+ LOVING ELIJAH MCCAY +
VOL. 1: CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
It's Saturday afternoon. I'm sulking heavily, shoulders slouched and leaning against the wall closest to Rick's once full, now empty closet. The only item of clothing that remains is the last bit of his unwanted sweatshirts, that I will surely be taking home with me.
Rick's kneeling in front of one of his heavily packed suitcases, stuffing in every last pair of his winter jackets and coats. When he notices the sultry sort of look on my face, he pauses and stands. I cross both arms across my chest, back connecting with the wall I was leaning against.
He comes to stand before me, tosses a gentle punch into my arm. "Don't look at me like that."
I raise both eyebrows, a deep sigh emitting from the pit of my chest, accompanied by a concerned look from my best friend. "Like what?"
"Like you're mad at me. Mad at me for leaving." Rick says this with a serious look, his usually bright blue eyes being dragged down by the apparent feeling of guilt. I don't want him to feel guilty for leaving—if anything, I'm happy for him. For him and his family, because hopefully, moving to another place would give he and his father's relationship another chance.
But I still can't help the overwhelming feeling of dread that fills my body whenever he packs something else into one of his suitcases, because he's just one step closer to leaving his home. Our home.
Shaking my head to confirm that I'm not upset with him, he gives me the look that tells me he doesn't believe me. "I promise I'm not mad," I pause, kicking the ground to occupy to still feet. "I'm just . . . I'm just sad. This is all happening super fast—just thought we'd have more time to hang out and stuff."
After I've finished speaking, Rick takes a step back, runs a steady hang through his light blond hair that just seems to whoosh at the touch. "Oh I see," my brows furrow, "you're gonna miss me."
I scoff, "oh, please—you know who's gonna miss you? Who's that freshman you almost went out with—"
"Oh my gosh," he groans, and returns to packing his clothing into his suitcase. "Melissa and I did not almost go out. One, she's way too young for me, and two . . . she's way too young for me. Yes, she did have a little crush, but I mean, can you blame her?"
"Yes I can," I argue back, zipping up the suitcase after he's tossed in the signed baseball I've let him keep into it. "You're an asshole."
Rick chuckles beneath his breath. "An asshole who suckered you into letting me take your signed baseball and cap—"
I interrupt with a gasp, fist reaching out and landing right in the center of his chest. "You asshole, you begged for those!"
"Never thought you'd actually give them to me!"
When my lips part to object, Rick's bedroom door is pushed open, and in walks his father, his face meaning nothing but business. My throat dries, cheeks beginning to redden due to the acceleration of my heartbeat. I know that it's time for me to leave, so that the two of them, plus Kim, his fiancé, can continue packing up the rest of the house.
Richard clears his throat, pursing his lips toward me. "Ciletti, I'm sorry but it's time for you to head home. Alaric and I have a lot of packing to do until next week."
Rick's jaw seems to clench at his father's mere presence, and I know that I need to leave before I can witness one of the infamous Rick versus Rick arguments that Rick always seems to win.
I stand from the ground, wiping down my pants for any dust that might've found its way onto them. Richard watches me, while his hand reaches for the watch that is latched onto his left wrist, reading the time. "I'd be happy to give you a ride, if you need one, Ciletti."
Shaking my head, I walk over to an inner corner of the bedroom, reaching down for my backpack that was leaned against the wall closest to Rick's restroom. "No, that's alright. I brought my bike. But um, thanks."
Richard nods, leaving the bedroom, and closing the door behind him. I turn over to Rick, watching as he stands, us now being at eye level with one another. He leans in closely to engulf me into a tight hug. I return the gesture, the tightening I once felt in my chest loosening up.
He gives me a few solid pats on the back, my cheek being nuzzled into the crook of his neck. "I'm gonna miss you, man," he whispers lightly, "I'm gonna miss you a lot."
Not being able to speak, with a fear of choking on my words and sobbing uncontrollably, I can only manage to nod, squeezing him tighter.
When we let go, I don't spare him another look, swinging my backpack over my shoulder, and leaving his bedroom. I pull the door closed behind me, knowing how much Rick hates when people don't close his door when they leave.
I ascend the long, swirled staircase of the Kensington home, and for what feels like the first time, I take in the surroundings. The large family picture that's hung at the very top of the staircase, which I've noticed Rick avoids whenever he happens to walk by.
It includes Rick as a kid, his father as a young man, and his mother—who looks just as beautiful as we all remember her. She was a tall, blonde hair blue-eyed woman with one of kindest smiles I'd ever seen. The smile that Rick now wore.
I don't dwell on the picture for long, continuing my cascade down the staircase. Just as I reach over for the door handle of the large double doors, a voice stops me midway.
"Gage! Wait," I stop in my tracks, turning to my left hoping to see a familiar face. My eyebrows raise when I realize that I don't. Richard's fiancé, Kim, is running toward me, a piece of paper in hand. "that is your name right? I was a little confused because I heard Richard refer to you as Ciletti," when I don't say anything she continues, "I'm Kim, Richard's . . . um . . ."
She holds a characteristic sort of grin, that lets me know she's a little closer to my age, then she is to Rick's fathers. She reaches out a hand, and slides the piece of elegant looking paper into mine.
"Richard's fiancé. And yes, my name is Gage, Ciletti is just my last name," I say this with a broadening smile, taking the paper. I turn it over, and flip it open, a surprised look spreading over my features. "What's this?"
The delicate writing is hard to read at first, but when I do, my lips part. Kim bites onto her bottom lip, digging both hands into the pockets of her low-rise jeans. "It's a wedding invitation. Thought that Rick—sorry, Alaric might want you there."
Furrowing my eyebrows at the thought of her rephrasing Rick's name, I close the invitation, and cross both arms across my chest. "Oh, well thank you. Of course, I'll be there." She sends me a thankful smile, a perfect set of my teeth shining through.
Just as I turn to try and walk away, Kim stops me once more. "Um, I'm sorry but I was just wondering um," I've never heard someone stutter so much in one sentence. She seems to notice the look on my face, as she tucks a dark piece of hair behind her pierced ear. "Is he always like this? Alaric?"
Confusion is written all of my face, as she now has my full attention. "Like what? If you mean the jokes then yes, and I know they're annoying but I promise you—he means well." I laugh at my words.
When she doesn't reciprocate the chuckle, I know the question is more serious than she's letting on. "No, no, I mean the quietness, not really good at making conversation."
Although that sounds nothing like the Rick I know and love, I go along with it, not wanting to make her feel like she's inconveniencing Rick—or myself. "Oh, yeah he can be like that sometimes. Just give him a minute to get used to you, and things will get better."
Kim doesn't say anything for a moment, only sparing me another short smile, and taking a step back. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Gage. See you next week." I'm confused for a second, but then remember that next week is when they're leaving, and I'll be forced to say goodbye.
"I'll see you."
After I've gotten my bike out of there large garage, I begin my spin home. Which isn't particularly close, but not very far either. I stop at the soda mart closest to my house, and buy myself a packet of gummy bears and an apple juice.
And I just know my mother will a remark about how much I love snacks that are predominately eaten by children. But these thoughts quickly vanish from my mind when I pull into the driveway of my house. And the chest tightness is back.
Because in that same driveway—is my fathers car.