Second Chance

Chapter 10 Steve

I can’t believe I almost kissed her. I wanted to. I think she wanted me to kiss her as well. I was also afraid that if I did it, it would spook her. I don’t think she is ready to admit she still cares about me to herself. I saw how she painted me. She even added the slight grease stain that was on the shirt I wore that day we went to the train park with our friends our Freshman year.

That was the day we kissed for the first time. I was goofing off on the train, and she sat at the picnic table watching me being a goof. Later, we snuck onto the train, away from our friends, and kissed. The fact that, of all the days we spent together, all the pictures I am sure she had, she used one from a day neither of us will forget spoke volumes about how she still cares.

Then she showed me the other paintings she is proud of. Some of them are amazing. Some are great. You can tell she put more of herself into the amazing ones.

The painting of Tiffany feels like you can tell how much pressure she is under by looking at the picture, yet she seems perfectly put together. I knew from looking at the image that the person was under a great deal of stress.

Then, when she told me it was Tiffany, it all made sense. She is always feeling the weight of her parents' expectations, and Reese manages to capture that with her paintbrush and her canvas.

It is like Reese sees in those people and places she cares about things other people would miss, like the grease stain on my shirt or the strain in Tiffany’s eyes.

Reese said she wants to always be a safe place for Tiffany to come, and I am sure this picture explains why. The things she saw when she painted this made her see that Tiffany needs someplace because one day, the strain will be too great.

It strikes me: Is there anyone who does that for Reese? I try, but do I see Reese? Can I anticipate what she will need before it is obvious? I would like to think I do, but I am unaware if I can see her or anyone the way she sees us. Is that why she broke up with me?

Could she see that the 18-year-old me might have grown resentful if I left with her? I don’t believe I would, but I am thinking about this as a 22-year-old man who has seen what four years of life without Reese is like. I am not the same person I was then. I don’t want to admit maybe Reese was right then, but she isn’t right anymore.

I loved seeing her dance as we packed things up. We were able to pack quicker than I thought. She turned on her Taylor Swift and Harry Styles music, which always puts her in a better mood. I smiled watching her.

I did find every excuse to touch her I could. I didn’t even mean to at first. She was reaching for something on the top shelf, and I was afraid she would fall. So I put my hands on her waist to try to help stabilize her. The feeling of her in my hands was addictive.

I knew I needed to touch her more to keep myself calm. I also tried to make sure it wasn’t too obvious. So when I would walk behind her, I would put my hand on her back so she knew I was there and wouldn’t back up.

I would accidentally bump her arm when we were packing boxes side by side. I would hold my hand out to help her off the ramp when she loaded items into the truck.

I must admit, I hope to have those little opportunities to touch her when loading the things from her apartment tomorrow. I am not sure I will be able to, as Tiffany and her parents will also be there.

We drive to her apartment. She lived in a lovely 3-floor building. I hope she isn’t on the 3rd Floor. Luck is with me. She is on the ground floor.

“So, if you are wondering how we managed to find a ground-floor apartment, that is an example of how overprotective Tiff’s parents are. They pay the extra fee each month for a ground-floor apartment because they are worried about someone mugging Tiff as she walks up the stairs. They wanted her to have a place close to the parking so if there was someone nearby, she could get into her apartment quickly.” She laughs.

So it wasn’t luck, it was overprotective parents. “I am surprised they didn’t insist on a locked building.”

“They tried, but the rent would be more than I could afford, and I wouldn’t let them pay more than the extra cost for the first floor. So Tiffany would have had to move in with one of her friends whom she didn’t like. So they decided I was a better option, even though it meant it wasn’t a locked building. They researched the neighborhood to ensure it was fairly safe.” She rolls her eyes.

She lets me into her apartment. The living room is pretty bare with no furniture. A small dining area is off to the side with a small dining room table that seats four. A small round table that looks like it would belong in my grandmother’s house. The redhead from the picture walks into the living room from one of the bedrooms. “Reese,” she yells. “I have missed you.” She moves quickly to give Reese a big hug. Reese’s face lights up to see her friend.

“Tiff!!” She cries in return. They hug for a minute before she turns to me. “Tiffany, this is Steve. A friend from high school.” Friend. The word feels like a dagger to my heart. I remind myself that it is temporary. I plan to change how she sees me.

“Nice to meet you, Tiffany. I have heard so much about you on the trip.” Tiffany blushes. “All good, I promise.”

“Nice to meet you as well, Steve. Reese never talked much about those she went to high school with. Only her ex-boyfriend, whom she broke up with when she left, but she didn't tell me his name. Beyond that, I never heard about anyone from her past other than her family.” Now it is Reese’s turn to blush.

“Oh, what did she say about her ex?” Tiffany's look of embarrassment is instant, as she knows she said the wrong thing. I can tell this girl is shy and easy to embarrass, but this would embarrass pretty much anyone.

“Not sure I should say anything else. Either way, nice to meet you, Steve.” She responds.

“So, umm, Tiff, where is the couch?” Reese asks.

“You told me to sell it, so I did. They had to come today to pick it up. Is there a problem?”

“Well, the only issue was that was where I planned to have Steve sleep.” Reese sighs. I can tell she is frustrated.

“I can find a hotel, no big deal.” I tried to resolve the issue.

“Well, my parents had issues finding a hotel nearby as a music festival is in town. I am sure you can book something, but you may have to drive a bit. They are about 45 minutes away as a result.” Tiffany volunteers.

“No, I am not having you spend money on a hotel room. I will sleep with Tiffany; we did that on some of our trips, and you can have my bed.”

“I am sure I can find someplace,” I try to argue, but I can tell by the stern look on her face that Reese won’t hear any of it. So I gave up the argument. “Well, let’s grab something to eat; we have a busy day in the morning.” I relent.

We order pizza from a local restaurant, and the girls chat about what has happened since Reese left and what Tiffany will be doing once she returns home. I listen in and am jealous of the ease with which they talk. There is no awkward past between them like there is with Reese and me most of the time. We were able to avoid the awkwardness in the truck on the way here, but as soon as we got to this apartment, it was back.

When we were in her studio, I felt like our conversation was awkward at times and not at other times. Listening to them talk, and it is never like that for them, makes me long for when it was never that way between Reese and me.

After dinner, we call it an early night. Reese and I are tired after a long day of driving, packing, and loading the truck. Before bed, I survey the apartment and try to get a sense of what we need to load. In Reese's room, she has a large dresser that I want to place in the front of the truck, which means I need to unload her art supplies before loading them.

She said the dining room table goes with her. Thankfully, the fridge stays. Her bed also goes, along with a few boxes of clothes and other things she has already packed. She told me she took most of her items home after the accident.

I crawl into the bed. Even though she has been gone for a while, I swear the bed smells like Reese. I find myself taking a deep breath and smelling the soft vanilla scent. Reese loves vanilla. That is why her lotion and the candles she buys are vanilla-scented, so I would also be willing to bet she uses a vanilla-scented laundry scent. Lying there surrounded by the smell of vanilla and the soft sheets that remind me of her silky skin makes me want to hold her.

To lie here with my arm around her as we sleep. To wake up with her still in my arms. I thought it would be hard to fall asleep, but the scent of the vanilla relaxes me, and I find myself drifting off to sleep. I spend my night dreaming of Reese and how good she feels in my arms, how it feels like a perfect fit. Morning comes quickly, and I need to get up and shower so we can get things moved for her.