Even the Moon Has Scars Page 6

  “Actually, I’ll take a regular as well,” I say.

  “Living on the edge tonight, Lena. I like it,” he says with a wink.

  We take our cups and I swirl a generous amount of cream and sugar into the steaming coffee before snapping the plastic lid back on. The piping hot paper cup feels amazing in my icy palms. I should have brought gloves. Or, you know, my own pants.

  “Where to?” I ask. I blow into the tiny opening of my lid, trying to cool the liquid down enough so I can take a sip.

  “Anywhere you want. The city is ours,” Gabe says.

  Everything about my life up to this point has been so closely monitored and controlled. Just standing on the pavement with a cup of non-decaf coffee in my hand feels like a complete and total act of defiance.

  He slides his phone out of his pocket. “Well, at least for the next two hours. Then we’ve got to get back to check on that damn part.”

  Gabe opens his mouth and for a second I think he’s going to say, “screw the part, let’s see everything!” but he clamps it shut again.

  I realize it’s because the phone in his hand is now illuminated. Ringing. Again.

  “You want to take that this time?” I ask.

  “Just—” He holds up one finger and says, “Just give me one second.”

  “Sure,” I mutter, but he’s already turned his back and taken a few steps away.

  I walk over to a small bench and test a few scalding sips of my coffee while I wait. It instantly makes me feel warm, and I’m appreciative of that, but it’s so hot that it leaves my tongue feeling rough like a cat’s. Plus, even with the heaps of sugar, it’s still bitter.

  A few feet away, Gabe is pacing back and forth while he talks on the phone.

  It’s weird sitting back and really looking at someone for the first time. I’ve only known Gabe for a couple of hours, so I study the way he walks back and forth, with a little swagger. I like the way he talks with his hands, I don’t know if he’s upset or not, but he’s definitely animated. The button-up plaid shirt he threw on as we were leaving his grandmother’s house is wrinkled under his coat, like he probably just grabbed it from a pile of clothes he has stashed in a room that isn’t really his. His jeans fit him perfectly and fall to his ankles against expensive looking boots.

  Gabe isn’t bad to look at all.

  I glance down at the ground and there’s a small white piece of paper stuck to my boot. I bend down and peel it off the rubber sole.

  “Told you she’s always watching,” he laughs.

  I startle a little, not having realized he was back, and for a stupid fleeting second wonder if he could hear what I was thinking while I spied on him.

  I look down at the paper, flip it over, and see that the second side of it is striped in red, white, and blue. It’s a re-election flyer for his mother.

  “Yep. Guess you were right.” I force a smile. “Was that about the car part?”

  I know it wasn’t. I could see the way he was working his jaw back and forth while on that call from where I sat on the bench.

  Gabe shakes his head slowly. “No, that was…something else.”

  “Listen,” I say. “If you need to go, we can—”

  “No, no, no,” he says. The collar of his shirt is flipped up. I want to tuck it back down, but don’t know if I should. “That was—I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to avoid that call and—”

  “It’s really alright. If you have somewhere you need to be I’m happy to take the train back—”

  “Lena,” Gabe says with a small chuckle. He reaches a hand out to help me off of the bench. “Why do I have the feeling you’ve never taken the train by yourself?”

  I fight the urge to pull in my bottom lip like I do when I feel embarrassed, and instead, I raise my chin defiantly.

  “I’m not an imbecile. I can take the train by myself.”

  Gabe steps out of the way, like he expects me to storm off. “Do you even know where the T is from here?”

  “It’s that way,” I say, giving a noncommittal motion in the general South/West/North direction.

  “So close,” he says with an infuriating smirk. “It’s actually just over there.”

  East. Naturally.

  “Right, well, I would’ve found it. Eventually. Anyway, your phone has been ringing like crazy, you obviously have somewhere else to be.” Someone to be with.

  “I’ve got nothing going on but this coffee that has obviously been sitting on that warmer for a while,” he says, choking around a sip. “And hanging out with you.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask.

  “Doing what?”

  “Why did you bring me along? Why didn’t you just leave me at home with your grandmother?”

  “You really want to hang with Babci? I mean, my grandmother is a hip lady, but have you ever endured a Murder, She Wrote marathon? Or is it that you prefer the main course of your dinner to be a handful of those hard, strawberry candies that miraculously appear in every household once the owner reaches retirement age? If so, I can certainly bring you back—”

  “I’m being serious. This is weird, right? Us being here, when we don’t even know each other.”

  “And how exactly do you usually get to know people, Lena? I don’t know about you, but when I want to get to know someone,” he raises a condescending eyebrow and it makes me want to punch him in the throat, “I usually spend time with them.”

  Wait. “You want to get to know me?”

  “No. I wanted to drag you all the way to the city so you could maybe freeze to death, be hit on by some asshole, share some really stale coffee, and then I wanted to bail on you. Or maybe I wanted some company, and your smile said you might not be a bad pick.”

  “Okay,” is all I say.

  Okay?” Gabe asks.

  “I do have a nice smile,” I joke.

  I finally reach over and flip Gabe’s collar back down. He keeps his eyes trained on my hand the entire time.

  “So we’re good?” Gabe asks.

  I have no idea what we are. Is he my friend? Can you be friends with someone you’ve only known for a couple of hours? I guess so.

  “We’re great,” I say.

  “I want to ask you something and I want you to answer me honestly, Lena,” Gabe says.

  He pitches his coffee cup into a trash bin and I follow suit.

  “No, I did not like that coffee,” I say.

  “Yeah, me neither, it was terrible, right? But that wasn’t the question.”

  I know that. But I’m scared of what the actual question may be.

  I nervously spin the clasp on the bracelet I’m wearing and take in a deep breath.

  “When was the last time you were over on the North End and had a cannoli from Mike’s Pastry? Because ever since we got off the train this afternoon, I cannot stop thinking about getting one.”

  I stare back at him and slowly say, “I’ve had…a cannoli…but…”

  Gabe stops mid-step and tugs on my wrist to stop me too.

  “Are you trying to tell me that you’ve never been to Mike’s?” We’re standing smack in the middle of a sidewalk, people are having to part like the Red Sea to get around us.

  “I feel like I don’t even know you anymore,” Gabe says, shaking his head.

  “You don’t know me,” I say.

  “Enlighten me then, Lena. How can someone live forty minutes from the city and have never been to Mike’s?”

  “I just…I don’t make it out here a lot.” We cross another street and I am so turned around. I have no idea where we are in relation to where Gabe’s apartment was, or the train station, or anything.

  “This is the greatest city in America—maybe the world—”

  “I thought that was New York?” I ask.

  “Eh, New York’s alright. Boston—Boston is the real heart of America. We’ve got the best food, we’ve got those swan boats, we’re the home of The Pixies,” he says.

  “I don’t know who The Pixies a
re,” I say.

  Gabe clutches at his chest. “You’re breaking my heart.”

  I don’t flinch this time, because he doesn’t know, and having someone not know is a beautiful thing all on its own.

  “The North End, I’m not gonna lie, Lena, I think Pizza Regina may have better pizza than anywhere else, even New York.”

  “Wait, what?” I ask. “That’s blasphemy. New York pizza is something I dream about.”

  “Oh, so you can visit New York and eat their pizza but Boston—it’s so close, and you can’t even make it here to eat a cannoli?”

  I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. I know he’s joking but it’s not funny anymore.

  “It’s not like I had a choice, Gabe,” I say. “I told you my parents are really protective.”

  “So, what, they never brought you into the city?”

  “Why are you pushing this so hard?” I stalk away from him and walk as fast as I can.

  “Hey, Lena,” he says, rushing to catch up to me. “I didn’t mean to piss you off. I was just joking. I don’t even really know what I did, but I’m sorry.”

  “I know, it’s not you,” I say, shoving my hands into the pockets of my coat. “I just want you to know that if I haven’t done something, it’s not because I haven’t wanted to. It’s because I couldn’t. But I’m here now, and I want to see and do… So can we…can we just enjoy the rest of the day?”

  “Sure,” he says. The wind kicks up and blows his hair out of his eyes. They look sincere. “Whatever you say, Lena.”

  I slow my pace as we come to a red brick wall, and I stop altogether in front of an open, wrought iron gate. Gabe bristles next to me as he eyes the entrance.

  “Is this…?”

  “Yep,” he says.

  “No way. Can we go in?”

  “You want to tour Harvard?” he asks. I watch the way his neck muscles flex when he swallows hard.

  “Is that okay? I mean, we don’t have to stop at the museum or anything, but I’d love to see the campus. Just really quick?”

  “You’ve really never been here?” I shake my head and Gabe shoves his hands in his pockets. He stares up at the sky. It’s getting dark quickly. “Sure, we can take a look really quick.”

  “Yeah? Are you sure it’s alright?”

  “I said we could do whatever you wanted, Lena.” He smiles, but it isn’t the same smile he’s flashed before. It looks forced, and I can’t figure out why. “You want to see Harvard, I’m game.”

  Still, he looks a little pained as make our way onto the grounds.

  “You applying to college already?”

  I nod. “Yep, I’m finishing up my senior year in a few months. Accelerated home school and all,” I shrug.

  “That’s cool. I’ll be graduating this year, too.”

  I can’t believe we haven’t even talked about age or grade or anything yet.

  “You thinking about going to school here?” Gabe asks.

  “Harvard?” I shake my head. “No, I was just curious. You hear so much about it, I wanted to take a look. It’s a gorgeous campus. I didn’t expect it to be so open like this. So much room. But for me, I guess I’d like to get a little further away from home.”

  “Oh yeah? Have you applied anywhere yet?”

  I nod. “Yep. Couple of local schools—”

  “Wait, you just said you wanted to get away—”

  “I had to.” I shrug. “Parents and all.”

  “Right.”

  “What about you? Where are you hoping to go to school?”

  “I don’t know, maybe Reykjavik University. ” Gabe says. I stop walking to look at him.

  “Kidding, I love it here in Boston, it’s my home. I just maybe need a break?” He says it like a question, like he’s asking me if that’s okay to admit.

  It is. It so is.

  “Okay, where do you want to take this break?”

  “I asked you first,” he says.

  This one is easy.

  “NYU. That’s my first choice. I also applied to Baylor—my aunt lives in Texas so I wouldn’t be completely alone, and I’ve heard it’s a good choice for home schooled graduates.”

  “But NYU is where you want to end up?”

  I nod. “Is there a place that’s more vibrant and full of life than New York City?”

  Gabe narrows his eyes, “Come on, you know what I think.” He motions around the campus. “Greatest city on the planet, right here.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “You know,” he says. “Gloucester has one of the best school districts in the state. Why are you homeschooling? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “It’s just—okay,” I press my fingertips together. “This is going to sound really stupid, but my parents are too scared to send me to regular school.”

  “Scared? Like of school violence or something?”

  I shake my head. “It’s nothing like that. When I was a baby, I was really sick. I had this life threatening defect and I had to have emergency heart surgery. I almost died. Actually, I did die. But the doctors saved me—”

  “Jesus,” Gabe interrupts.

  “It’s no big deal,” I say, hoping I haven’t ruined the night.

  “Of course it’s a big deal, Lena,” There’s a scrape to his voice. The mild Spanish accent he has competes with the typical Boston drawl. I love it. “That’s not something that everyone goes through. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine now, really. I’ve had a few bumps along the way, but I’m good. Healthy. My parents though…I think going through that with me, watching me die, watching them work to bring me back to life—it just changed something in them. They’ve had a really hard time letting me out of their sight. They’ve had a really hard time just letting me—be me.”

  “Are they like that with your sister?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. Not at all. Kaydi is a normal twenty-year-old, she has her freedom, she has…she has a life.”

  “So your parents…Now that you’re okay, they aren’t going to take any chances losing you. Makes sense.”

  “It does?” It all felt so stupid and childish coming out, but now that Gabe gets it, I feel a little less like a freak. I feel a little more like someone he might want to get to know.

  “Of course it does. Lena, think about the most prized possession that you own. What is it?”

  “A painting,” I say. “A watercolor.”

  “Okay, and it’s special to you why?”

  “It’s a Maurice Sendak. At least I think it’s real. I guess it may not be, but if it is, it’s incredibly rare. He did a lot of doodles and stuff but very few paintings. My grandmother found it at an estate sale, she said the owners didn’t even know what it was so she bought it up, gave it to me as my eighth grade graduation gift. ”

  “Rare,” Gabe repeats. He stops walking again and turns to me. “And where do you keep it? Out on your desk? Hung up on your wall?”

  “Oh, gosh, it’s in a protective sleeve and stored up in my closet. No way I’d take it out—” I pause. “I see what you’re doing there.”

  “I’m not saying it’s right. And I get that you’re a person—” he takes a long look at me before continuing. “You’re a person, not a drawing. I’m just saying maybe you can see it their way? You aren’t just rare, Lena. You’re the only Lena who will ever exist to them. Some risks just aren’t worth it. Sometimes, you just have to do anything you can to protect what matters.”

  I can’t help feeling like Gabe is talking about more than me right now, but I don’t have the courage to ask, so I just nod.

  As quickly as the tone turned serious, Gabe quirks a smile and switches it back to light.

  “Speaking of rare things, you’ll like this.” He grabs onto my hand and pulls me behind a building. In the open area near a row of dorms is a massive snow sculpture made to look like an Easter Island head.

  “Are you kidding me?” I ask. “This is incredible.”

  “It’s neat, right?�
�

  The sculpture towers over us both in perfect detail.

  “How’d you know this was here?”

  “Everyone has been talking about it. I hadn’t seen it before today, though.”

  “This must have taken hours,” I say. “How did they have time to do this?”

  “Guess there’s no class when blizzards come through.”

  “Yeah, that’s one thing that sucks about homeschooling. My mom never lets me take a snow day. What about you?”

  “I follow the attendance and schedule of my old school. I’m just doing all of my classes online until I get back here.”

  “And when’s that gonna be?” Gabe belongs here in the city, that’s plain to see. But I selfishly hope he’ll be sticking around Gloucester for a little longer. It’d be nice to run into him again.

  “What was wrong with your heart?” Gabe says, swiftly changing the subject.

  I notice. Of course I notice.

  But I’m not going to call him out on it, or force him to talk to me if he doesn’t want to.

  “Total Anomalous Pulmonary Venous Return,” I say offhandedly as we start walking again.

  “And for those of us who haven’t spent our weekends perusing medical journals? I mean, Murder, She Wrote can’t watch itself, Lena.”

  “Very funny. So basically, all of the blood vessels that carry oxygenated blood—the good blood—from the lungs to the heart don’t connect at all.”

  “Holy shit. How the hell do you survive that?”

  “I’ve been told I’m sort of a miracle,” I say with a completely straight face.

  “I guess you have.”

  “I’m kidding!” I say, laughing. “They actually didn’t find the defect until I was three weeks old, so I almost wasn’t. But open heart surgery fixed me up.”

  “But like you said earlier, you’re good now?”

  I nod. “Yep. Everything is fine. I mean, I have a crap immune system, but mostly I’m normal.”

  “Mostly, huh?”

  “This campus is amazing,” I say, not wanting to get into the fact that I have never done anything normal.

  “Giving any more thought to sticking around Boston?” Gabe muses. “Lots of good schools in the city.”

  “You should get a job with the tourism board,” I say.