Beautifully Broken 1: If You Stay

“You were much younger than me,” she tells me seriously. “I was grown and in college.  I can’t imagine what that would do to a little boy- to grow up without his mama.  Was your grandma alive for a while at least?  Did you have any kind of female influence at all?”

I shake my head.  “No.  My grandma died before I was born.  And no, I didn’t have any kind of female influence, other than teachers as I was growing up.”

And right there, with one breath, Mila touched on something that I’d never thought about.  Had the fact that I didn’t have a mother (or any other female) affect me more than I had known?  Is that why I’m not good at relating to women?

From the look on Mila’s face, I think she’s wondering the same thing.  But she doesn’t say anything.  There’s a bit of sympathy in her eyes though and I hate that.

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” I tell her.  “There are millions of people who have had their mother die.  You did, as well.  I’m not so unique.  We all get through it as best we can.”

She stares at me again, her face pensive.  “So you don’t cut yourself any slack at all that you grew up without a mother?”

I roll my eyes. “Are you trying to find some sort of reason that I’ve become such an ass**le?  The reason is…I’m an ass**le.  There are some things in life that can’t be explained.  Period.  Assholes are ass**les.  Rainbows are pretty.  Kittens are cute.  Chick flicks are sad.  It’s the way of things, no explanations.”

And now she rolls her eyes.

“Things are the way they are, but everything has a reason.  Kittens are cute because they’re tiny fur-balls with smushed faces.  Rainbows are pretty because they have every color in the world in them and they’re made from refracted light.  Chick flicks are sad because chicks sometimes just need a good cry.  And ass**les are always ass**les for a reason.”

She stares at me again, her eyes full of determination, and I can see that she truly wants to pick me apart and see what makes me tick.  I suddenly feel na**d beneath her gaze.  But as luck would have it, our food arrives at this most perfect of times, and I almost sigh with relief.

Her sister Madison sets our plates down in front of us.  Lasagna for me, penne for Mila.  A basket of bread between us.

“You should be all set,” she tells us, but she’s looking at Mila, not me.  “If you just want to put your dishes in the kitchen and lock up when you’re done, that would be great.  Everyone else will be leaving soon.  Are you good here?”

She raises an eyebrow at her sister and I know she’s really asking Mila, Are you okay here with him?

I fight the need to glare at her.  She’s the one who left her little sister alone and drunk with an ass**le last night. I didn’t.

Mila nods and smiles.  “We’re good, Maddy.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Madison nods and leaves without looking at me again.  I look at Mila.

“Your sister’s an ice bitch,” I point out politely.

Mila throws her head back and laughs.  “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel, Pax?”  She giggles again, then adds, “Maddy’s just protective.  She’s all I have now and she takes that role pretty seriously.”

I raise an eyebrow.  “She didn’t last night when she left you alone with Jared the ass**le.”

Mila shakes her head.  “She feels badly about that. She can’t handle her liquor very well either and she made a mistake.”

I shake my head, but let it go as we dive into our food.

“This is very good,” I tell her.  “It’s no wonder this place is swamped in tourist season.”

She smiles.  “Thank you.  It was my parents’ dream.  And Madison is keeping it alive for them.”

We continue eating by the candlelight, the silence surprisingly comfortable.  I’ve never been with someone before when I didn’t feel the need to fill the awkward silence.  With Mila, nothing seems awkward.  She’s got an easy way about her that puts me at ease.

When we’re finished, we carry our plates to the kitchen and Mila turns to me, her slender hand on my chest.  I glance down at her in surprise.

“I’m not ready to say goodnight yet,” she tells me softly.  “Would you like to go for a walk on the beach?”

I nod.  “Of course.  Let’s get our jackets though.”

I help her shrug into hers and then I follow her outdoors, over the worn trail leading down to the water.

Mila grabs my hand as we walk and holds it, and it feels really intimate.

“I used to play here on this beach when I was a kid,” she tells me as she gazes around at the frozen wild-grass and gray water.  “Maddy and I used to run up and down this stretch of sand while our parents worked in the restaurant.  It was a great childhood.  Where did you play?”

I think on that as I guide her around a piece of driftwood.

“I don’t really remember,” I tell her.  “I have bits of memories from my grandfather’s estate.  I think my mother maybe took me there from time to time.  And I remember a few Christmases.  But nothing more than that.”

She looks at me sympathetically again, but doesn’t say anything.  I have a feeling she knows that I wouldn’t like it.

“Do you think there’s a God?” she asks, changing the subject.  And it seems so out of the blue.  I stare at her.

“What kind of question is that?  It’s so random.”

I smile and we continue to walk and I feel the moisture of the wet sand permeating my dress shoes.  I wish that I would have worn my boots, but they would have looked out of place with slacks.

Mila sighs.

“I don’t know.  It’s not really random.  I just wonder from time to time.  Don’t you?  I never really thought about it until my parents died, but now it crosses my mind sometimes. I can’t help it.  And we were talking about other deep things tonight, so I just thought I’d ask.  I’m trying to get to know you.”

She smiles and squeezes my hand and my heart softens a bit.  There’s something about this girl. I know that she could ask anything, and I’d probably answer.