Amends: A Love Story Read Online Free PDF Page A

machine, and set it on
sanitize.
    I'm about to spray some disinfectant on the
sticky remnants when my phone chirps. It's a text from Gran:
    Next available flight is tomorrow at five
a.m. Hang on tight and call if you need anything. Love you. Stay
strong.
    Another day alone here with Dad. It might as
well be an eternity. I feel awful for him—he just lost his wife—but
I'm also angry. More than angry. I want to scream at him and shake
him for making me clean up his puke just an hour after I learned
that Mom died. I take a deep breath and try to clear my head. Focus
on the cleaning, I tell myself. But before I can do anything else,
my phone chirps again. This time it's Maggie.
    OMG, so fucking sorry, cannot believe it.
Tell me what you need.
    While Dad was gradually passing out, I sent
Maggie what is probably the weirdest text I've ever sent. I would
have called, but I knew she was at a dance club with some of her
college buddies. I'm so relieved to see her words I almost cry.
    I reread Maggie's question and really think
about what I need right now. I look at my dad and the wreckage in
the kitchen. I wrinkle my nose at the faint smell of vomit and
beer. I decide what I really need is to get the fuck out of
here.

    /////////////////////////

    The boy is dancing to some ska-punk-techno
hybrid, and his moves are fierce. He has shoulder-length dark hair
and narrow, mobile hips. A thick vine—black with large,
evil-looking thorns—is inked around his arms and neck. I am
mesmerized.
    "Hey, girl," whispers Maggie. "Drink
this."
    I take the plastic cup from my best friend
and take a small sip. It tastes sweet, sour, and astringent. I make
a face. "What is this?"
    "Wine," says Maggie. "It'll help you relax.
Just chug the whole thing."
    Maggie looks at me expectantly. My mind
flashes back to my father. I know alcoholism runs in families. Will
this cup of wine be the first step on a journey of life-ruining
addiction and despair? Fuck it. I gulp down the wine as instructed
and let it burn its way down my throat.
    She nudges me. "Hot, isn't he?"
    "Yeah. Nice to look at, I guess."
    She giggles. "You can do more than look."
    I roll my eyes. "Yeah, right," I say. "A guy
that hot wouldn't even look at me. Besides, he's dancing with a
pixie right now. I'm way too tall for him, as well as being the
social pariah of the senior class."
    Maggie waves her hand as if to brush away my
objections. "He's just some guy from my Modern Poets seminar, and
he has no idea who you are. Just get out there and dance. Besides,
you're an awesome dancer. You're actually pretty fucking graceful
for a gimp."
    I blush. She's basically right. I am,
shockingly, a decent dancer. When I move to music, my awkwardness
and lopsided, rolling gait disappear. I've never taken a dance
class, but the few times Maggie has dragged me to dance clubs, I've
been fine. Maybe even slightly more than fine.
    I look at the boy again. I guess he's
technically a man, since he's out of high school. Maggie senses my
wavering. "Go on," she says, "It could help get your mind off, you
know, everything."
    Maggie's voice shakes slightly. She's almost
as weirded out by Mom's death as I am. It's as if the sun or the
moon just ceased to exist. I smile at Maggie, and she squeezes my
hand. Then I let the music sweep me onto the dance floor and draw
me to the boy.
    For a while, I dance around him, barely in
the periphery of his vision. Then he turns and smiles at me like
some kind of predatory animal that's found fresh, tender prey. A
jolt of fear runs through me, but I will it away. Instead, I let
him take my hand and pull me into him. I rest my head against his
chest as we sway to the music. He wraps his arms around me, and my
limbs go warm and boneless. It feels good to relax in his arms, to
forget everything but this one, elastic moment. I try to take it
all in: his strong, ropy arms, his taut midsection, the heat of his
body. He smells like cedar and smoke.
    I consider asking his name, but don't.