It's eight in the morning and the scorching sun is already unforgivable. My gaze wanders to my left where Lucy is wading in the pool, trying fruitlessly to swim like fish. She is probably drinking a lot of water from the way she coughs nearly all the time. Taking a seat down on one of the chaises longues, I rest my breakfast on the table next to me and start eating: a plate of scrambled eggs with some waffles accompanied by a generous glass of milk.
As I eat, it all comes back to me, how wonderful it's always felt in Harlem during the summer. I would jump on Dad's back, have him run around the house with me while we screamed like Indians. Mom would always be absent or working, it was always like that. It's always been peaceful and relaxing to me, and I am glad to see it hasn't changed.
Lucy's high-pitched voice resonates around the backyard. I close my eyes as I hear the water slopping around her with her moves. I lay back on the chaise and breathe in the cool summer air. It's only a few minutes before I hear Lucy's joyous scream.
"Yann! You're coming to swim?"
My eyes fly open at his name, searching for him. He is crouching by the side of the pool, smiling down at my little sister. Russell is lying down on the grass a few feet away, watching his master. Quickly, Yann undresses, leaving only his swim trunks and he jumps in the pool. Lucy doesn't hesitate to jump on his back and he begins to swim with her in the pool.
I can't take my eyes off the two of them as Lucy makes weird sounds as Yann swims with her. It almost looks as if she's sitting on her own personal dolphin and he goes from one end of the pool to the other. The thought makes me smile and I watch as he warns Lucy to hold her breath and dives underwater with her, only to resurface a few seconds later. Lucy squeals happily, her hair plastered to her face. Yann has the occasional lift of his lips but nothing more whereas Lucy is all giddy, waving at me and smiling and I can't help but smile back.
"Tracy, I'm learning to swim!" She calls excitedly.
I cannot contain my joy at seeing her so cheerful and I let the smile widen over my face. "I can see. You're doing a good job," I encourage her with a thumbs-up which she returns happily.
Yann looks at me for a brief second before focusing back on Lucy. "Okay, now stretch out your arm." He's giving her instructions which she follows obediently. She must really love this sort of swimming course to show obedience to Yann. That's a first. Lucy is usually a little rebel.
"You've been swimming for long?" Lucy questions as she moves her arms in the crawl pattern Yann has taught her.
"Yes, a while now."
But Lucy isn't satisfied with the answer, "How long?" She presses.
"Almost twenty years. All my life." He answers, "With more force, your arm."
I can tell he's trying to distract her but Lucy is like a glue: once she's got you, she's not letting go. "Is swimming your job in life?"
"No, it's not." I think I detect a hint of annoyance in his voice but Lucy doesn't seem to. "Keep going, you're doing well."
Yann comes out of the pool, directs himself towards me and takes a seat in the chaise longue next to me. "She's talkative."
"You're quiet," I retort.
He swings his head to look at me. His wet hair is shimmering in the sunlight. "You're not."
"I am."
He keeps looking, not realizing his stare is disturbing. "French literature, huh?"
I am momentarily thrown off guard by the switch in topics but I answer after a moment. "I didn't peg you as the reading type." I think of him two days ago, quoting Corneille to me. I was really surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth.
"Neither did I." He averts his gaze to check on Lucy who's still working before looking back at me. "You're into English lit as well?
"Yes, English as well." I repeat. "But I prefer French. It has something... something more that I can't place my hands on."
When he doesn't speak for a while, I cast my eyes down on him to find him eyeing me with that curious expression that I've grown to ignore now. "What?"
He gets up and, with a nod my way, he says, "I agree."
And like that, he's back in the pool with Lucy, without a glance my way, as if this conversation had never happened.
Unbelievable.
After half an hour in the water, Lucy gets tired and climbs out of the pool to go maim poor Russell who was silently lying on the grass so far. She calls to Yann to join her and I see him roll his eyes a little but there's a ghost of a smile on his lips. I observe the both of them as they play on the grass, like two long lost friends finding their way to each other after years. And the dog. The dog is like a connection between them as he jumps on one, then on the other, barks happily, chases them.
I'm used seeing Lucy like this, it doesn't surprise me. She's like that with Shelby back home. But what really has my attention is Yann playing with her. Right now, he's on all fours, Lucy on top of him as he imitates Russell. His hair, damp from pool water, is sticking to his forehead but he shakes his head, shaking the strands away as well.
Lucy is happy. She's screaming in ecstasy and Russell is barking along. They all seem to have forgotten about my presence here. So I change position on the chaise longue, resting my head where my feet are supposed to be. I lean the side of my face on my folded hands and I follow them with my eyes, watching their childish games.
I stare at Yann, unable to tear my eyes away. The soft tone he uses now. The sparkling of his usually emotionless eyes. The corners of his mouth that lift higher up. This smile that's hidden by his growing facial hair but that I know is here. The sunlight bathing him. The small but significant joy coming from him. This chuckle – one I've never heard before – that's so close to laughter.
I suddenly wonder what his laughter would be like. Then I realize I know how it would be.
Beautiful. Just like the rest of him.
This Yann. A Yann I've never seen. A Yann who's wrapped around my little sister's fingers. A Yann that was hidden under the shadows of his darker persona.
Yann.
And for the first time, I think I really see Yann.
He's just a hurt kid.
***
Surprisingly, Yann spends the rest of the day with us. I leave him with Lucy but find myself watching them occasionally, peeking behind the curtains where they cannot see me. I mostly cannot stop staring at Yann. This man who is in fact a kid at heart, a little boy who didn't have a happy childhood and who's just looking for a companion in Lucy, trying to get back as much as possible of what was ripped from him. My heart aches for him and I close the curtain and go to make some breakfast.
Will called a few hours earlier, saying he wanted to have dinner with us – he says he wants to find out if I can really cook. I didn't take offense to his words and simply laughed at him, telling him he was in for a food-gasm today.
A few minutes after five, Will knocks on the door and lets himself in. "In the kitchen," I shout when I hear him call my name.
I hear his footsteps behind me and before I can turn around, I feel his hands on my eyes as he says, "Guess who."
I laugh and swat his hands away as I turn around. "You can be so damn stupid sometimes," I say and punch his chest playfully.
He flicks my nose playfully and is about to say something when someone clears their throat. Both of our heads turn to find Yann standing in the entrance, watching us with that expression he sometimes gets when Will is involved.
"Yann," Will says in surprise as he walks to his friend, "I didn't know you were there." He pats Yann on the back and Yann repeats the gesture, his eyes never leaving mine. I frown at him but he only looks at me. As he pulls away, Will continues, "You could've been a little more decent yesterday." I suppose he's referring to Yann's little disagreement with Lucy at the Gate River.
I can't see Yann for Will is blocking me the view but I hear his curt comeback. "Did you ever know me as a decent person?"
"You could at least pretend to be." I can tell Will is mildly annoyed.
"Why? To make who happy?"
Will subtly jerks a finger towards the backyard, where Lucy is happily screaming as she plays with Russell. "Her. Despite your legendary rudeness, she still finds a way to appreciate you."
"She's just a kid. She doesn't understand."
"More of a reason for you to be nice to her. When was the last time I've seen you act like a real human being, Yann?" His voice has left the reproachful tone to switch to a friendly and indulgent one. "This kid brightens up your day even if you'll never admit it. Put aside the grouch personality for once."
"Whatever," Yann says, and I've learned that when he says that, it's because he's giving in. Not that I've seen him give in that many times.
We have dinner together, Lucy cheering us up effortlessly as she fills Will in on what she did today with Yann. She exaggerates the details a little bit and sometimes throws a glance in Yann's way as if to dare him to call her out on it. Yann remains lip-sealed and simply looks at my little sister in awe, probably wondering if that ten-year-old little human being isn't an alien with a wicked mind. I sometimes wonder that too.
After dinner, Lucy is too tired to stay up and goes to our bedroom. Will gets a phone call from his mother who needs him over for some plumbing issue and he leaves. Left alone with Yann, I only stare at him for a moment. We haven't really talked since Friday and I miss him. Ever since we started talking, that's the longest he's gone closed off. I wonder what it's all about.
I am about to ask him why he's shut me out when he calls to Russell who was obediently sitting next to him, and says, "Goodbye, Graham."
I don't even feel as Russell pounces on me to lick my cheek goodbye. All I can focus on is Yann's back as he leaves the kitchen and soon, I hear the door shut close behind him. I sigh in spite of myself and, not feeling sleepy at all, I go retrieve my iPad from upstairs and go sit by the pool to read Ugly Love by Colleen Hoover.
I try hard to focus on the words, but I feel restless. The water in the pool keeps distracting me and I find myself glancing towards it more than one time. It brings vivid images of Yann swimming in the pool only a few hours ago. I remember, before falling asleep with my head on my hands, watching him go back into the pool as he left Lucy with Russell on the grass. He had swum the length of the pool before starting again in the other direction. We hadn't talked, I had simply watched him.
I don't know why, but I love watching him swim. He's utterly perfect in the water, like a fish at home.
I put my iPad down and get up. I won't be able to go to bed tonight unless I talk to him. So I head towards his house, making sure to lock the doors as I leave Lucy alone. But again, this is Harlem, nothing ever happens. Never a burglary, never a kidnapping. It's just that peaceful and quiet here.
I reach his door. I take a deep breath in. I don't even know what I am going to say when I see him yet I know that I need to see him. I said I wouldn't give up on him and I intend to keep my word. I march up the steps and am about to know when I hear the dulcet notes of a piano. I don't know what I am doing but before I can ask myself this, my hand is already twisting the doorknob as I slide myself inside the house. I need to be closer. The notes become louder as they fill me, and I walk, barefooted, to where I know he is playing.
I stand in the doorway with his profile facing me. My eyes follow his hands as they cover the surface of the keyboard each time he plays high-pitched or low-pitched notes. I don't recognize the piece he's playing but I know it's in F-minor. It's soft, with a tone of nostalgia to it. His eyes are closed and he sways as he plays, in tune with the melody.
I close my eyes and enjoy, like I always enjoy listening to a piano. I hear Yann slowing down the notes and I know that the end is near. It's not long before the final note is out, putting an end to this beautiful melody.
"You need to stop sneaking in, Graham." I snap my eyes open. Yann is still seated at the piano, his profile still facing me. When I don't answer, he turns to face me.
I cross my arms over my chest and look at him. Hair always in that ponytail, he looks as if he's just come out of bed with his yoga pants and a plain white t-shirt. He wasn't dressed like this earlier.
He gets up and walks to me. "Why are you here?"
"Why are you shutting me out?" I wince as the words come out.
Okay, I most definitely did not plan for it to come out sharp and blunt the way it does and I can see that even Yann is surprised as he hears the words so I try a nicer approach. "You've been closed off for the past few days and I don't know why." I try to think of what we were talking about that day but I can't even remember. "Was it something I said?"
For a moment, he just keeps staring at me and doesn't answer. Then the transformation is slow, gradual. His features morph into that same expression of boredom he used to sport each and every time I was near him. I watch as he moves towards me and, as he feigns to bypass me, grabs my hand. It takes me two seconds to realize he's dragging me out of the house. "What are you hiding from?" I earn no reaction from him other than a slightly firmer grip of his hand around my wrist. "Why are –"
Without any warning, Yann turns so violently around that I shrink away in surprise, slamming my back into the wall. "Why," he screams, "can't you just shut the fuck up?" He barks into my face.
I don't know what to say at his blatant anger, his uncontrolled fury. So I say the first thing that crosses my mind, just to get the time to calm myself in the next seconds. "Saying bad words makes you a bad person."
It doesn't seem to amuse him because he advances closer to me and I back away further into the wall, as if wanting to make one with it. "Don't fuck with me, Graham."
"I am, aren't I?" I've heard that playing with fire is dangerous, but I've already made the decision to fight Yann back, and no matter how much I hate to get burnt, I will keep playing.
"Stop, Graham, or you won't like it." His tone is enough to convince me, but I bite back the intimidation I feel. "You don't want things to get ugly."
Gosh, I feel like we have gone all the way back to square one and I refuse to let that happen. I don't want him to retreat back into that shell of his.
"Oh, but I do." And with that, I push him off me. Instead of walking out, I stand there. "Things are already ugly, Yann. Why do you keep doing this? Why do you keep pretending to be something that you are not?"
He runs his hands into his hair but he encounters the hair band that holds his ponytail. Raging, he yanks it off and tosses it on the floor. He's free now to let his hands roam into his hair in frustration the way they want. He's pacing around, and his leg reaches out to kick a chair at the table. His eyes lift up and they meet mine. Blue irises are dilated with his ire and I notice his hands clenching at the side of his body. "Just leave, Graham, I don't have it in me to argue with you."
I hear capitulation in his voice. He's not staring at me. He's simply standing in the middle of the kitchen, waiting for me to leave.
"Do you –"
"Leave." His word is tired, so is his body as he slumps down on the floor, propping himself up against the wall, elbows on his knees.
I don't. Instead, I sit down next to him. I don't intend to stay, I want to give him space but there is something I need to say to him. "I know you're hiding," I say.
His head snaps up at me and I feel bare with the way he's staring at me. His hair is framing his sweaty face, some strands sticking to his skin on some spots. His thin lips are pressed into a crisp line, conveying his irritation, probably. The constant clenching and unclenching of his fists catches my attention and I wonder if he's boiling inside, dying to pounce on me.
When he says nothing, I continue. "I heard you talking to Ellie one day. I don't know what you're hiding from."
"Who," he cuts me off softly. "Who I'm hiding from."
I'll be damned if I say I don't want to ask him more but I know that right now isn't the moment. I have something to say. "Well, I'm not sure we're talking about the same person here." He frowns at me, confused so I explain. "You may think you're hiding in Harlem because of someone," I say, "but that someone is you, Yann."
He avoids my gaze and I know I've hit a spot. "You don't know what you're talking about," he says.
"I know," I insist. "I've seen enough of you to know that the only person you're truly hiding from is yourself. You're afraid to be who you're meant to be."
His laugh is bitter as he says, "And who might that be?"
I give him a small smile as I get up. He looks up at me, waiting for my answer. "That, you'll have to figure out for yourself."
I walk out the door into the night.
***
Punching the pillow, I lay my head on the fluffy cushion and close my eyes. Lucy is taking the whole bed and I am almost falling off. I consider going to sleep on the couch but I don't want to get out of bed. I am exhausted. I just want to fall asleep. Just as my subconscious almost takes over, my phone rings.
"Yes?" I don't miss the raucousness and the sleepiness in my voice and decide that whoever is calling shouldn't have called.
"Tracy."
At the voice, my desire to sleep is wiped out. I sit up and press my back against the headboard. "Mom." I croak out after a while. It's never easy to talk to her.
I am happy that she calls me. She does so only once in a while. I wonder if she wants to talk, if she needs to know how I am doing, if she finally has some time to dial my phone and spend one hour talking with me like I wish she did sometimes.
I picture her leaning back, sat in this chair in her office. "How are you?"
"I'm fine." I say, "How about you?"
"A little tired, but I'm coping. How's Lucy so far?"
I scoff as I look down at my little sister who's now facing me, one of the braids I've done for her early this morning falling across her cheek. "As annoying as always," I reply and push the hair away.
Mom laughs on the phone, this small, delicate and reserved laughter that I wish was more heartfelt. "She'll never change."
"I know."
I wait for her to speak, but her words never come. I hold my phone to my ear, knowing that she's not gone, letting her speak first. I never know what to say to her.
"I miss you, you know?" She says and I'm so surprised at first that I don't say anything.
"I miss you, too." I say, but it sounds too automatic to me, like a robotic recorded voice, and I wonder if I even really mean the words. I don't know why but it makes me feel guilty. Guilty of what, I don't know. To make up for it, I add, "I love you."
"I love you too," she whispers back. "I'll let you sleep, it's late."
"Okay, goodnight." I say.
"Goodnight, honey."
The phone remains pressed up against my ear until I hear the unwanted click. I lie down in bed, phone held to my chest, as if keeping the device close to my heart could somehow make the sudden happiness I feel last longer.
"Was it Mom?"
I turn my head to a half-asleep Lucy who's talking with her eyes closed, yawning quietly. I look down at her, angel in the moonlight and devil in the sunlight.
I smile to her and hold her close. "Yes, it was Mom."
•••
What did you guys think? Is the person Yann is hiding from really himself? Let me know what you think :)
Thank you for reading❤️