the paper cup. It was so hot out today, but now that the sun’s gone, a chill floats through the air. I sit quietly, occasionally sipping, while casually glancing at the boy beside me. His blue eyes twinkle under the fairy lights as he stares ahead, and I wish I knew what he was thinking. Eventually, after minutes of silence have passed, he says, not looking at me, “I should have brought a coat.”
“Are you cold?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “For you.”
“I’m okay.”
And back to the quiet he goes.
My drink is almost gone, and he hasn’t even touched his. “She reminded me of Laney,” he says out of nowhere. “That girl with the bracelets. Laney used to do the same thing, and I don’t know…”
With a pout, I lean into him.
“And these bracelets…” he says, lifting his hand and examining it. “They remind me of home… at the field by the water tower… these flowers would sprout. They were the same yellow as these, as your dress.” I press my lips together. He doesn’t need to know that I remember the flowers. That those flowers are the reason I bought this dress. Or the many other pale-yellow dresses in my wardrobe. “They were surrounded by weeds and dirt, and they had no business being there, those fucking flowers.” His jaw is as tense as his tone. “Yellow was my mom’s favorite color.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, but it isn’t enough.
He shakes his head and laughs once. “Sometimes all I want is to get away from there, and now…that girl and these bracelets and those flowers and my mom… I think I miss my family.” He pauses a beat. “I think I’m homesick,” he almost laughs.
I hold on to his arm, shake it lightly. “Maybe Holden can lend you his truck, and you can go home for a couple of days.”
He faces me now, his eyes tracking mine. “Would you want to come with me?”
“No,” I answer quickly and look away.
Leo pulls me into him and kisses the top of my head. Running a hand up and down my arm, he asks, “You have church tomorrow, right?”
“Yes.” And, just to see his reaction, I ask, “Would you want to come with me?”
He chuckles. “No.”
I pull away and look at his profile. “Why is you going to church so funny?”
“Don’t you have to believe to go to church?”
“You don’t believe in God or faith?”
He vehemently shakes his head. “Not even a little bit.”
“Well.” I sit taller. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but that kind of makes me sad for you.”
“Why?” This time, his laughter is more of a scoff. “Because I don’t believe in the power of an All Mighty being? Because I don’t think walking into a building once a week to listen to a person talk and tell stories will take away all of my sins?” He takes a breath. “Or is it because I don’t believe that I can do horrible things in this life, then say a few prearranged words, and suddenly, I’m forgiven?”
I don’t respond. I just look down at my lap and press down on my skirt, trying not to let his words hurt me the way they do.
“Don’t feel sad for me, Mia. I’m fine. I own up to my actions, and I know that there are consequences if I do wrong.”
“I don’t want to talk about this. It’s making me uncomfortable,” I reply meekly.
He’s quiet a beat, and just when I think he’s about to let it go, he says, “So what you’re saying is that the guy who shot Laney, he can walk into a church and ask for forgiveness and boom, done.”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. And don’t do that, Leo. Don’t mock people for having faith.”
“Faith?!” He’s shouting now, and I’m glad we’re away from everyone so that no one can hear him. “Faith carries as much bullshit as fate.”
I don’t know how we got into this conversation, but I want out of it. I start to stand, but he grabs my wrist, forces me to stay.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice lowered. “I didn’t mean to yell; I just… I don’t get it. I don’t get how people can believe so blindly in something that doesn’t physically exist.”
“You don’t need to see something to know it’s there.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Like love,” I rush out. “You can love someone, and there’s no measure of that love, no way to determine if it truly exists or not, but