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Indigo

MAE AND I ARE having a Twilight marathon. We’re both on the L-shaped couch in the apartment, and while I’m the type to spread up on my side and take up as much space as possible, Mae’s the type to draw her knees in and recede into a tiny, singular blob.

I’m zoned out, thinking about the assignment that’s due on Monday and the dissertation that I still haven’t gotten started on and the summaries that I need to finish. And a myriad of other things, so that eventually, everything on the screen becomes an unmemorable blur.

Actually, that’s technically a lie. I’m using the assignment, and the dissertation and the summaries I have to do to distract me from the ring on my finger.

I forgot to give Jem’s ring back.

And while my view of the TV blurs, it focuses instead on the silver ring on my forefinger. The ring is way too loose for my finger, and it’s a wonder I haven’t lost it yet. It’s nothing fancy, just a single band of polished silver. Pulling the metal up and down my finger absently, I fixate on it until the silver of the ring becomes the silver in his eyes.

I’m afraid I’m slowly going insane.

Luckily, I’m only pulled out of my mind when Scarlett’s bedroom door clicks open, and her gaze drops to us. Her hair is claw-clipped back, and she’s in her usual get-up of sweatpants and hoop earrings. Scarlett shuffles to the kitchen and comes back with one of my ice-cream cups. She takes the empty next to Mae on the couch while she eats, her eyes on the screen. Mae and I swap glances, but we let it slide.

Scarlett only eats ice cream when she’s PMSing (I know because she’s more bitchy than usual when she’s PMSing). Which is great, because Mae and I are also PMSing, so somehow, all three of our cycles are in sync.

My phone vibrates, and I have to contort my body and dig around under me to find it. When I do, my mood turns from bad to worse in seconds. It’s from Kade.

Can I come over?

There’s a sour taste in my mouth that wasn’t there before. I’m not sure where we stand right now. I know that I’m not entirely with him, and that it was never really smooth sailing for us. I just pretended everything was fine because I didn’t want to lose him. Because I didn’t—still don’t—want to be alone. Why can’t I just be happy by myself? Why do I feel like I need him?

Busy, I type back. It’s not exactly a nice reply, but I don’t care, not really. He can’t possibly think that everything can go back to normal. He’ll probably sweet talk me to my bed. Or his. And to be perfectly honest, I don’t like sex that much. I just want someone who won’t complain every time I ask if we can get ice cream together.

Sighing, I focus on the screen, to take my mind off the distorted path it’s taking. It’s the scene where Jacob kisses Bella for no apparent reason. Scarlett scoffs out loud, and murmurs, “I can’t believe I ever liked this asshole.”

“Right?” Mae pipes. “Team Edward for life.”

Scarlett blinks, pausing eating her ice cream for a second. She looks like she’s surprised Mae responded to her. Or that Mae even heard her at all. But then she deadpans before spooning ice cream into her mouth. She looks ahead at the screen without responding, and I figure I must be imagining things.

Mae doesn’t think much over the way she was brushed off and shifts her glance back to the screen as well. Half an hour later, I’ve managed to successfully distract myself from any mismanaged thoughts, when there’s a double knock at the door.

“I’m not answering that,” Scarlett mutters.

I roll my eyes, because firstly, I didn’t ask her to open it, and secondly, this must mean that Kade showed up despite me explicitly telling him that I’m busy. Of course he would. When has he ever really listened to me?

Taking a deep breath, I stretch my limbs and drag myself out of my comfortable, warm spot on the couch. I trudge to the door, annoyance settling on my shoulders like a heavy cloud. Opening it, I mumble, “I thought I told you I was busy.”

But it’s not Kade that I’m greeted by on the other side of the door.

It’s Jem.

And I don’t know if it’s better or worse.

His hands are in his pockets, and his hair is freshly buzzed. Other than that, he looks just like he did yesterday, when he yelled at me for trying to help him. Devastatingly good. And just like that, anger bubbles to the surface of my skin.

“Indie—”

I close the door on his stupidly pretty face.

Exhaling deeply, I lean back on the door. Across the room, Mae perks up, looking at me with raised brows. Apparently, the movie’s still more interesting to Scarlett, though, who doesn’t spare me a second glance.

“Who is it?” Mae asks.

I just shake my head no. I know I’m being childish, but I don’t like the way he talked to me. And now he just shows up at my door? Honestly, why are men such insensitive dickheads?

 . . . But then I remember that he still waited for me to walk in before he could drive off, and I sigh. Turning back, I open the door slowly, half expecting him to have walked away.

He hasn’t. He’s still here, standing patiently, hands in his pockets. His gaze is lukewarm as it slides from me to behind me, where I can feel the simmering presence of Mae and Scarlett.

“Can I come in,” he says slowly, “or will you come out?”

Silently, I step out, closing the door behind me.

With the late afternoon sun settling on my skin, I feel warmer. Better. It’s strange, how much a little sunlight can do. I squint up at him, and in the light, his hair has a gold lining, and his skin is a honeyed shade, almost luminescent under all the ink. But his lips are closed, and he’s just staring at me patiently, in no rush to get to the point.

I clear my throat, prompting conversation. “Yeah?”

He shrugs languidly, hands still deep in his pockets. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken you. Shouldn’t have talked to you like that after, either. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m sorry.”

The apology startles me. Steals half a breath away. I wasn’t expecting him to be so direct — so forthright with it. I’ve always had to fight for an apology when it came to Kade. And even then, I would get less than half of the apologies I deserved.

“Okay,” I find myself saying, mostly to myself. “It’s okay.”

And then, maybe because there’s vulnerability in an apology, in admitting that you were wrong, and because he gave that vulnerability to me so willingly, I decide to give him some back. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

The second it leaves my mouth; I realize the gravity of it. Because it’s so much more than a few words. It means that he’s not just a grey-eyed, tattooed stranger with a buzzcut to me anymore. It means that I care about him, and now he knows. And in all honesty, I have no idea how to cope with the emotion. I look up at him again as I try to steady my voice. “Is that so bad?”

Jem’s gaze softens a little. “No,” he says, “No, it’s not.”

His black t-shirt absorbs the light, and I imagine it’s warm. I imagine how good it would feel to press myself flat against it and feel the heat melt into my body. My mind reels back to the frat party, when his arms were around me, his body heat seeping right to my bone.

Then, I swallow and rip the thought away. Maybe I just need a jacket. Or maybe I’m so touch-starved that I’m fantasizing about a hug.

“I have to go,” I mumble, but as I turn, his voice, low and certain, makes me pause.

“Will you come somewhere with me?” He notices my hesitation, then elaborates. “You asked why I need the money,” he says, “I don’t know how to tell you, but maybe I can . . . show you.”

I frown. “Show me what?”

He tilts his head. “If I tell you, it defeats the point of me showing you, don’t you think?”

I lift a brow. “And is this place as bad as the tracks?”

His smile is barely there. “Worse.”

And I can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. But he earnestly wants me to understand, and I guess I really do want to try and understand, too. But Mae’s inside, and if I just leave, I’d technically be abandoning her, and I can’t do that.

As if on cue, the door opens, and Mae pops her head out. “Is everything okay?”

Jem pulls an easy grin. “Mae.”

Mae offers him a smile of her own. “Jem? It’s you? I thought it was that good for nothing—”

“Mae,” I say, “Everything’s fine.” Then I turn to Jem. “I can’t come. We’re busy.”

“Wait, what?” Mae frowns, perplexed. “We’re not that busy.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with Scarlett,” I mutter under my breath, trying to send her the message with my eyes.

“She’s not that bad,” Mae says, and when Jem nods slightly in accordance, it annoys me a little. “You can go, I’ll be fine.”

I look between the two, shoving down the annoyance down. It seems like so long ago when Jem walked into the apartment with Scarlett. My gaze settles on his black shirt, absorbing the last bits of sunshine, and suddenly, I feel cold.

“Give me a second.”

And just like that, my little gremlin of a friend smiles, padding back into the apartment with me. She settles next to Scarlett, who’s still watching the movie, about as bothered about everything as you’d expect her to be.

In my room, I shrug on a cream cardigan and slip sneakers over my socks. I’m not wearing anything street-worthy, just light wash jeans and a pink top, so I really hope that wherever we’re going, I’m not underdressed.

Walking out, I find Jem still waiting for me. He raises his brows as if to ask, You ready? I nod in response, and he walks down the stoop to the red car from the race. It looks unblemished.

You’d never be able to tell that just a few hours ago the exact car was two seconds away from a wreck. He opens my door for me, and I slide into the passenger seat, which is strangely familiar to me now.

When he starts the car, I stay silent. I don’t ask questions, even though I should. Even when we drive for half an hour. Even when we close in on a hospital. I turn to give him once-over, but it’s like he’s purposefully ignoring me. Like he doesn’t want to gauge my reaction.

I try to keep myself as neutral as possible, but when he stops at the hospital, I turn to him, unable to keep it in any longer. “How is this worse than the tracks?”

Jem shrugs. “It’s subjective.”

I frown, shooting him a perplexed look.

He smiles gently. “If you want to go back, we can.”

I avert my gaze. “I’m going to be working at a hospital one day.”

“Yeah,” he says, “You are. Smart girl.”

My heart skips a beat. How—why—does he do this? Say things so straight forward and brazen, like it’s exactly what he means. It makes it harder for me to question the things he says. I swallow, looking out the window.

“You are too,” I say, quietly. Mae told me that he was studying engineering at NYU before he dropped out to work at the garage. “You know, smart.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he says.

“What?”

“Try to give me a compliment in return. You don’t need to do that.”

I make a face. “I’m doing it because I want to, Jeremiah.”

The corners of his mouth tilt upward as he gets out of the car. “Alright, Indigo. You coming?”

I nod tightly, getting out the car and following his tall figure to the reception, where we spend a few minutes while I linger around, absorbing my surroundings. This is it. This is really the type of place I’ll be working at after a few years.

When Jem motions that he’s done, I follow him. It’s crazy, really, how tall he is. He dwarfs the hospital halls. His shoulders take up so much . . . space. I snap out of appreciating the view of his back just as we close in on a room. He enters before me, and a surprised feminine voice fills the air.

“Jem?” I can hear the smile in her voice, and I catch a slight, smoky Spanish lilt to her words. “Twice this week? Where’s Ace?”

“I didn’t bring him,” he says, “but there’s someone else I want you to meet.”

I’m close enough to get a decent view. The woman has honeyed skin, a shade darker than Jem. Her hair is dark and coarse, chopped to a pixie cut. And when her gaze slides to me, I realize. Her eyes are grey. This is his —

“Hi,” she says, “I’m Jem’s mom.”

My eyes widen as I reel backward, out of the room. Jem notices, and he backtracks out of the room to meet me just outside. “What’s wrong?”

I stare up at him in disbelief. “You brought me to see your mom?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Jem,” I sigh, “I just would’ve liked a heads up.” I glance down at my scuffed jeans and sneakers. “I look so—”  

“You look perfect.”

I look up at him, his features are free of any amusement. As usual, he’s being serious. I sigh, giving him a flat glare. Then, I take a few deep breathes, and swallow. I’m already here and lingering around the entrance any longer would be rude, so I enter the room again, Jem’s presence warm behind my back.

“Hi,” I say, mustering a smile. “Sorry about that. I’m Indigo.”

Jem’s mom smiles, and even though she appears warm, there’s a hollowness to her grey eyes that’s rarely in Jem’s. “A pretty name for a pretty girl. I’m Julia. Come, sit,” she says, patting the space next to her. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

I lift a brow toward Jem, who ignores it, striding to the other side of the room. He draws the curtains so that less light filters through the room. “Ma, how many times do I have to tell you you’re not supposed to open these so far out.”

His mom rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes, sun exposure isn’t good. But I need some light in this room, Jemmy, Jesus.”

As I near her, I finally take in the surroundings. The room is covered with flowers. The windowsill, the table, even the floor. The bouquets I arranged have been unwrapped and transferred to vases. There’s at least three weeks’ worth of flowers in the room. And they’re all mine.

Jem’s mom notices my line of sight. “Excuse the flowers, do you have allergies? I—”

“No, no, I—I made them,” I say, sitting on the chair beside her bed. “The bouquets. I arranged them.”

She smiles. “They’re lovely. It gets really dull being in this room all the time, so Jem gets them for me every week. Pink tulips are my favorite.”

There’s a tight knot at my throat, because I’d just assumed that he was getting the flowers for a girl. I’d never even considered the possibility that they were for his mom. My gaze flickers to Jem, who’s done adjusting the curtains, and is now leaning against the wall across the room, arms crossed against his broad chest.

His mom’s voice splits my attention. “How’s uni, Jem?”

“Fine,” Jem says.

My eyes widen, because his mother clearly doesn’t know that he dropped out of school. I look up at him, but he just shakes his head gently, so I look away and stay quiet.

“Always the same answer,” she murmurs, “And you, Indigo?”

And when her gaze lands on me, I feel like crying. Because I haven’t talked to my own mom like this in weeks. She’s too busy to speak about my stupid daily occurrences. And even though she hasn’t told me this directly, I know it’s true. Her calls became less and less frequent, until I was lucky to get even one call a month.

“It’s alright,” I say, eventually, but my voice is strained. “I’m a bit behind with assignments right now.”

“So do you know Jem from college?”

I try to keep my voice steady when I say, “No, uh . . . I work at the flower shop.”

Technically, the flower shop wasn’t the place I first met her son, but I don’t think she’ll appreciate me telling her that I met him after a failed hook-up with my roommate.

“Right,” she says, like the puzzle pieces are falling together in her mind. “And are you two . . .?”

“Ma.”

“Okay, okay,” she says, lifting her hands with a chagrined smile. “I’m just going to assume you’re a special girl, Indigo. I hope my son hasn’t been unkind to you. I’d like to think I brought him up well, but you never know.”

“He’s not too bad,” I say, looking across the room at Jem, whose tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he smirks.

I look back at Jem’s mom, but her features are contorted, like she’s in pain. Frowning, I reach for her hand.

“Are you okay? Jem,” I say, looking up at him as panic sets in. He pushes off the wall, walking over closer before leaning over his mom’s bed, opposite me.

“Ma?” He glances down at me, worried. But he’s pretty calm, so I don’t think it’s the first time something like this has happened. “I’m going to get a nurse,” he says, “Will you stay here?”

I nod, and he slips out of the room. His mom’s hand is soft and warm under mine, and she squeezes gently.

“I’m sorry, cariño,” she says, “ . . . The chemo gives me these horrible migraines.”

Chemo. She’s getting treated for cancer. And something about the whole situation — the fact that Jem loves his mom so much he dropped out so he could get a job to pay for her hospital fees, the fact that she has cancer, that her hand is so warm in mine, and I haven’t felt a touch like hers in years — brings tears to my eyes.

“It’s okay,” I say, wiping at my eyes with my free hand, “Jem’s getting a nurse.”

She nods slowly, her eyes fluttering shut. “Take care of him, will you? My baby might look tough, but deep down he’s . . . soft. So . . .” Her breathing becomes labored. “Soft.”

 “Okay,” I say, even though I’m not sure what I’m agreeing to.

Her eyes close, but she keeps talking. “He doesn’t grow his hair out, you know? For me. I—” She takes another labored breath— “I complained once. Said I looked horrible. And that was it.”

There’s the sound of footsteps nearing, and Jem finally returns with a nurse. I gently pull my hand out of her grasp so that the nurse can do a check-up. After the nurse is done, Jem’s mom is breathing slower, and I figure she must’ve given her some sort of sedative.  

“Ma,” Jem says softly, “We’re leaving now, okay?”

She can still hear us, because she nods gently.

Jem leads me out of the room with his hand on my lower back. We both seem to realize at the same time, because the exact moment his handprint burns into the small of my back, he pulls his hand away to scratch the scruff at the back of his neck.

“Your mom is very sweet,” I say once we’re back at the car.

“She’s my favorite person in the world,” he says, then.

This time, instead of avoiding my reaction, he flickers his gaze to me. I shrug, because honestly, I’m just trying to process everything. He doesn’t find anything particularly disturbing about my void reaction, and sighing, he opens my door.

“Sheʼs an addict,” he says. “It’s what onset the cancer. She doesn’t know that I dropped out to pay for her bills. She thinks my dad’s still paying. But he cut her off years back. Said she made her choices, and he should be free to make his own.”

Everything becomes clearer. Why he has such a big responsibility, why he needs the money, why he looked so troubled after that girl attacked me at the tracks. My chest swells, and for what feels like the tenth time today, I have to hold back my tears.

The drive back gives me time to think. To mull over everything. And every time, I come back to the same conclusion: it’s impossible. For him to be so selfless, so kind, so patient and loyal. But he is. And it’s got to impossible. I thought the world had run dry of people like him.

When we reach, something in the air changes. I know something’s off when he turns to

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