.”