It's been two weeks since I last saw Yann. I don't know if I actually miss him, but I do know that I want to see him. I miss seeing him. Or maybe I just miss him and I refuse to admit it to myself.
In the morning, I've started waking up early to catch him swimming in the pool but I never see him. At night, I stay up late, thinking he will come sneaking in the back while everyone is asleep to swim but he never comes.
We've been going out a lot – Ellie, Will, James, Lucy and I – hanging out at Will's or at Ellie's or simply going to the river, but Yann is never part of our group. Whether because James is there and the two can't stand each other or simply because he turns down Ellie's or Will's invitation. Lucy is disappointed and misses him even if she never really knew him. Lucy gets attached pretty fast to people (I'm afraid she's going to get her heart broken one day if she doesn't change but that's not the point).
I even thought Yann had left town but Will and Ellie told me he was very much there, just not out. I wonder if his sudden repulsion for outdoors has anything to do with me though I'm not sure how.
The past two weeks, I've been out and everywhere, showing Lucy around town, playing with her, spending time with her like two sisters do – in spite of our age difference and the fact that she loves games I don't. I try to make her happy nonetheless, I want her to leave Harlem with happy memories.
Each day I don't see Yann is a day I replay our last encounter in my head though it had absolutely nothing special to it.
It went something like that...
I fall – thankfully on the bed – as I struggle to put my sneakers the next morning at 6:30, thoughts of Yann's face still fresh in my mind, with that look. I look around the room and try to forget about him as I look for my sweatpants. With Lucy sharing a room with me, my belongings are dispersed everywhere, clothes with underwear in the same drawer and underwear on hangers in the closet.
"Lucy," I call in exasperation, "where are my sweatpants?" I rummage through everything in the room to get my hands on one – any – pair of sweatpants I own to go do my morning jogging but my hands fall upon no sweatpants.
"You didn't answer my question," she whines as she comes behind me.
I keep looking furiously, throwing clothes everywhere. "You know, my roommate wouldn't have dealt with you. You'd be dead by now."
"I thought that Ellie was your roommate?"
I spin on my heels and send her a death glare. "The one before Ellie. Now, my sweatpants."
"How could I know where they are?" She shrugs at me. "I wanna come with you."
"You won't keep up with me," I snap. "Where are the damn sweatpants?" I whisper to myself.
"I'll take my bike."
"Oh my gosh!" I exclaim in irritation, "you won't stop, will you!"
"Can I come?" She inquires in this charmingly devilish voice of hers, that voice she uses to have people at her mercy. Was I ever like that?
"Damn it! Yes, yes you can come! Once I find my sweatpants." I say again and start once more exploring the jungle that is our clothes on the floor.
Ten minutes later – I feel late, it's already 6:42am – I am with my head inside the closest when I feel something land on my back. Already pissed off, I turn to start screaming at Lucy but before I can begin the bellowing, I take a look at what she's thrown at me: a pair of sweatpants.
When I look up to her, she's already opening the door. "I'll be downstairs. Hurry up."
I ensnare my unbridled rage with deep inhales. Once I feel better, I finish to get dressed and race down the stairs. Ellie isn't up yet so quietly, my sibling and I leave the dwelling, she on a bike and I on foot.
Her garrulous nature takes over as she starts talking and talking. I don't hear her with my earbuds for this purpose but I can see her lips moving as I glance at her once in a while. I take one earbud off – the one on the side where she can't see – and listen.
"Wow, the air is less polluted than the one at home."
"Oh look, a butterfly. There aren't many at home. Maybe they don't like cities."
"Haha, there's a neighbor spying on us."
"Living here seems nice."
I don't think she's even realized that I am not answering. I suppose she's talking to herself. I go to place my earbud back where it was but I decide against it.
I can feel my muscles already aching so I slow down the pace a little. Beads of sweat are running down my spine inside my tank top and I already feel damp after fifteen minutes. Lucy is true to her word, she's pedaling very slowly to match my jogging pace. I should have known that as lazy as she is, she couldn't have asked to go jogging with me.
I round the neighborhood twice, Lucy still next to me. "You're sweating." She points out after several seconds of silence, "And you stink." She adds.
Taking off my earbuds was I bad idea, I knew it. I pretend not to hear her and continue my race around the neighborhood. Soon after her words, I hear a clatter next to me and turn my head to see the bicycle on the ground and a little sister of mine running across the street.
I stop running and call to her but she keeps racing away. I see her directing herself towards a guy in a jogging outfit. I start walking towards her, trying to remind myself how many times Dad, Mom, and I told Lucy not to talk to strangers. I hasten my pace, taking long strides. The closer I get the better I can see. Lucy is bent on the street, playing and talking with something in front of her, something that I distinguish a few seconds later as a dog.
Once I'm close enough, I stop walking and stare at my sister playing with Russell. Yann has stopped his jogging as well and is staring down at the two of them, happy to have found each other.
"Hey, Tracy," she calls but doesn't stop maiming the poor canid. "Look who's there."
She starts making weird sounds and gestures to Russell who seems to like it. She appears to be having fun, touching and tickling the dog everywhere. After a while, I notice that my breathing is slowing and I realize I have to continue my jogging. I lift my eyes from my sister and her friend to take a look at Yann who is already watching me.
At that moment, images and words of him apologizing yesterday rush to my mind and I try to push them back down. I don't want to think about it now. I don't want to recall the genuineness and the regret in his voice, the way he so gently whispered my name. I can still hear it now, my name on his lips, softly spoken, almost like a breeze.
But I snap out of it. I look back down to Lucy who's playing with Russell and doesn't appear to be letting go of him anytime soon.
"I'll leave her with you," Yann says the same time I ask, "Can I leave her with you?"
I see him clench his jaw, probably in annoyance. He pushes back the hood of his hoodie and glances down at his dog before looking back up at me. "I'm not babysitting."
I wonder why he is so categorically refusing to stay with Lucy when yesterday he was behaving like a kid in need of a distraction. After our fight, I had come down and peeked out the door to find Yann playing with Lucy and Russell. He was laughing, and rolling around like a kid. It was a happy sight but somehow the sight of him was too painful to behold so I left.
"Why don't you both end the jogging?" Again, I cast my gaze down at the unnerving bundle of joy before me.
She doesn't seem to have a care in the world, all that matters being Russell. "I'm ending mine and he's starting his."
"I'm sure you'd like to do some more, Tracy." And she continues as if the little inconvenience was solved, "Let's go, Russell."
I let her walk away with her newfound friend behind her. She picks her bike up, climbs on it, waves to Yann and me, and starts pedaling, sure to call Russell to follow her. The dog turns around, seeming to wait for the okay of his master who doesn't hesitate to give it.
"She has character." Yann points out a few seconds after, "I like that." And he starts his jogging again, leaving me behind.
I'm glad he's acting as though yesterday didn't happen, glad he's being distant because if he were to bring up yesterday, I'm not sure I would be able to keep my composure. I want to forgive him, I do, but I'm hurt and it's going to take more than just twenty-four hours for me to get over it.
Three rounds of the neighborhood later, Yann and I meet at the place where we left Lucy earlier, a little more of a mile away from Ellie's house.
"How old is she?"
We're walking side by side, both of us watching Lucy and Russell. "Nine. Why?"
"For nothing."
He keeps watching her – or the dog? – with affection in his eyes. His eyes behold the sight before him restlessly and he appears to be lost in what he is watching. I frown at his odd behavior, wondering why he seems to appreciate Lucy so much when he didn't even want to babysit her, as he said earlier.
"Why are you watching me?"
"I wasn't even aware I was watching you." I reply once I am out of my trancelike state.
Now he's the one watching me, with a cocked eyebrow. "What were you thinking?"
I raise an eyebrow as well, wondering why he's asking me this question. "Why are you asking?"
"Because you had that awful thinking expression of yours."
I hate it. I hate that we're acting as though yesterday didn't happen. But isn't that what I want exactly? Or is it?
"I have a thinking expression?" I know I have one, Ellie pointed it out all the time when we were sharing a dorm room earlier this year.
"You didn't answer." I know I didn't answer.
"And what do you think I was thinking?" Where is this conversation going?
"Bad things. Like always."
"And bad things like what?"
For a moment, it almost seems like he is going to bring up yesterday and say the kiss but he doesn't. Instead, he averts his gaze and strides away. He whistles and Russell comes to him, licking Lucy's cheek before obeying. Lucy screams goodbye to Yann who waves at her with a tiny smile on his lips.
Once I am near Lucy, I hear her say, "He's nice."
"Russell?" I ask as I watch them leave.
She looks up to me as if I am crazy. "No, Yann."
It's now my turn to look at her as if she were crazy as I tell myself that if she had ever looked up the word nice in the dictionary, she would have known that nice isn't one of Yann's attributes...
That was the last time I saw him. That last time, I was still mad at him, I hadn't forgiven him, I didn't want to see him. But today, as I sit in Will's house, at his kitchen table eating dinner with his mother, Ellie, Lucy and him, I can't chase thoughts of Yann away.
We are all practically moaning at Will's risotto which melts on our tongue. I knew that he could cook but I didn't know he was so good.
"I might hire you as my own personal cook at home, Will," I joke and he laughs, a shy smile on his face at the attention he's getting over his culinary skills.
Mrs. Simons bombards me with questions about life in the city. She says she doesn't like it but I can tell she's interested in it. All the while, her eyes gleam as she talks to me and I can tell it's not over the boring tales I tell her. When I first came in, she had had that surprised look on her face. She had stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide open as recognition lit her features. Thing is, I had never met her until today. It's almost as if I'd reminded her of someone. Will had promptly covered up her speechlessness and had introduced us to each other but I didn't miss that look on her face.
Her questions keep firing at me one after the other and I find myself answering them effortlessly. Will's mother works outside of town as a secretary-receptionist to a law firm. His father – who is unfortunately absent today – is a bus driver and is on the roads a lot, going from one place to another and staying in small hotels.
"I wish Tracy could cook like that," Lucy suddenly says as she beams up at Will who's sitting next to me. Then the little devil sends me a smirk.
"Well, I can't wait to see the day when you can cook like that," I retort.
She scoffs. "I'm not the one who pretends I'm good at it."
Everyone at the table bursts out laughing as Lucy rolls her eyes at me and goes back to eating what's on her plate. I have a comeback on the tip of my tongue but I let her have her moment. That's what little sisters are for, anyways. I find myself smiling no matter how hard I try and soon I am laughing with everyone as well.
However, no matter how hard I try – and have tried those past two weeks – to feel truly happy and to fully enjoy every moment, the thought of Yann prevents me to. The thought of him reminds me of those ghosts in Ghost Whisperer that refuse to move on and hold themselves back in the real world. I feel like those thoughts refuse to let go of me and are holding me prisoner and until I figure out the situation with Yann, I won't be able to enjoy the rest of the summer.
Mrs. Simons goes back to asking me questions and happily, I answer all of them. Most of them are about school, my future and who I am. She's not having a casual conversation just to pretend to know me. As she talks, she asks questions, tells stories of Will's childhood that sometimes relate to my own, pointing out how he and I are alike in some ways.
I take glances furtively at mother and son. Bound and tied. Close and inseparable. This is the type of parent-child relationship parents and kids wish to have. And Will and his mother have it.
Once we do the dishes and clean the table, Lucy yawns tiredly and I know it's time for us to go back home. Will and his mother walk us to the door, and she makes us promise to come back one day, which we do. Will kisses us goodbye and stays until we are driving away in the car before closing his door and going back inside his house.
I check the time on my phone: 9:26pm. Pocketing it back, I look down at Lucy who's lying down, her head in my lap on the backseat. "Will's mom is awesome," she says with a bright smile. "I wish mom had time for us like that."
I smile at her. What can I say? She's busy? She's got things to do? You know it's not her fault? Those are excuses she has been hearing for the past ten years of her life and I can tell she's fed up. I am fed up. I simply brush her hair back and the words leave my mouth, wishful and sad, "One day, maybe."
Lucy falls asleep in less than five minutes. I her carry back to our room once we are home. Once I've taken care of her, I come back down the stairs and head for the door. "Going out?" Ellie questions as she positions herself in front of the TV.
"Yeah," I say, "got things to do."
She's too engrossed in her program to ask where I am going and what I am going to do. That's good because I didn't really want to tell her what I was up to.
Ten minutes. In ten minutes, I will be knocking on his door. In ten minutes, I will be hearing his voice, seeing his face, his hair, his blue eyes. In ten minutes, I will be with him. What am I going to say? I don't even know what I'm going to say. I am fidgeting. I am nervous. I am impatient. I keep running my hand through my loose hair, gripping it so tightly in anxiousness that I'm sure a few strands fall off.
I reach his house. My old house. Before I can chicken out, I walk up the steps and, without waiting a second longer, I knock. Two raps that echo loud in the quiet night. I shiver involuntarily and wrap my arms around myself, wishing I hadn't taken off my cardigan earlier. I wait about a minute but I hear no sound. I knock again. I wait a minute again but no sound can be heard.
So I do what I did last time. I reach under the welcome mat and take the key out. I walk all the way to the backdoor. I hesitate for a moment. Should I do this? Should I break in – which is not really break in, really – again? I can always come back tomorrow but I know that the longer I wait, the greater this hole inside of me becomes, and I want to get rid of that hole. The hole that Yann put there. So the only way is to talk to him. Tonight. And I am not going to wait out there in the cool night, hugging myself to provide some warmth.
So without any more thought, I push the key into the lock and twist the doorknob. It opens. He still hasn't changed the lock. I step into the dark but easily find my way around. This used to be my house and nothing much has changed.
"Yann?" I call out and walk further into his house. "Yann?" I call again but only silence answers me.
Sighing, I make my way to the living room and turn on the lights, not wanting to stay in the dark. At least, when he comes back home, he'll know I'm here and won't have to walk in on me, kind of.
But as the light floods the room, I notice the piano standing there, as if in the spotlight. Suddenly, it's the only thing I'm really seeing in the room. Before I know what I am doing, I walk up to it and let my fingers glide over the keyboard, enjoying the peacefulness the simple touch of it gives me. I close my eyes and before I know it, I'm pressing into the keys and I start playing.
I lose track of time for my eyes are closed. I am not entirely sure how many pieces I play. I sway back and forth, left and right, dancing on the music, humming to myself. The smile doesn't leave my face, the happiness doesn't leave my heart and I feel light, so light, like I'm floating, soaring up high above everything. It's a wonderful feeling. It's almost unreal. It's nothing lik–
"You need to learn how to knock."
•••
"It's been two weeks since I last saw Yann." It's been two weeks since I last posted...
Sorry about that guys :( Back in college, classes, homework. No time.
I hope you all like this chapter❤