My Therapy sessions were on Mondays and Thursdays. Today was a Thursday, so I found myself in the little waiting room once again. No change from routine. I plopped down on the white couch, taking a sip of the coffee I had brought with me.
Shelia, my therapist, told me I shouldn’t be drinking coffee. I always brought a cup so she’d know I wasn’t listening.
My mom signed me in. I was eighteen years old and I knew I could very well sign myself in, but I stopped asking to come alone a while ago. My parents rarely let me leave the house alone. They said they couldn’t trust me. That I was a loose cannon. I said that they were being too judgmental and that I could very well handle myself. They said I was being immature and if I could just reign in my outbursts, maybe they could let me do more.
I told Shelia this, but to my discontent, she never wanted to talk bad about my folks with me. It frustrated me so bad. But then again, I guess they were the ones paying her.
I sat back on the couch, leaning into the many pillows that adorned the back and listened to my mom talk with the receptionist. “How’s your daughter, Mary?”
The receptionist, Mary, smiled and laughed, “She’s just as rambunctious as ever. Life with a five year old is never boring. She wanted to wear all of her clothes on inside out to school today. That was quite the scene.”
We had been coming here for three years now, since my sophomore year of high school when “the incident” happened, and over those years, Mary and my mother had become great friends. It was quite annoying. I drowned out the rest of their conversation, blowing my bangs out of my eyes and putting in my headphones, uninterested in their small talk.
The songs seemed to blend together as I took in every detail of my hands, a practice which I often partook in when waiting.
Finally, I heard the door to Shelia’s office faintly open over my music. Out walked her last patient, giving me a small wave. He was a boy, probably around my age, who I had seen around here a lot for the past couple of weeks. I smiled and nodded, uninterested in making friends with other lunatics. I was more than enough for myself.
Shelia called my name, holding the door open. I took my time getting up and my mom met me. “Would you like me back there today?” my mother asked.
“Oh God, Shelia, please say no,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Adena, don’t speak to me like that in public,” my mother said.
Shelia finally spoke before I could get another word in, “It’s alright, Mrs. Smith. Adena and I should probably talk alone for now.”
I silently thanked the gods as I walked into Shelia’s office and sat myself down on her brown chair. I could faintly hear my mother say something along the lines of, “If you think that’s best,” and pictured her sitting herself down on one of the armchairs in the waiting room and reading Woman’s Digest.
Shelia closed the door behind her as she entered, and sat down, facing her desk. “That caffeine will just make your mood swings worse.” She bent over, pulling out my file from her desk drawer.
“And you know good and well I’m still going to drink my coffee, Shelia,” I replied. I should’ve been calling her Dr. Marx, as my mom constantly reminded me, but I never listened, and Shelia never said anything about it.
Once I asked her if she was related to Carl Marx. She asked if it would change my opinion about her if she was. I said it would and she never gave me an answer.
“Adena, you’re never going to be able to have full control over these outbursts if you don’t listen to me, you know,” she said, turning her chair around to face me. “How’s this week been?”
I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to my temples, looking for an answer. I just wanted to get away from this all. Every last bit of it.



The car ride home was hell, with my mother droning on about how I needed to take responsibility for my actions. I stared out the window as we drove back to Winthrop, hoping that she would understand I was completely ignoring her. When she didn’t stop, I casually turned up the radio and put my feet up on the dashboard. I knew it would piss her off, but I also hoped she’d get the picture.

It just pissed her off.

“Adena, get your feet down right now!” she shrieked, hitting the volume button to turn the radio off. “Do you see how much mud you are leaving? And are you going to clean that? I doubt it. You never clean anything. I seriously doubt you even know how to clean. You’ve certainly never picked up around the house. It’s just one more thing that shows your lack of respect for authority.”

I grunted and slowly removed my feet from the dash. “Maybe I would respect you if you gave me reason to,” I said under my breath.

“You have no reason to disrespect me like that, young lady,” she said.

I kept my eyes glued on the rearview mirror. I didn’t want to look over at my mother’s face. Sometimes, when there was already anger in the pit of my stomach, seeing her sent me over the edge. It wasn’t fair, and I knew that, but it didn’t make it any less true.

Our exit approached on the interstate, and I thanked the gods that it was only a fifteen minute drive back to my house. I could shut myself up in my room and forget about the rest of the world.


My room was there to welcome me with open arms as soon as I entered the door. The dark lavender walls were filled with handwritten poetry and pictures I’d drawn. They were held up by tacks that my mom had yelled at me for sticking in her walls. The bed was never made and laundry was always erupting over the floor, like my closet had thrown up. It was just the way I liked it.

My mom thought my room was one of circles of hell, and I’m glad she did; it kept her away.

I fell back on my bed, sprawling out and looking up at the ceiling. The glow-in-the-dark solar system that I had put up when I was in middle school was still sticking to the plaster. The stars reminded me of a time when life was simpler and I didn’t spend so much time contemplating my very existence.

I could hear my parents exchanging heated words downstairs as I let my thoughts drift. I knew their marriage had been rocky lately, and I knew that my mother blamed me, so I tried to keep my mind off of their arguments.

I let my mind wander, ignoring the homework I knew I should be doing. I wouldn’t let my eyes meet the backpack sitting across the room. I focused only on my breathing until I finally fell off into my dreams.


The sound of my alarm clock shook me from my slumbers, and I realized I had slept the whole night through. I knew I slept more than the average teenager, and Shelia told me that was normal for teenagers who had bipolar disorder like I did. At least when they were in their states of depression. When the mania hit, we could stay up all night long.

I sat up, realizing I had slept in my clothes, and slowly began to get ready for the school day, dreading every single minute of it. School made me anxious and I hated almost everyone there. I mostly just ducked my head down and pretended that I didn’t exist. It usually worked.

I took a long shower, fogging up the bathroom, and when I got out, I drew pictures of skulls and cross-bones on the mirror. I thought it would be a pleasant surprise for my mom.

I was slower than a sloth getting dressed, and as I pulled on my jeans and my sweatshirt, I realized that if I left before my mother woke up, I could easily skip school. Of course, she’d find out when the school called to say I was absent, but until then, I’d have a day full of the freedom I so desperately longed for.

I stuck my backpack under my bed so that my room wouldn’t look suspicious and grabbed my purse, pulling it over my shoulder. I quickly swiped some mascara over my eyes and laced up my Chucks, now desperately ready to leave this house.

With one last look in the mirror, I decided I’d better leave now if I was going to go, and I set off out the door.



The air was chilly outside, but I knew it would soon grow warmer. It was almost April, and spring was in full swing here. The flowers had begun to bloom, and by noon, it was always at least fifty degrees.
I walked until I had made it to downtown. It wasn’t much; Winthrop was small, and our downtown was really just the intersection of Main Street and Broadway. However, there was a neat little bookstore down on one end, and that was my destination for this morning.
I walked into the bookstore, a little bell ringing to signal my presence, and found it deserted on this calm spring morning. “Perfect,” I said, smile on my lips. I knew the owner, Harold, and I was sure he was in the back sorting through paperwork.
Harold had opened this store years ago with his wife Louise, and just last year, Louise had passed away. The store had been having financial trouble ever since then, at least that’s what the gossips around town said, and to me, that was heartbreaking. I couldn’t stand to think of this poor man losing his wife and then his life’s work. Ever since I heard, I always made it a point to buy at least one book every time I came in.
I wandered the shelves, looking through the used books he had acquired over the years. There were no new books in Harold’s store. He resold old books, whose bindings were cracking. The books here had seen the hands of eager readers and told their stories again and again. I liked that. I liked that feeling I got when I opened a used book and realized that I wasn’t the first person to read the words printed on the page. I liked feeling connected to humans I didn’t know, would never know.
I found a bookshelf near the back with a few Michael Crichton books on the bottom, and I sunk to the floor, leaning my back against the wall. I grabbed a copy of Jurassic Park and opened it, beginning to read. It certainly wasn’t the first time I had read this title, it was one of my favorites, but the copy I held in my hand felt like it had seen more adventure than my stiff, hardcover at home.
I got lost in the words, so when the bell rang again, I barely noticed it. When faint footsteps grew closer, I didn’t really hear them. I didn’t notice the shadow coming closer, until finally a voice broke the trance that Crichton had captured me in. “Hey.”
When I looked up, I was more than surprised to see the boy that I had seen so often at Shelia’s office. The one who had waved at me just yesterday. “What the hell are you doing in Winthrop?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.
The boy laughed. “I just moved here,” he said. He didn’t sound offended, which was a first. Generally, I offended almost everyone I came in contact with. “I didn’t expect to see you here either.”
“You see Shelia,” I said. It was a statement. I didn’t quite care why he saw her, and I sure as hell didn’t want to talk about why I saw her, but it was really the only thing I had left to say. I carefully closed Jurassic Park and set it back on the shelf as I stood up. I noticed the boy was taller than I originally thought he was. I stood at 5’4” and he was at least a foot taller than me. And skinny too. Really, really skinny.
“Yeah. I do. I’m Kris,” he said, sticking out his hand. I shook it, still uncomfortable with this whole situation.
“I’m Adena,” I said, not wanting to say much more. I knew that my face gave away my discomfort. I could feel my lip curling and my nostrils flaring like they always did when I was anxious.
Kris looked away and down at the shelf where I had set Jurassic Park. He picked it up and flipped through the pages casually. “I’ve always felt a lot like Ian Malcolm, you know. Dark, mysterious,” he paused and looked back at me. “An absolute self-obsessed genius.” He cracked a grin, and I couldn’t help but smile a little myself.
“You shouldn’t make fun of Ian Malcolm like that. He is my favorite character.”
“Then we’ll get along just fine,” Kris replied, still grinning. He sat the book back on the shelf and turned away to browse the titles of books beside him. I didn’t say a word but mimicked the gesture, figuring it was better than trying to make empty conversation.
I wasn’t sure if this would be the start of a friendship, but I also knew that I wasn’t completely annoyed by Kris’s presence, and that was definitely a first.
After a few minutes, Kris pulled out a book, and sat on the ground. I curiously scanned the cover. Tolkien. The Hobbit. Good taste.
I found a collection of poems by e. e. cummings and sat beside him.
“Not many people read Tolkien these days,” I said absentmindedly, flipping through the pages to find a poem I was familiar with.
Kris didn’t look up, but sighed. “It’s a shame, isn’t it?”
I gave a small nod. “Uncultured swine.” This got him laughing, although I was more than serious, a little bit of bitterness evident in my voice.
“Not a people person?” Kris asked, and I finally looked up from my book and over at him. There was a bit of a twinkle in his eyes.
“Not at all.”
“I can leave if you’d like.”
“No,” I said quickly. I immediately realized how strange that sounded, and added, “You can stay if you want. This bookstore is open to the public after all.” I refused to look over at him, but carefully allowed a glance out of the corner of my eye. He didn’t reply, but I could see a hint of a smile dancing around the corners of his lips.
“Shouldn’t you be in school?” he asked, after reading a few pages.
“Shouldn’t you?” I replied, familiar bite back in my voice.
“I graduated last year. Decided to wait a year or two to start college.” He pointed to his skull. “Bad mental health, you see.” His voice was playful, almost seeming to joke about it.
“Ah,” I said, finally looking over. “I’m a senior, so to answer your question, yes I should be there. I didn’t feel like dealing with everybody today though.”
Kris looked at me with understanding. I could tell he knew how it felt to be an outsider.
We sat there like that, reading, for quite some time. Not really saying much, just enjoying the quiet morning. It was, dare I say it, relaxing.
And finally, before Kris left, he paid for The Hobbit, wrote his number in it and left it for me at the desk. When I left, I went to purchase the e. e. cummings collection, and old Harold handed it to me with a wink.

When I got home later that evening, my mom had found out I had skipped school; I had no doubt she would.
She yelled. I threw a framed picture across the room. My dad drank a beer in the living room and shouted at me to calm down.
Shelia heard about that one.

I sent Kris a text message after waiting a couple days. He responded quickly, “I was starting to think you hadn’t gotten the book.”
He asked where I lived and simple things about my life. I tiptoed around the subject of my bipolar disorder, and I rarely asked about him. It wasn’t that I didn’t care. I just wasn’t used to getting so much attention. I did, however, ask him about why he saw Shelia, and he told me we could talk about it in person. I accepted that answer because for the first time in my life I had met someone that I didn’t want to push away.

School went by slower over the course of the next week, the days dragging on. Kris refused to text me while he knew I was in class, trying to be some kind of good influence or something. I rolled my eyes at the fact that he thought he could improve my behavior in any way, but at the same time, I thought the fact that he cared was almost sweet.
I didn’t see him again until Thursday, when he walked out of Shelia’s office. He stopped this time and said, “Hey Adena,” smiling from ear to ear.
I stood up as Shelia called my name. “Hey Kris,” I replied, genuinely smiling back. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” Kris nodded and walked out the door. I turned to see both Shelia and my mother looking a little shocked. I brushed their reaction off. “He’s a nice guy,” I said with a shrug.

Saturday, I asked my mother if I could go out to Noodles & Co. with Kris. I told her I’d be home by nine and promised to go to church with her the next morning.
“Adena, I don’t think I want you hanging out with him,” she said.
“Well why not?” I responded.
“Well, he…” she paused, folding an arm in front of her. “Do you know why he goes to see Dr. Marx?”
“What the hell, mother?” I spat. “Are you insinuating that he’s crazy because he sees a therapist? Are you insinuating that I’m crazy? For Christssake, that doesn’t make us crazy! I’m sure he’s psychopathic and he’s just dying to take me out so he can chop me up and put me in his soup!”
I saw this look flash across my mother’s face, almost a look of regret. “Adena,” she said, reaching out an arm to try and comfort me. I quickly bucked away, trying to convince myself to calm down. Deep breaths.
“Mom. Seriously,” I said in a much lower voice.
“Adena, that’s not what I meant. Really,” she said, leaning against the kitchen island. “How about you can go, if I can go as well?”
“Really?” I said, exhausted from just this little encounter. “I’m not five, mother.”
“I’ll sit at a different table; I’ll walk in after you do. Kris doesn’t even have to know I’m there,” she said.
I hated the idea. I hated every single damn bit of it, but it was the only way I was ever going to get out of this godforsaken house, so I took a deep breath and said, “Kris is driving me. Leave the house at least five minutes after we do. Deal?”
My mother was silent for a minute, and then nodded. “Go get ready.”

Kris showed up at 6:30. His light purple button up was tucked into his jeans. I wondered quietly to myself why he was always wearing long sleeves when it was so hot outside. I had decided to wear a dress myself, figuring that I ought to at least put forth a little effort.
“Hey,” I said as I opened the door. Kris moved to come in, but I heard my dad yelling at football on the TV and imagined all the beer cans that must be sitting around him and said, “Let’s just go.” I knew my mom was listening from the kitchen, waiting for us to leave so she could follow us there.
Kris nodded, seeming to understand, and said, “Your chariot awaits,” motioning to a beautiful Mustang. It was a restored classic, I knew, but I couldn’t tell exactly what year. The pearl paint shimmered under the evening sun.
“What year?” I asked as he opened the door for me.
“1964.” I climbed in, still admiring the car, and Kris walked around to the other side. “My grandfather gave it to me right before he passed away. It was his, and I was his only grandchild. My dad was a little bit upset that he didn’t get it himself, but granddad always said he thought my father wouldn’t appreciate it; he’d just sell it. I’ve always appreciated the classics though. I have another car too, you know. The one that I bought with my money I earned working through high school. It’s a crappy little Ford Focus that breaks down about twice a year. I usually drive that around, but I figured that since I was escorting a pretty girl, she deserved to ride in a pretty car.”
I felt my cheeks flush, but I didn’t reply. I just smiled, looking down at the floorboard and feeling Kris’s gaze drift over to me every now and then.


Noodles & Co. was busy, but Kris had already called in and made reservations, so we had a table waiting for us. “Have you ever been here?” he asked as the waiter led us to a spot in the back.
I nodded. “Pasta is probably my favorite dish. I come here as often as I can manage.”
“Then I’m glad I picked it,” he said with a smile.
We got settled at our booth, both ordering Diet Cokes, and I let my eyes wander the menu. It was really an act of habit. I didn’t need to look; I always got the Wisconsin Mac & Cheese, but I thought that I’d rather let my gaze drift over the menu than awkwardly stare up at Kris while he decided.
It was quiet until our waiter came to take our order. Kris ordered the Steak Stroganoff, and I got my usual. After that, I no longer had my menu to hide behind. “So,” I said awkwardly, feeling my cheeks flush for the second time that night.
“So,” Kris repeated, “are you glad you came out with me tonight?”
I smiled. “I’m not sure yet. Depends on if my food is good or not.”
Kris laughed, “You’re just here for the food then?”
“Of course!” I said, laughing along. “But in all honesty, yes, I’m glad I came out with you.”

Over dinner, we talked about our families. I told Kris my dad was an alcoholic for the first time, and as I did, I realized that it was the only time I’d even admitted that fully to myself. Kris told me about how his father was a business man and he only cared about money. His parents were divorced, and his mom had moved here, to Winthrop, while his dad stayed in New York.
We talked about college, and Kris said he’d like to go, but he didn’t want to go until after he knew what he wanted to do with his life. I told him about how I was planning on going to Boston University, and how I wanted to major in English. I told him how I wasn’t sure what in the world I was going to do after college, but I knew damn well I needed to get out of my parents’ house.
We talked about our pets. Kris had a dog named Spot, although he was pure brown. He said he had named him when he was a child, and although his dad hadn’t liked the name, his mother had argued that since it was Kris’s dog, he should be able to call it whatever he wanted. I told him about my cat, Harvey, who only had three legs and wouldn’t sleep anywhere other than the bathtub.
We talked and we talked, and we didn’t run out of conversation the entire night, and for once, I felt as if I could actually talk to someone without them shoving away my opinions and my thoughts just because they might differ from the norm. For once, I actually felt completely accepted.
Half way through the night, I spotted my mom over in a corner eating by herself. Occasionally she’d look up and check on me, but other than that, she held up her end of the deal and didn’t bother us during our meal. Even though she hadn’t said anything to us, and I only caught her glancing our way every now and then, as we were finishing dinner, I reached across the table to place a hand on Kris’s arm. “I have something I need to tell you.”
Kris’s eyes widened just a bit, “Oh?”
I motioned my head toward my mother and said, “Look over there, at the table in the corner.”

He let his gaze casually drift over, “With the woman sitting alone?” He paused a moment, as I nodded.

“Recognize her?” I asked, knowing he had seen her in Shelia’s waiting room a time or two.

“She looks kind of familiar,” he said, and I gave him a moment to think. My mom turned her head slightly, and Kris looked at me. “Isn’t that the woman who’s always waiting with you at Dr. Marx’s office?”

I nodded slowly, rolling my eyes. “That’s my mother,” I sighed, slightly embarrassed.

“Oh, she didn’t trust you coming out alone with me?” he asked, raising one eyebrow just a bit.

“More like she doesn’t trust me to leave the house alone,” I said.

“I see,” Kris cracked a little smile. “She must really care about you then.”

“What?” I asked, wrinkling my nose.

“Well, the way I see it, she let you come out, and went through all the trouble of following us fifteen minutes down the road to Boston just to make sure you were okay. She also gave up her Saturday night.”

I felt my face soften just a bit, thinking about Kris’s words before responding. “Yeah,” I said, “I guess she did.”


On the way home, we were mostly silent. Half way there, though, Kris reached over and grabbed my hand. The now familiar blush was back in my cheeks, and out of the corner of my eyes, Kris’s smile was evident.

He pulled in my driveway, turning off the car, and hurrying out to open my door for me. Under the moonlight, I took his hand, and said, “Come with me.” He looked at me, questioning, but nodded and followed. I led him through a gate surrounded on both sides by lilac bushes that were in bloom.
In the middle of my backyard was a little swing that my dad had built before his drinking had gotten out of hand. I sat down, motioning for Kris to sit beside me. “Thank you for such a lovely evening,” I said, my gaze drifting up toward the full moon.
Kris sighed and let his arm fall over my shoulder. I realized that ever since I met him, I had become more used to human interaction. I let my head sit on his shoulder, and focused on my breathing. The night was calm, and so was I.
I spotted a broken pot in the garden, and pointed it out to Kris, “You see that? I threw that from the other corner of the yard. It was last year, and I can hardly remember what we were even fighting about anymore.”
Kris let his arm tighten around my shoulder just a bit. “You know, I never told you why I saw Dr. Marx, did I?”
I turned myself to look at him, positioning myself sideways on the swing and pulling my legs up underneath me. “No, you didn’t,” I said.
I could see the way he was thinking across his face. The lines on his forehead wrinkled and his grey eyes grew darker than they were before. “My freshman year of high school, stuff got really hard for me. I mean, I know life is never easy for anyone, but that year, my best friend died in a car crash, and my parents got divorced, and…” his voice trailed off and his gaze drifted down to the ground.
I gave his hand a squeeze, staying silent, and he finally looked up at me. “The summer before my sophomore year, I tried to kill myself. My mom had hip surgery, and there was this giant bottle of liquid oxycodone sitting right there,” he paused, looking right into my eyes. “It didn’t work, obviously. My mom found me and took me to the hospital. They pumped my stomach, and they hooked up a lot of IVs, and eventually, after about a week’s stay, they sent me to a mental ward for supervision.”
I waited a moment in silence, studying Kris’s face. “I’m glad you’re still here,” I said, my voice only a whisper.
Kris’s expression softened just a bit as he continued, “So I see Dr. Marx because of that, my depression.” He started undoing the buttons on his shirt sleeves and began to roll them up. I saw immediately why he was always wearing the long sleeves.
Scars crisscrossed over each other, little white hills, up and down both wrists. Without thinking about it, I reached my hand out to run my fingers over them, feeling the bumps on the skin. I pulled my hand back, and looked back up at his face. His eyes were closed. “I’m sorry,” I said.
Kris’s eyes opened and he smiled softly. “I haven’t cut in over a year and a half. Although, sometimes, I still have the desire to.”
It was tragic.
I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t really need to. I just held on to Kris’s hands, and we sat there like that, under the moonlight for a while. I felt like our souls were exposed; somehow, they had intertwined, and it was beautiful.
Sitting there in the silence, I saw the kitchen light flick on. My mom walked by the glass doors, and I figured she had just arrived home. I let out a small chuckle under my breath and said, “Look who’s finally back from dinner.”
Kris’s eyes seemed to fill up with laughter. I knew inside he was teasing me slightly for my mother’s following us, although I didn’t quite mind. “Maybe she’ll join us on all of our dates,” he replied, winking.
I playfully punched his arm. “So you’re going to take me out again then, eh?”
“Oh, I fully intend on it. Unless of course, I’m too messed up for you,” he said, nodding down at his wrists. He waited just a moment before wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me to him.
I laid my head on his chest and replied, “Kris, if you can deal with my baggage, I will happily deal with yours.” There was another moment’s silence, and then the door creaked open. My mother poked her head out, and I made an audible groan. “Yes, mother?”
Kris tightened his grip a little, and I heard a soft laugh. I rolled my eyes at him as my mother spoke, “I have some lemonade and chocolate chip cookies made if you all want. I didn’t know if you got dessert at the restaurant or not.”
“We’re fine, mom,” I said in the nicest voice I could muster.
“Kris?” my mom asked.
“Actually, Adena, chocolate chip cookies do sound nice. Why don’t we go inside for a bit?” he replied, just loud enough for my mother to hear.
“Come on in, then!” my mother said with a smile, leaving the door open and retreating into the kitchen.
I slowly got up, followed by Kris, who took my hand in his. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” I grumbled as we made our way to the kitchen, and once again I heard him laugh.
“It’s not going to kill you,” he said with a smile, “and I might as well try and make your mother like me.”
I shook my head, letting go of his hand to walk through the door first. My mother was standing at the kitchen island over a large tray of cookies that smelled like they had just been taken out of the oven. “Wow, mom. You actually baked. I’m impressed,” I said.
“Hush, Adena. I bake all the time,” she replied, gesturing to the barstools that sat around the island.
Kris was the first to sit down, taking a cookie off the tray. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced, Mrs. Smith,” he said, grin never leaving his face. He made a quick glance at me, and then continued, “I’m Kristofer Conroy, but I’d prefer it if you just called me Kris.” He stuck out his hand to shake, and I noticed he hadn’t rolled his sleeves back down. I watched my mother’s eyes nervously as she took his hand, knowing that there was no way she could miss the marks on his wrists. She didn’t say anything about them though, and I thanked the gods for that.
I took the stool beside Kris and pulled a cookie off the plate, breaking it apart before beginning to eat it.
“It’s lovely to finally meet you, Kris,” my mother said, withdrawing her hand. She turned around to grab some glasses out of the cabinet. “I’ve seen you around Dr. Marx’s office, but we’ve never gotten the chance to talk. Lemonade?”
“That would be wonderful,” Kris said, taking a cookie for himself. He bit into it as my mother poured the drinks. “These are delicious, Mrs. Smith.”
“Oh please, you can call my Candy,” my mother said, using her sweetest voice. It almost made me sick how nice she was being. “And thank you; it was my mother’s recipe.” She turned around, handing each of us a glass, and then finally taking a seat herself. “So Kris, do you go to college?”
Kris shook his head as his finished chewing, and then answered, “No, I haven’t gone yet. I took a year off to make sure I knew what I wanted to do with my life before I jumped in full speed. I’m still not quite sure, but hopefully, I’ll figure it out eventually.”
My mother nodded. “Adena is set on going to Boston University in the fall, but I’m not quite sure she’s ready, myself.”
“Mom,” I said, giving her a look. Please hush. Don’t start this now.
“Oh, Adena, don’t be silly,” she said, “I’m just making conversation.”
“Well, how about we talk about something else,” I said, sticking a piece of cookie in my mouth before I said anything I would regret.
Kris moved a hand to my knee, giving it a little squeeze. I immediately felt myself relax, if only for a moment. “How long have you all lived in Winthrop?” he asked. “We just moved here a little over a month ago, so I’m still getting used to the place.”
“Oh, I’ve lived here practically my whole life,” my mother replied. “When I was five, my parents moved here, and I fell in love. I left for a little while when I went to college at Columbia, but I always knew I would make my way back. Adena’s never lived anywhere else.”
“Well, maybe you can give me some hints to help me get around then,” Kris said. “You would think that navigating a small town would be easy, but I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten lost.” He laughed. “Although, I must admit, I’ve never been very good with directions.”
“Of course! If you ever need help getting around, you can always let me know,” mom said.
I sat quietly listening to my mom and Kris talk back and forth, wondering what she’d have to say about him once he was gone. It was a strange feeling, sitting between the two of them. Mom always seemed to stir up a storm inside of me, but Kris on the other hand, could easily calm it with just a single look.
In the midst of the two of them laughing over some silly joke, I heard our grandfather clock start to chime. Kris looked around. “Is it eleven already? I should probably head home.”
“Well, it was lovely to meet you Kris. You’ll have to come back over sometime soon,” my mom said, standing to her feet.
Kris stood as well. “Thank you for the cookies and lemonade, Mrs. Smith, and thank you for letting me take Adena out tonight.”
My mom laughed lightly, “I told you before. Call me Candy. Now I mean that.”
I looked over at Kris, “I’ll walk you out, okay?”
He nodded, and took my hand. As we turned to leave, he looked over his shoulder to tell my mom goodnight once more.
“She’s nice, Adena,” he said as we walked through the front door.
I shrugged. “She’s alright, I guess.”
Kris shook his head, and said, “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“I’m holding you to that.” I felt my cheeks flush as he opened the car door and clumsily stood to my tiptoes to place a small kiss on his cheek. He laughed just a little, placing a hand on my waist to balance me. “Good night,” I said, cheeks turning even darker red.
“Good night,” he replied. As he did, he moved his hand from my waist to my cheek and placed a small kiss on my lips. My heart sped up and stomach filled with nervous butterflies.
He pulled away and smiled, getting in his car. I waved shyly, standing in the driveway and watching him as he left.

Once his car was out of sight, I slowly walked into my house, fingers brushing against my lips. That had been my first real kiss.

Instead of walking directly up the stairs and to my room, I made my way back to the kitchen and found my mother leaning against the island. “So, how was it?” she asked me.

My eyebrows rose in surprise, “It was…” I paused, opening the fridge to pull out a water bottle, “It was really, really great.” A smile spread across my face as I looked over at my mom.

I think I heard her let out a sigh of relief and she let herself smile a little bit too, sitting back down on one of the barstools.

“Good night, mom,” I said, realizing that I never told her that anymore.


“Good night, Adena.”

I smiled at her one last time, thinking that maybe our relationship could improve some too, if we tried, before heading off upstairs.

I changed into my pajamas and climbed into bed, turning on my bedside lamp. I pulled The Hobbit off my nightstand and began to read.