Page 52 of Beneath Cherry Blossom Memories

“Yes,” he answers immediately.

“What would you do?”

“I’d have parents.”

My stomach knots. I don’t want him to clam up, but I also want to encourage his fantasy. “What would they be like?”

“My mom would take me to dance classes and buy me tights. My dad…well, he’d teach me how to treat people. Show me how to change a tire. Mom would love ballet as much as I do. She’d be one of those dance moms that gives a shit, ready to throw hands if someone so much as side-eyed me. Dad, well, he wouldn’t understand it all, but he’d support me. He’d come to recitals and take pictures of me with my trophies.”

I squeeze him tighter. I didn’t know he ever wanted to dance. “Where would you live?”

“Somewhere with trees. Maybe even a lake nearby because my dad would fish. He’d wear those ugly hats and vests you can attach tackle on for easy use.” He snorts. “He’d be a hunter too. Protective over me and Mom.” His hands curl over my arm as he sighs. “And we’d go to summer cookouts. Mom would be a baker. She’d teach me, too, so I could bring good stuff to the starving dancers, but I wouldn’t have to worry about my figure.”

“What about your house? Is it big or small?”

“Medium,” he says without missing a beat. Like he’s thought about this in great detail before—wished for it. My eyes water while I listen to him describe everything he should have had. “A modest three-bedroom because Mom would want a spare room for crafts. She’d like pretty things and making them. There’d be a tire swing in the backyard that wasn’t safe, but we’d all use it anyway. And the garage would be Dad’s domain. All his fishing stuff, a boat, and his mid-life crisis car would be in there. He also has a pool table he only uses when his buddies from work come over.”

The tears drop down my cheeks as I nuzzle the side of his head. His fingers squeeze my arm tighter.

“And I’d meet you, somehow,” he whispers. “At that point, I’d be a dance instructor with my own studio. You’d be walking a dog outside of it.”

A watery laugh escapes me. “I’m a cat dad.”

“But you’d have a dog too. A Great Dane. Those cool two-toned ones.”

“Merle,” I smile, “they’re called Merle.”

“Yes. That. And I’d see you walking your big dog, and we’d make eye contact. And we’d know.” He spins in my arms, lashes fluttering through tears I didn’t know he was shedding. “We’d just know.” Rising on his tiptoes, he kisses me deeply, throwing his arms around my neck.

I wish I could give him that alternate life.

If I had the power, I’d go back in time and make sure he was born to people who could handle the crushing weight of living. People who knew the risks of drugs and the ripples that’d never stop once they started. Salty tears coat our lips, showing me through action just how badly he wants something different.

Maybe Jorge was right.

Maybe last yearwasEli being terrified.

He was terrified that he’d end up like them.

“Hi, baby,” my mom chirps as she answers.

I made an excuse to leave the apartment, so I’m hovering near the dumpster I just tossed the trash bag into. “Hi,” I say and swallow hard. “Mom, I have to tell you something.”

“Okay,” she says slowly.

“I caused the car accident.”

She’s quiet, and I don’t know what she’s thinking because I can't see her face. My guts twist and turn. “Mom?”

“What do you mean youcausedthe accident? I thought Elijah was driving.”

“Well,” I kick a rock, “yeah, he was. But—”

“Then you didn’t do it.”

My eyes shut tight as I tip my head back. That’s what the cops were told. That’s what the stupid fan who happened to see it all recorded. Eli crashed into the stop sign at fifty miles per hour—in a residential area. “I’m seeing him again,” I tell her instead of what I want to say.

She sucks in a breath. “Phoenix…I…well, quite frankly, I don’t know what to say.”

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