Page 39 of Just Between Us

Slowly, the words unspool from me like ribbon, and I tell him everything. The monster that is my father, the abuse Austin and I witnessed before we moved in with my aunt and uncle, and the phone call I just received. From the very few people I’ve had this conversation with, I know what to expect next in this conversation. Judgment masked with pity, discomfort at not knowing what to say next.

“Liam, I don’t want you to think bad of my mom. Your mom is great, so this might be hard for you to wrap your head around.”

The whole time I’ve been talking, Liam’s fingertips have run a path up and down my arm, but at this he stills. I lift my head tosee what his face is doing. His eyes are filled with sadness, not a trace of judgment, which I’m thankful for. Countless times I’ve questioned why she didn’t leave with us. The night my uncle arrived to take us away from that hell hole, where was her strength? While I stood there clutching my stuffed bunny to my chest, why couldn’t she take my hand and get in the car with her children? It’s a constant struggle of mine, even after years of therapy, to force down the resentment. But that doesn’t keep me from protecting how people view her with an iron grip.

“I don’t,” he states simply. “Wanna talk about her? Would that help?”

I pick up the photo from earlier and hand it to him as I recall every bright and beautiful memory of my mom.

“She was fun. She was always making Austin and me laugh. It wasn’t like some moms who do adult things and expect their kids to entertain themselves. No, she got down on the floor and played right there with us. And she was so beautiful, even when he hurt her.” My voice catches, the words coming out on an unsteady breath. I settle back into the crook of Liam’s neck and I hear him swallow.

Liam is an attentive listener, and talking about my mom with someone I trust somehow makes this nightmare less terrifying. His fingers return to the path they traveled earlier, up and down my arm, lulling me into a sense of calm.

When I finally fall silent, wrung out and exhausted, Liam shifts beneath me.

“She was beautiful. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was you in this picture. You’re the spitting image of her.”

“Except for this.” I point to the center of my hairline, but my head is still buried against his neck to hide the evidence. “I didn’t want to look at it anymore.”

“Ah.” Liam nods in understanding. “And that’s why this happened.” It’s a statement, not a question. “Can I see?” he asks softly. “Your hair.”

I hesitate for a beat, but pull back for him to look at thedisaster I’ve made of myself. His expression doesn’t change. Still zero judgment.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Well…it’s not great,” he answers honestly, and I feel my face start to crumple with frustration and embarrassment. “Hey, hey…this is fixable.” He touches the uneven fringe and smooths his thumb across my brow. “Some things I can’t fix. But I think this one I can handle. Where are the scissors?”

I motion to the bathroom, clambering from his lap and he stands, offering me his hand. The bathroom light is still on, shining like a spotlight on all of my hair. It’s everywhere. In the sink, clinging to the faucet, scattered across the floor.

Liam squeezes my hand once, then drops it to pull out his phone. “You can learn anything from YouTube. Including how to trim bangs.”

With a video queued up, Liam sets his phone on the countertop and guides my shoulders so we’re facing each other in front of the mirror. His touch is light as he gathers pieces of hair, his fingers brushing against my forehead as he does.

Liam goes quiet, his brow furrowed, bottom lip caught between his teeth while he works. Throughout the trim, he repeats instructions aloud. “Feather in” and “taper on the sides” while the whisper of hair falls onto my cheeks. Every few seconds he pauses, tilts his head, then continues, with careful precision. My throat tightens at the care he’s giving.

“There we go,” he says, brushing his thumbs across both my cheeks to remove stray hairs. “Look, and tell me how I did.”

Slowly, hesitantly, I turn to the mirror. Angling my head side to side, I’m surprised and actually happy with what I see. Somehow, Liam managed to take my mess and turn it into modern bangs that look intentional.

“Wow.” I reach to touch the hair that now lies even, just grazing my eyebrows. “I’m impressed.”

“Yeah?” A pleased smile tugs at his lips. “I think it suits you. They look cute.” Liam lifts a hand to tuck my hair behind myear, and presses his lips to my forehead. My eyelids fall shut as I take in a shaky breath. “For the record, I don’t even know what he looks like, but you could never look like him. Not where it matters.”

My throat tightens, tears threatening. Who is this man who always knows what to say, right when I need to hear it?

“Come on,” he says, taking me by the hand. “Let’s get you outta here.”

He leads me back to the couch and we take up the exact same position we were in before. Me curled against him on his lap, my head finding that familiar spot against his neck. My eyelids start to droop, my body running out of whatever fuel grief burns with and I do that thing where my blinks become longer and longer until I can’t hold them open.

Pins and needlesprick my left foot, but I’ll be damned if I’m moving. Cassie is curled against me, head tucked under my chin. Her new bangs tickle my jaw every time she breathes, carrying the faintest trace of her shampoo, something clean and sweet, like honeysuckle after the rain. Closing my eyes, I breathe her in before I can stop myself.

A tear-damp splotch darkens my shirt, and I couldn’t care less. I’ll sit like this until my foot turns purple if it means she has this sliver of peace.

My own past pain reminds me sometimes the best thing I can do is hold her and let her feel all of her emotions.

I know how lucky I am to have two parents who love each other. Who showed my siblings and me what a healthy relationship looks like. I only wish Cassie had that foundation as a child. I have no clue what her aunt and uncle are like, but I hope somewhere in her past, someone taught her she was worth protecting.

The light in the room has shifted from afternoon sunlight to the amber glow of evening, painting the walls in shadows. The pins and needles sensation has turned to full numbness, but still, I don’t budge.