Page 21 of Beneath Cherry Blossom Memories

“Come cuddle with Papa,” he teases, then rushes me.

We’re rocking the bus with all our movement, Terry scolding us from the driver seat. Jorge tackles me, and we fall to the floor with a loud thud. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Kelly’s phone poking out of the bathroom. “Traitor!” I roar, grabbing Jorge’s sides and tickling the fuck out of him.

He squeals, flailing on top of me and trying to escape. I lock him to me with my legs and destroy him. “I can’t breathe,” he wheezes, digging his fingers into my wrists.

“You’re talking. You can still breathe.” I’m laughing. Fuck, I’mlaughing.Jorge lifts his arm, and I duck my head out of the way, biting his other shoulder.

It’s like we’re seven years old all over again, trying to avoid each other’s cooties. “Alright! Truce, truce,truce!”

“Oh my god, I’m totally posting this. That was great,” Kelly says with a giggle.

Jorge smiles down at me, and I laugh harder. “There he is,” he praises. I shake my head, trying to calm down. “Watch this, Kel.” The fucker leans down and licks the entire right side of my face with his Funyun breath.

“Dick!” I howl, frantically trying to wipe my face off while grabbing him at the same time. He gets free, laughing like an idiot, and blows me kisses just as the bus pulls to a stop.

We all pop up like prairie dogs, checking out where we are. My smile drops. The lightheartedness sinks like a lead weight.

Headhunter is here, unloading. Eli is here, too, and it’s like he’s looking right at me. The windows are tinted, so I know he can’t be. I remember the conversation I had with my mom. Her advice isn’t lost on me.

Don’t sink on that ship with him.

It’s easier said than done because I’ve long since had an anchor around my ankles, keeping me underwater while he stands on the surface, watching me drown.

The air in the house is thick with tension. Not the sexy kind. Not the kind that has your entire body teetering on the edge of anticipation, waiting for that pin to drop and blow your mind.

It’s darker. Dirtier.

Since we’re meant to be sociable, civil—hell, thankful for these accommodations—I can’t hole up in the bedroom. Three turkey dinners from the local grocery store are spread out over the giant table meant to host massive parties, everyone gathering around in the kitchen.

I want to be festive. I want to enjoy this special time with my friends, but there’s no fucking oxygen in here. It’s being siphoned out of my lungs. Much like when I went to Eli’s hotel room, live wires are woven into my fingertips. I’m hyper-aware of his every movement, his tight smile given to Leon, and the subtle shake in his right hand.

He’s not okay—I don’t know that he’s ever been okay. Everyone talks around me.

I feel like I’m in a movie. In those scenes where the protagonist stands on a sidewalk, everyone passes by them, sped up so they all blur together. That’s me right now.

Only Eli is standing still, just like I am.

The table separating us, all these musicians bumping into each other to get everything ready for dinner—all the grins, relaxed shoulders, and casual wear seem so far away.It’s quiet when you’re here.

I can feel it. There’s always been this uncanny connection to Eli. It’s one of the things I love about us. With a single look, I could feel what he was feeling. I’d justknowthings. And I still know them.

I know he doesn’t want to be here. I know that he’s tired, scared, and cold. God, he’s so fucking cold.

“I hate stuffing,” Jorge’s voice pulls me out of the tunnel with only Eli in sight. Holding the store-made stuffing still in its container, he mumbles, “Smell this.”

“It’s hard to mess up stuffing,” I tell him but indulge him anyway. “Smells fine.”

Kelly snatches it from his hands and sets it on the table. “Don’t eat it then.” She flicks his nose before shooting me a worried glance.

I shake my head, not wanting to add more discomfort to what is supposed to be a happy night. Leon asks Eli about the cranberry sauce, thoroughly confused by it. Eli loves the stuff, but it makes me gag. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he scoops some up on a spoon and feeds it to Leon. I don’t know what’s worse, the fact he’s being so tender despite everything I know he’s feeling or the fact Leon likes the fucking cranberry sauce. Now, they have something else to bond over. Turning my back to them, I sit and play on my phone until everyone is ready.

Sometime later, possibly minutes, all three bands and their crew fill plates. People sit at the table. A fog seems to wash over me, blinding my sight from all that’s happening. I know Jorge is sitting on my left because I can hear him talking. Absently putting food on the plate before me, I don’t pay attention to what. I’m not hungry. I’m sad, angry—feeling stupid, hopeless,worthless.These emotions take the reins, steering me through a mindless series of motions. I smell meat and potatoes and the sweet scent of pies and cigarettes.

Wait…cigarettes?

Heat swarms low in my stomach, and goosebumps explode over my arms. The muscles in my legs tense, and my breaths falter.

Long fingers, the knuckles of each tattooed with little stars, pick up a plastic fork. Eli is left-handed. I peek at him. It’s a single glance, one tiny look, but I see everything. The black lip ring. The slope of his nose. The little dip in his cheek that I know deepens when he smiles. I see the familiar wild curl that only shows up when his hair is brushed. The sharp cut of his jaw. His giant Adam’s apple. His skull earring.

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