the plan
1. prologue
We follow The Plan — a set of rules and ways I live according to. This is how I live, how I love, how I am supposed to think. I have to follow it; I cannot fail The Plan. Whatever the Plan says, whatever goes.
We follow The Plan — a set of rules and ways I live according to. This is how I live, how I love, how I am supposed to think. I have to follow it; I cannot fail The Plan. Whatever the Plan says, whatever goes.
2. the tillman boys
When we -- my sister and I; I don’t think I’ve ever had a life without her -- first met our neighbors, I was about four and she was three.
I remember Mom saying that she and Dad were going to go over to the neighbor’s house to say hello. Of course, both my sister and I wouldn’t follow -- we were very shy with strangers — so we chose to peek at them through the cracks of the fences.
One eye looking through the crack; both hands pressed against the wood, me wishing I didn’t have the strength to push the whole fence down. Now that I think about it: it was actually a stupid idea, because I didn’t see anything much other than Mom hugging the lady, saying she missed her. The lady hugged back, saying that she missed her, too.
You must know it was rather confusing for me. Why is Mom hugging that stranger?
Of course, Mrs Tillman wasn’t a stranger — she was my mother’s best friend in university. They even have the same tattoo on their wrists. A momentum; a promise, maybe. Something I didn’t know back then.
I stared and stared and tried to understand with my tiny four-year-old brain. That’s when another eye peered through the crack, too.
Eye to eye.
It’s only after a while, the electricity of that stare jolted me a step back, me yelping in shock as I went. I dropped into the soft grass underneath my butt cushioning my fall. My sister screamed, and started running towards the house. I stared at the fence, still feeling the electricity going through my body, numbing me.
A little boy yanked himself over the fence. He looked like my age — equally as short and cute and childlike. Because we’re four-year-olds, the fence seemed like a wall. I was in complete awe that he was able to carry himself over it so effortlessly.
He didn’t say anything — he just stared.
I didn’t say anything — I just stared.
Then another voice, filled with authority and the demeanor of an elder sibling, called out. “Duck? Where are you?” I saw another head pop above the fence. Another boy with golden hair and bright eyes. “Oh, there you are. And you found us a friend!”
The boy doesn’t seem to pay any attention to his elder brother, he doesn’t even pay any attention to me. He glances around the lawn of my house, eyes moving and moving; I didn’t understand what he is doing here, or why would his name be Duck.
I never even got the chance to ask why because he trips on something laying on the ground, falls right on me — and our lips locked.
If you were to ask me, what my first kiss tasted like — it tasted electric.
When we -- my sister and I; I don’t think I’ve ever had a life without her -- first met our neighbors, I was about four and she was three.
I remember Mom saying that she and Dad were going to go over to the neighbor’s house to say hello. Of course, both my sister and I wouldn’t follow -- we were very shy with strangers — so we chose to peek at them through the cracks of the fences.
One eye looking through the crack; both hands pressed against the wood, me wishing I didn’t have the strength to push the whole fence down. Now that I think about it: it was actually a stupid idea, because I didn’t see anything much other than Mom hugging the lady, saying she missed her. The lady hugged back, saying that she missed her, too.
You must know it was rather confusing for me. Why is Mom hugging that stranger?
Of course, Mrs Tillman wasn’t a stranger — she was my mother’s best friend in university. They even have the same tattoo on their wrists. A momentum; a promise, maybe. Something I didn’t know back then.
I stared and stared and tried to understand with my tiny four-year-old brain. That’s when another eye peered through the crack, too.
Eye to eye.
It’s only after a while, the electricity of that stare jolted me a step back, me yelping in shock as I went. I dropped into the soft grass underneath my butt cushioning my fall. My sister screamed, and started running towards the house. I stared at the fence, still feeling the electricity going through my body, numbing me.
A little boy yanked himself over the fence. He looked like my age — equally as short and cute and childlike. Because we’re four-year-olds, the fence seemed like a wall. I was in complete awe that he was able to carry himself over it so effortlessly.
He didn’t say anything — he just stared.
I didn’t say anything — I just stared.
Then another voice, filled with authority and the demeanor of an elder sibling, called out. “Duck? Where are you?” I saw another head pop above the fence. Another boy with golden hair and bright eyes. “Oh, there you are. And you found us a friend!”
The boy doesn’t seem to pay any attention to his elder brother, he doesn’t even pay any attention to me. He glances around the lawn of my house, eyes moving and moving; I didn’t understand what he is doing here, or why would his name be Duck.
I never even got the chance to ask why because he trips on something laying on the ground, falls right on me — and our lips locked.
If you were to ask me, what my first kiss tasted like — it tasted electric.
3. homecoming
Of course — the Tillman boys were not freaks — their names were Mickey and Donald (iconic), and they were quite nice, actually.
My sister and I spent most of our afternoons with them. We played everything from Frisbee to Jenga to chase; we went to the candy store together after school; we took the same bus, went to the same school, and we all joined the same sport team. It was always we and us and our — it always felt as if our mothers did this on purpose. Like they wanted us to be together.
Then we started growing up.
And my sister started this crush on Duck — the younger brother, who is also the same age as me; Mouse was a year older — then it all became weird.
She couldn’t keep a straight sentence without blushing red when she talked to him. She would wake up half an hour earlier to choose her clothes, to make sure she had at least one thing on that was his favorite color (blue). She would take the seat next to him when we got on the bus. She did all these things to get him to notice her, to be attracted to her, to like her back.
But Duck seemed oblivious.
It wasn’t that my sister wasn’t conspicuous enough about her subtle hints — Mouse and I would tease her endlessly about her crush — but Duck just didn’t get it. He doesn’t respond or react or make a move.
My sister would sigh, huff and let her shoulder sag — and then she’d find other ways to cling to him. This carried on in secondary school.
The four of us were still in the same school. We still took the same bus, went to the same candy store after class, joined the same sports team. My sister still had her eyes on poor Duck. It was the same — yet different on a whole new level. It felt so strange.
Mouse became head boy, team captain and the popular guy all at the same time. Overnight, he grew three hundred feet tall, had muscles for arms, and was so tanned that he was golden. He was gorgeous, I’d admit.
And Duck — he was still Duck — with his floppy blonde hair and deadpan looks and baseball blazers. He was as tall as his brother, too, but he felt lanky compared to Head Boy Mouse. Nevertheless, my sister was still crazy over him.
Maybe this was part of The Plan, too. Our whole life was planned out — my sister would get Mom’s boutique after high school, and I’d continue Dad's bookstore business. She’d fall in love with Duck, and I--
Just before homecoming of Year 11, Mouse asked me to be his date to homecoming. Yes, the most popular boy in school — head boy, team captain, handsome Mouse Tillman — asked me out. It felt stupid to not say yes, so I agreed to go with him. He looked like I gave him the world. He went around skipping, giving people high-fives and smiling his golden grin.
It felt weird, even though I was supposed to be happy. But I was happy — but I felt strangely disappointed.
My sister felt disappointed, too, because Duck had yet ask her to homecoming. “Look at you gloating in my face,” she had said as we shopped for our dresses, “Lucky you with your Mouse — I knew he fancied you! If only Duck got all the hints I kept dropping him. I even shook the homecoming flyers in his face!” My sister stomped on the floor and howled in annoyance.
I politely laughed and took a red little number off the rack. Red was Mouse’s favorite color, I knew it, and I had hoped he would’ve loved it.
And, just as I anticipated, he really did. The moment he saw me as I answered the door, his face glowed red and he was — I kid you not — speechless. I’ve made Mouse speechless! I would have never thought it would happen.
He gave me flowers — a bouquet of roses — and offered to drive us this time to the school, because he had just gotten his license the month before. It felt like a movie.
Then my sister came downstairs, dressed in an ocean blue dress and wore a pair of sapphire heels. No, Duck still hasn’t asked her out, but who’s to say she can’t wake him up by dressing stunningly, and in his favorite color.
So, we four piled into Mr Tillman’s car, with Mouse at the wheel and me beside him and the other two backseats. The whole way to the school, my sister tried to start up a conversation with her crush but he was, once again, unaffected by her beauty and effort to dress up that night. I catch Mouse’s eye as we both eavesdrop on the two younger siblings. The both of us sigh at each other and shake our heads empathetically.
The homecoming itself was alright — streamers strewn across the school gym and boys trying to spike the punch (Mouse stopped them before they could) and teachers lingered by the shadows, staring at us always. It was dark, I couldn’t see what I was eating. The crowd was a dance of leather and suede and sequins and ruffles in all sorts of colors.
I finally leave Mouse’s side when I need a breath of fresh air. “Need some company?” he asked. I shook my head and told him to enjoy himself, and that I will be back soon.
The stars that night were beautiful, shinier than usual. The winds were chillier, too, and I can’t help but shiver to myself. It would have been better to step inside to Mouse’s side — but I didn’t want to. It felt like I keep pushing myself away from him.
Get yourself together! He’s hot and smart and nice, and you’ve known him your whole life — you two are practically married! Just fall in love with him, it’s not hard, it’s all in The Plan!
I sigh at my inner voice, feeling the warmth of my breath contact with the chilly bite of the night. My hands rub against the cool, bare skin of my arms, wishing I had a tiny bonfire with me to keep me warm. A familiar voice rings through the night. “Why are you alone?”
I turn and meet electrical eyes.
He walks over to me, hands in his pockets, and he stops a meter away to look up at the star-flecked sky. I stare at him — at how he conceals his emotions so well; at how concentration furrows his eyebrows, as if he is trying to point down every constellation in the velvet sky. I stare at his almost-white hair, his pale skin and his tallness.
So alike his brother — yet nothing alike.
Then he catches me staring — his gaze lowers to my face, and it sends electricity through my body again. Like all those years ago. He has this look that makes me feel like I’m on fire. My face and chest and knees burn — yet his icy stare sends a chill through my spine. I shiver under the intensity.
Duck takes a few things: two long steps towards me, and his coat off to put around my shoulders. He makes sure the coat closes around my body, and he looks at me so intently. His face is so close that I could reach out and caress his pale cheek, which is white under moonlight. His eyes are so close that I could count the golden flecks in them. His mouth is so close that I could lean forward and mess this all up.
I don’t want to mess this all up.
So, I stare at him with my face on fire. And he stares at me with his fingers still on the collar of his coat. The slightest tint of pink colors his cheek, making every tiny freckle visible even in the dark. We’re so close — I could reach out and recall ever memory we had together — and we’re so far away from the school gym, from the homecoming, from Mouse and my sister.
My sister — for sixteen years of my life, I finally forget about her once.
If you were to ask about my second kiss — it tasted like the stars, the night and an all too familiar electricity.
Of course — the Tillman boys were not freaks — their names were Mickey and Donald (iconic), and they were quite nice, actually.
My sister and I spent most of our afternoons with them. We played everything from Frisbee to Jenga to chase; we went to the candy store together after school; we took the same bus, went to the same school, and we all joined the same sport team. It was always we and us and our — it always felt as if our mothers did this on purpose. Like they wanted us to be together.
Then we started growing up.
And my sister started this crush on Duck — the younger brother, who is also the same age as me; Mouse was a year older — then it all became weird.
She couldn’t keep a straight sentence without blushing red when she talked to him. She would wake up half an hour earlier to choose her clothes, to make sure she had at least one thing on that was his favorite color (blue). She would take the seat next to him when we got on the bus. She did all these things to get him to notice her, to be attracted to her, to like her back.
But Duck seemed oblivious.
It wasn’t that my sister wasn’t conspicuous enough about her subtle hints — Mouse and I would tease her endlessly about her crush — but Duck just didn’t get it. He doesn’t respond or react or make a move.
My sister would sigh, huff and let her shoulder sag — and then she’d find other ways to cling to him. This carried on in secondary school.
The four of us were still in the same school. We still took the same bus, went to the same candy store after class, joined the same sports team. My sister still had her eyes on poor Duck. It was the same — yet different on a whole new level. It felt so strange.
Mouse became head boy, team captain and the popular guy all at the same time. Overnight, he grew three hundred feet tall, had muscles for arms, and was so tanned that he was golden. He was gorgeous, I’d admit.
And Duck — he was still Duck — with his floppy blonde hair and deadpan looks and baseball blazers. He was as tall as his brother, too, but he felt lanky compared to Head Boy Mouse. Nevertheless, my sister was still crazy over him.
Maybe this was part of The Plan, too. Our whole life was planned out — my sister would get Mom’s boutique after high school, and I’d continue Dad's bookstore business. She’d fall in love with Duck, and I--
Just before homecoming of Year 11, Mouse asked me to be his date to homecoming. Yes, the most popular boy in school — head boy, team captain, handsome Mouse Tillman — asked me out. It felt stupid to not say yes, so I agreed to go with him. He looked like I gave him the world. He went around skipping, giving people high-fives and smiling his golden grin.
It felt weird, even though I was supposed to be happy. But I was happy — but I felt strangely disappointed.
My sister felt disappointed, too, because Duck had yet ask her to homecoming. “Look at you gloating in my face,” she had said as we shopped for our dresses, “Lucky you with your Mouse — I knew he fancied you! If only Duck got all the hints I kept dropping him. I even shook the homecoming flyers in his face!” My sister stomped on the floor and howled in annoyance.
I politely laughed and took a red little number off the rack. Red was Mouse’s favorite color, I knew it, and I had hoped he would’ve loved it.
And, just as I anticipated, he really did. The moment he saw me as I answered the door, his face glowed red and he was — I kid you not — speechless. I’ve made Mouse speechless! I would have never thought it would happen.
He gave me flowers — a bouquet of roses — and offered to drive us this time to the school, because he had just gotten his license the month before. It felt like a movie.
Then my sister came downstairs, dressed in an ocean blue dress and wore a pair of sapphire heels. No, Duck still hasn’t asked her out, but who’s to say she can’t wake him up by dressing stunningly, and in his favorite color.
So, we four piled into Mr Tillman’s car, with Mouse at the wheel and me beside him and the other two backseats. The whole way to the school, my sister tried to start up a conversation with her crush but he was, once again, unaffected by her beauty and effort to dress up that night. I catch Mouse’s eye as we both eavesdrop on the two younger siblings. The both of us sigh at each other and shake our heads empathetically.
The homecoming itself was alright — streamers strewn across the school gym and boys trying to spike the punch (Mouse stopped them before they could) and teachers lingered by the shadows, staring at us always. It was dark, I couldn’t see what I was eating. The crowd was a dance of leather and suede and sequins and ruffles in all sorts of colors.
I finally leave Mouse’s side when I need a breath of fresh air. “Need some company?” he asked. I shook my head and told him to enjoy himself, and that I will be back soon.
The stars that night were beautiful, shinier than usual. The winds were chillier, too, and I can’t help but shiver to myself. It would have been better to step inside to Mouse’s side — but I didn’t want to. It felt like I keep pushing myself away from him.
Get yourself together! He’s hot and smart and nice, and you’ve known him your whole life — you two are practically married! Just fall in love with him, it’s not hard, it’s all in The Plan!
I sigh at my inner voice, feeling the warmth of my breath contact with the chilly bite of the night. My hands rub against the cool, bare skin of my arms, wishing I had a tiny bonfire with me to keep me warm. A familiar voice rings through the night. “Why are you alone?”
I turn and meet electrical eyes.
He walks over to me, hands in his pockets, and he stops a meter away to look up at the star-flecked sky. I stare at him — at how he conceals his emotions so well; at how concentration furrows his eyebrows, as if he is trying to point down every constellation in the velvet sky. I stare at his almost-white hair, his pale skin and his tallness.
So alike his brother — yet nothing alike.
Then he catches me staring — his gaze lowers to my face, and it sends electricity through my body again. Like all those years ago. He has this look that makes me feel like I’m on fire. My face and chest and knees burn — yet his icy stare sends a chill through my spine. I shiver under the intensity.
Duck takes a few things: two long steps towards me, and his coat off to put around my shoulders. He makes sure the coat closes around my body, and he looks at me so intently. His face is so close that I could reach out and caress his pale cheek, which is white under moonlight. His eyes are so close that I could count the golden flecks in them. His mouth is so close that I could lean forward and mess this all up.
I don’t want to mess this all up.
So, I stare at him with my face on fire. And he stares at me with his fingers still on the collar of his coat. The slightest tint of pink colors his cheek, making every tiny freckle visible even in the dark. We’re so close — I could reach out and recall ever memory we had together — and we’re so far away from the school gym, from the homecoming, from Mouse and my sister.
My sister — for sixteen years of my life, I finally forget about her once.
If you were to ask about my second kiss — it tasted like the stars, the night and an all too familiar electricity.
4. mistletoe
On Christmas that very year, the Tillmans and my family went on our annual ski trip. It was tradition. We would go up the mountain, stay in a lodge, and hope mountain bears do not eat us.
Even as an athlete, I do not like skiing — what’s the fun in dressing up in heavy gear and bracing the freezing cold and going down a slippery hill with oversized chopsticks? No offense to ski-lovers.
Funnily, ski fanatic Mouse Tillman stayed back at the lodge when the others went out for a ski. His dad had asked, raising an eyebrow, “Are you sure, son? We do only come here once a year—” I see that Mrs Tillman had shot him look, which made her husband shut up and the lot of them left.
I sat at the fireplace, where the Christmas tree was, and where the present wrappers still littered the floor. Mouse came over with two mugs in hand, the aroma of hot cocoa greeting my senses. With an extended hand, I accept the mug of chocolate gratefully.
Mouse stares at me awkwardly, his large bear palms nursing the mug like it’s his baby. Once I finish my drink, I put down the mug on the floor and ask him what’s wrong.
He avoids the question first by commenting on my presents. “I knew you’d like that Brontë book set.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How would you have known if I liked your gift?”
Cheekily, he grins. A sly grin full of boyish charms. “Oh, I’ve seen you smile at it this morning. You’ve never smile at anyone like that before!”
His comment makes me blush. Yet it weirdly boosts my audacity. “Would you like me to smile at you like that, hmm?” A blush as red as mine copies itself onto his face.
Mouse points at his own pile of presents — at the scarf I’ve knitted for him myself. He looks at it with a softness in his eyes. Like affection, like love, like cocoa being slurped down your throat and into your stomach.
I scoot closer to him. The cocoa fueling my courage, the compliments he gave daring me to push the limits. I lean closer, so close that I place my chin on his broad shoulder.
Our bodies are so close that I feel the heat radiating off him and the increasing thump, thump, thump of his heart. His body tenses. This sensation — oh, I liked that.
“It's there something you’d like to ask me?”
Slowly — ever so painfully slow — his head turns towards me. The tips of our noses touch. Our chocolate breath mixing in the air. The room is so silent that the only sound is the fire beside us crackling. I stare at his blonde locks, his strong jawline, his bright eyes and his rosy lips which grows rosier in the cold.
I stare at him, but I see someone else.
Mouse gestures upwards and towards the ceiling above us. I look up. Somewhere near the fireplace, someone thought it was a good idea to tie a mistletoe. I stare at it and let out a smile, thinking about the irony of fate.
“There’s that smile I wanted.” And he leans forward to kiss me.
On Christmas that very year, the Tillmans and my family went on our annual ski trip. It was tradition. We would go up the mountain, stay in a lodge, and hope mountain bears do not eat us.
Even as an athlete, I do not like skiing — what’s the fun in dressing up in heavy gear and bracing the freezing cold and going down a slippery hill with oversized chopsticks? No offense to ski-lovers.
Funnily, ski fanatic Mouse Tillman stayed back at the lodge when the others went out for a ski. His dad had asked, raising an eyebrow, “Are you sure, son? We do only come here once a year—” I see that Mrs Tillman had shot him look, which made her husband shut up and the lot of them left.
I sat at the fireplace, where the Christmas tree was, and where the present wrappers still littered the floor. Mouse came over with two mugs in hand, the aroma of hot cocoa greeting my senses. With an extended hand, I accept the mug of chocolate gratefully.
Mouse stares at me awkwardly, his large bear palms nursing the mug like it’s his baby. Once I finish my drink, I put down the mug on the floor and ask him what’s wrong.
He avoids the question first by commenting on my presents. “I knew you’d like that Brontë book set.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How would you have known if I liked your gift?”
Cheekily, he grins. A sly grin full of boyish charms. “Oh, I’ve seen you smile at it this morning. You’ve never smile at anyone like that before!”
His comment makes me blush. Yet it weirdly boosts my audacity. “Would you like me to smile at you like that, hmm?” A blush as red as mine copies itself onto his face.
Mouse points at his own pile of presents — at the scarf I’ve knitted for him myself. He looks at it with a softness in his eyes. Like affection, like love, like cocoa being slurped down your throat and into your stomach.
I scoot closer to him. The cocoa fueling my courage, the compliments he gave daring me to push the limits. I lean closer, so close that I place my chin on his broad shoulder.
Our bodies are so close that I feel the heat radiating off him and the increasing thump, thump, thump of his heart. His body tenses. This sensation — oh, I liked that.
“It's there something you’d like to ask me?”
Slowly — ever so painfully slow — his head turns towards me. The tips of our noses touch. Our chocolate breath mixing in the air. The room is so silent that the only sound is the fire beside us crackling. I stare at his blonde locks, his strong jawline, his bright eyes and his rosy lips which grows rosier in the cold.
I stare at him, but I see someone else.
Mouse gestures upwards and towards the ceiling above us. I look up. Somewhere near the fireplace, someone thought it was a good idea to tie a mistletoe. I stare at it and let out a smile, thinking about the irony of fate.
“There’s that smile I wanted.” And he leans forward to kiss me.
5. on-route
What did it feel like to be the most popular guy's girlfriend? Weird. Especially if you grew up with him.
Every girl I met was jealous. Everyone stared at him like he was a feast. Mouse was everyone’s dream guy and I — I was me. His teammate, his schoolmate, the girl he is with every hour of the day. Excuse me, I was his girlfriend. That was supposed to mean something. Because — hello — your first boyfriend wasn’t supposed to be the hottest guy in school, let alone the most perfect guy in school.
It doesn’t help that he is Duck Tillman’s brother.
Am I supposed to feel bad? Because I kissed my sister’s crush and my boyfriend’s brother? Damn, that’s complicated.
It also doesn’t help that the only facial expression Duck shows when the two of us is around is a grimace. Sometimes, when both our families have dinner together, our eyes lock across the dining table as we eat — and I see desperation; I see jealousy; I see betrayal and hurt. I want to shout across the table.
I’m sorry. I’m just following The Plan.
Eventually, the distance between Duck and I grew — we never sit together on the bus or in class or at lunch anymore; our legs never touching again, nor our hands secretly holding while we study in the library. I don’t go to the movies with him. I don’t buy our favorite candy (peppermint pops) or share them with him. I don’t try to tutor him.
I don’t I don’t I don’t I don’t.
Mouse is my boyfriend now — I love him, nonexistent flaws and all — and any romantic thought of his brother can go fuck itself. My decision was final.
What did it feel like to be the most popular guy's girlfriend? Weird. Especially if you grew up with him.
Every girl I met was jealous. Everyone stared at him like he was a feast. Mouse was everyone’s dream guy and I — I was me. His teammate, his schoolmate, the girl he is with every hour of the day. Excuse me, I was his girlfriend. That was supposed to mean something. Because — hello — your first boyfriend wasn’t supposed to be the hottest guy in school, let alone the most perfect guy in school.
It doesn’t help that he is Duck Tillman’s brother.
Am I supposed to feel bad? Because I kissed my sister’s crush and my boyfriend’s brother? Damn, that’s complicated.
It also doesn’t help that the only facial expression Duck shows when the two of us is around is a grimace. Sometimes, when both our families have dinner together, our eyes lock across the dining table as we eat — and I see desperation; I see jealousy; I see betrayal and hurt. I want to shout across the table.
I’m sorry. I’m just following The Plan.
Eventually, the distance between Duck and I grew — we never sit together on the bus or in class or at lunch anymore; our legs never touching again, nor our hands secretly holding while we study in the library. I don’t go to the movies with him. I don’t buy our favorite candy (peppermint pops) or share them with him. I don’t try to tutor him.
I don’t I don’t I don’t I don’t.
Mouse is my boyfriend now — I love him, nonexistent flaws and all — and any romantic thought of his brother can go fuck itself. My decision was final.
6. abroad
And then my boyfriend had to travel all across the world for university.
“The United States?” I repeat, a croak in my question. I wince, imagining how far away he would be, once he boards that airplane.
Mouse smiles, even letting out a small laugh. He reaches out to place a palm against my cheek. I press into his touch, hoping its warmth would stop the tears from falling.
“Hey now,” he coos. “Don’t cry, love. I’ll only be a Skype away.”
I mutter under my breath. “And also thirteen hours away.”
He laughs, pulls me closer with his hand to kiss me on my forehead. Pouting, I look back up at him with the meanest glare I could muster. He laughs again, and dips his head to kiss my lips. My hands trail back up to his face and pull him as close as possible.
Mouse Tillman is a great kisser, I tell you.
Someone behind us clears their throat. Embarrassed, we pull away, turn around to see our families gathered together to wanting to burst out in laughter at our locked lips. My sister is on the brim of cringing out loud; but Duck just stares with those icy, electric eyes of his.
I try not to catch his gaze.
I pat his cheek gently. “Hey, good luck out there, Mickey Tillman.” I say one last time, before stepping back to let the Tillmans bid their goodbyes. He hugs me suddenly, pulling me into his arms, enveloping me within the sun, the sky and the Black Hole. He whispers into my hair.
“I love you.”
I step back from his hug and attempt a smile -- one that does not reach my eyes -- then return back to my family’s side, and watch as his parents exchange warm regards with him. I watch as Duck glances over his shoulder at me with a bolt I can’t describe. I silently shout back at him.
You know I love Mouse -- you know I do.
And then my boyfriend had to travel all across the world for university.
“The United States?” I repeat, a croak in my question. I wince, imagining how far away he would be, once he boards that airplane.
Mouse smiles, even letting out a small laugh. He reaches out to place a palm against my cheek. I press into his touch, hoping its warmth would stop the tears from falling.
“Hey now,” he coos. “Don’t cry, love. I’ll only be a Skype away.”
I mutter under my breath. “And also thirteen hours away.”
He laughs, pulls me closer with his hand to kiss me on my forehead. Pouting, I look back up at him with the meanest glare I could muster. He laughs again, and dips his head to kiss my lips. My hands trail back up to his face and pull him as close as possible.
Mouse Tillman is a great kisser, I tell you.
Someone behind us clears their throat. Embarrassed, we pull away, turn around to see our families gathered together to wanting to burst out in laughter at our locked lips. My sister is on the brim of cringing out loud; but Duck just stares with those icy, electric eyes of his.
I try not to catch his gaze.
I pat his cheek gently. “Hey, good luck out there, Mickey Tillman.” I say one last time, before stepping back to let the Tillmans bid their goodbyes. He hugs me suddenly, pulling me into his arms, enveloping me within the sun, the sky and the Black Hole. He whispers into my hair.
“I love you.”
I step back from his hug and attempt a smile -- one that does not reach my eyes -- then return back to my family’s side, and watch as his parents exchange warm regards with him. I watch as Duck glances over his shoulder at me with a bolt I can’t describe. I silently shout back at him.
You know I love Mouse -- you know I do.
7. careless
He was supposed to come back today for Christmas break, we were supposed to spend the whole holiday together -- just the two of us by the fireplace, playing chess and reading classics under the mistletoe -- but he’s not here, is he?
This is not part of The Plan.
Mr and Mrs Tillman had decorated their house, made cakes and invited almost everyone in the cul-de-sac. They planned on fetching Mouse from the airport and we were going to surprise him as he walk through the door. I chose the same red dress I wore all those years ago, just for nostalgic sake.
And then, his parents came back with a fallen look. “Flights cancelled.” they had only said, as if that was the only explanation needed. I felt my insides drop in a second.
I sit on his bed in his room, my fingers gripping too hard against the tissue box in my hands. I think I’m crying because I’m supposed to. Salty tears roll down my cheeks consistently, like a necklace of pearls cut loose. What’s wrong with me?
At first, we had calls everyday, and he’d talk about his new school and his classmates and his classes. Everything he said was so fresh. And I had nothing to say back -- just same-old things like how’s the team doing now he’s gone (I’m captain now) or what’s my sister doing in the pursue of wooing his brother.
We’d bring up old memories and he’d tell me new ones -- but he kept talking and sharing and I had nothing to say. If we Skyped every evening, would he get tired of me? The only things ever knew about our little life here, was that Duck got better at sports; that Duck got a new haircut; that Duck comes to my Dad’s bookstore more often lately; that Duck became the next most popular in school by suddenly being someone that he is not.
See, I have nothing to say.
My boyfriend is only one call away but I feel like I don’t want to, even when I miss him and I’m crying my eyes out. It feels weird, dumb and strange — he is Mouse; not anyone I don’t know so well, so I should be comfortable around him. But I really am not. Why?
Footsteps.
My head snaps upright at the sound of sneakers against floor pane. And there he is — in a brand-new shirt, with his blonde hair falling over his eyes, even though he’s just got a cut.
Duck doesn’t utter a word. He just stares as I frantically try to wipe at my bloodshot eyes with my tissues, the back of my hands, my anything. I wipe, wipe, wipe, trying to hide the evidence of my crying. Oh God, he’s seen you cry a thousand times, what’s the difference with him seeing you now?
I don’t know, I want to yell. I just don’t want to let him see me in this defenseless, vulnerable, weak state. I look up to blink a few times, trying to see his face clearly — he bites on his bottom lip, the middle of his brows furrowing, his eyes electrifying and staring straight at me.
Neither of us dare say anything.
Duck makes the move first — he picks up another box of tissues that’s placed on top of a chest of drawers, starts walking over to me, then finally stops in front of me before handing me the tissue box. I mutter my thanks, clumsily grabbing it from his hands.
The mattress dips as he takes a seat beside me. A fire starts on my face, burning brighter and hotter as he scoots closer. Every inch from our shoulders to our thighs are pressed together, and every inch of it burns. He sends electricity through me. I try to ignore him, concentrating only on blowing my nose and wiping at my already-dry cheeks. Wipe, wipe, wipe.
“Fuck the weather, huh?” his voice is rough and smooth all the same, the syllables threaded with a tenderness I know him only to have. My response is a chuckle and a peer towards him. He’s already staring back with a glint in his eyes.
One of his callused hands reach over to take mine in his, and his long, slender fingers start to knead mine — it was supposed to be a sign of comfort but he is sending signals that are really messing with my head. I look at him — really look at him — and I notice that he’s grown to look so much like his brother, to act like him; yet, when I see him, I see him.
Not Mouse. Not anyone else.
Slowly, I pry our interlocked fingers away. I let my touch move to his face, to his cheek. He leans into my palm, as if I’m warmth in the winter storm. Both of his eyes flutter close, and he sighs softly, contently.
My words come out as a breath, not even a whisper; something loud enough for him to hear. “I can’t, Duck.”
His eyes remain close, but closer he worms himself into me, and his arms raise to wrap themselves around my waist. We look like two bodies holding, supporting each other up. As he speaks, a deep rumble vibrates through his body, sending chills up my spine.
“What can’t you do?” he asks. An eyelid peeks open, looking at me with excitement in it. When I don’t answer, still blushing under his gaze, he teases. “Are you rubbish at being with me, or are you at staying away from me?”
Adrenaline surges through me. In one swift move, I push him so that he lays flat on the mattress. Hovering above him, I look down at him, and our eyes meet so longingly. He licks his lips and stare back with his electrical eyes. Smirking this time, he repeats his question, making my ears burn with shyness.
“Both. Very surely both.” I dip my head, my hair falling around us like a curtain; he props himself upwards, leaning forward.
Then Duck and I break The Plan, by meeting lips and clashing teeth and roaming our hands on bare skin. Everything I’ve ever stopped myself from feeling, barrels like an opened dam -- the lust, the passion the want and the need. The love.
The Plan yells itself in my head, but I don’t hear it -- I don’t hear anything but his breath and mine, and the way he whispers my name breathlessly. For that moment, I told everything -- The Plan, the world, every complication -- to go fuck themselves, because I think I live for this. For him.
He was supposed to come back today for Christmas break, we were supposed to spend the whole holiday together -- just the two of us by the fireplace, playing chess and reading classics under the mistletoe -- but he’s not here, is he?
This is not part of The Plan.
Mr and Mrs Tillman had decorated their house, made cakes and invited almost everyone in the cul-de-sac. They planned on fetching Mouse from the airport and we were going to surprise him as he walk through the door. I chose the same red dress I wore all those years ago, just for nostalgic sake.
And then, his parents came back with a fallen look. “Flights cancelled.” they had only said, as if that was the only explanation needed. I felt my insides drop in a second.
I sit on his bed in his room, my fingers gripping too hard against the tissue box in my hands. I think I’m crying because I’m supposed to. Salty tears roll down my cheeks consistently, like a necklace of pearls cut loose. What’s wrong with me?
At first, we had calls everyday, and he’d talk about his new school and his classmates and his classes. Everything he said was so fresh. And I had nothing to say back -- just same-old things like how’s the team doing now he’s gone (I’m captain now) or what’s my sister doing in the pursue of wooing his brother.
We’d bring up old memories and he’d tell me new ones -- but he kept talking and sharing and I had nothing to say. If we Skyped every evening, would he get tired of me? The only things ever knew about our little life here, was that Duck got better at sports; that Duck got a new haircut; that Duck comes to my Dad’s bookstore more often lately; that Duck became the next most popular in school by suddenly being someone that he is not.
See, I have nothing to say.
My boyfriend is only one call away but I feel like I don’t want to, even when I miss him and I’m crying my eyes out. It feels weird, dumb and strange — he is Mouse; not anyone I don’t know so well, so I should be comfortable around him. But I really am not. Why?
Footsteps.
My head snaps upright at the sound of sneakers against floor pane. And there he is — in a brand-new shirt, with his blonde hair falling over his eyes, even though he’s just got a cut.
Duck doesn’t utter a word. He just stares as I frantically try to wipe at my bloodshot eyes with my tissues, the back of my hands, my anything. I wipe, wipe, wipe, trying to hide the evidence of my crying. Oh God, he’s seen you cry a thousand times, what’s the difference with him seeing you now?
I don’t know, I want to yell. I just don’t want to let him see me in this defenseless, vulnerable, weak state. I look up to blink a few times, trying to see his face clearly — he bites on his bottom lip, the middle of his brows furrowing, his eyes electrifying and staring straight at me.
Neither of us dare say anything.
Duck makes the move first — he picks up another box of tissues that’s placed on top of a chest of drawers, starts walking over to me, then finally stops in front of me before handing me the tissue box. I mutter my thanks, clumsily grabbing it from his hands.
The mattress dips as he takes a seat beside me. A fire starts on my face, burning brighter and hotter as he scoots closer. Every inch from our shoulders to our thighs are pressed together, and every inch of it burns. He sends electricity through me. I try to ignore him, concentrating only on blowing my nose and wiping at my already-dry cheeks. Wipe, wipe, wipe.
“Fuck the weather, huh?” his voice is rough and smooth all the same, the syllables threaded with a tenderness I know him only to have. My response is a chuckle and a peer towards him. He’s already staring back with a glint in his eyes.
One of his callused hands reach over to take mine in his, and his long, slender fingers start to knead mine — it was supposed to be a sign of comfort but he is sending signals that are really messing with my head. I look at him — really look at him — and I notice that he’s grown to look so much like his brother, to act like him; yet, when I see him, I see him.
Not Mouse. Not anyone else.
Slowly, I pry our interlocked fingers away. I let my touch move to his face, to his cheek. He leans into my palm, as if I’m warmth in the winter storm. Both of his eyes flutter close, and he sighs softly, contently.
My words come out as a breath, not even a whisper; something loud enough for him to hear. “I can’t, Duck.”
His eyes remain close, but closer he worms himself into me, and his arms raise to wrap themselves around my waist. We look like two bodies holding, supporting each other up. As he speaks, a deep rumble vibrates through his body, sending chills up my spine.
“What can’t you do?” he asks. An eyelid peeks open, looking at me with excitement in it. When I don’t answer, still blushing under his gaze, he teases. “Are you rubbish at being with me, or are you at staying away from me?”
Adrenaline surges through me. In one swift move, I push him so that he lays flat on the mattress. Hovering above him, I look down at him, and our eyes meet so longingly. He licks his lips and stare back with his electrical eyes. Smirking this time, he repeats his question, making my ears burn with shyness.
“Both. Very surely both.” I dip my head, my hair falling around us like a curtain; he props himself upwards, leaning forward.
Then Duck and I break The Plan, by meeting lips and clashing teeth and roaming our hands on bare skin. Everything I’ve ever stopped myself from feeling, barrels like an opened dam -- the lust, the passion the want and the need. The love.
The Plan yells itself in my head, but I don’t hear it -- I don’t hear anything but his breath and mine, and the way he whispers my name breathlessly. For that moment, I told everything -- The Plan, the world, every complication -- to go fuck themselves, because I think I live for this. For him.
8. lies
A notification goes up on my laptop, telling me that someone is trying to Skype me. One peer at it makes me faint a little in my head. Mickey Tillman is calling.
Ever since that day of his cancelled welcome home party, I never dared called him – which was a week ago. I’m afraid – afraid that he’d have one look at me, and he’d know of every secret I’ve ever kept from him. Of Duck and I and the electricity.
My finger hovers over the accept button, as I try to keep my breathing as calm as possible – then I press on it and plaster on my biggest, fakest grin.
The handsome face of Mouse Tillman appears on screen. He looks, overall, the same – except that a light stubble highlights his jaw, his hair has grown curlier and longer, and he has got glasses on.
“Hello!” I chirp, my voice sounding too high-pitched. Get your grip together, I scold myself.
His smiles back, slightly amused. “Had a busy week?’
I took the opportunity to nod and lie. Oh, I hate lying. “Yup!” I almost exclaim into the laptop screen. “Really busy. Yup.”
“What have you been doing?” He asks, genuinely curious.
“Um,” I pause. A thousand things I’ve been doing the past week flash before my eyes -- lunch with Duck under the bleachers; going to the candy store after school and spending the afternoon with him; hiding in a corner of the sport equipment room to make out; catching him staring at me a thousand times, and he catching me just as much. I curse silently.
I straight out lie. “Just a quiz. A really big one.” I wince, unable to believe how lame I sound.
“Good luck on that,” he pauses, and his gives this slightly bemused look. “I’ve missed you so much, you know...” At this, I really could not do it. I took out my red card.
“Mouse?” I say. “I got blood on my underwear -- it's that kind of days, you know? Yeah, I’m gonna change now. Bye.” Mouse opens his mouth as if he has more to say but I slam shut my laptop lid before he says more. I exhale deeply, letting go of a breath I did not know I was holding. Damn.
I am a liar. A big, fat, boyfriend-cheating, two-timing liar. What am I doing?
A notification goes up on my laptop, telling me that someone is trying to Skype me. One peer at it makes me faint a little in my head. Mickey Tillman is calling.
Ever since that day of his cancelled welcome home party, I never dared called him – which was a week ago. I’m afraid – afraid that he’d have one look at me, and he’d know of every secret I’ve ever kept from him. Of Duck and I and the electricity.
My finger hovers over the accept button, as I try to keep my breathing as calm as possible – then I press on it and plaster on my biggest, fakest grin.
The handsome face of Mouse Tillman appears on screen. He looks, overall, the same – except that a light stubble highlights his jaw, his hair has grown curlier and longer, and he has got glasses on.
“Hello!” I chirp, my voice sounding too high-pitched. Get your grip together, I scold myself.
His smiles back, slightly amused. “Had a busy week?’
I took the opportunity to nod and lie. Oh, I hate lying. “Yup!” I almost exclaim into the laptop screen. “Really busy. Yup.”
“What have you been doing?” He asks, genuinely curious.
“Um,” I pause. A thousand things I’ve been doing the past week flash before my eyes -- lunch with Duck under the bleachers; going to the candy store after school and spending the afternoon with him; hiding in a corner of the sport equipment room to make out; catching him staring at me a thousand times, and he catching me just as much. I curse silently.
I straight out lie. “Just a quiz. A really big one.” I wince, unable to believe how lame I sound.
“Good luck on that,” he pauses, and his gives this slightly bemused look. “I’ve missed you so much, you know...” At this, I really could not do it. I took out my red card.
“Mouse?” I say. “I got blood on my underwear -- it's that kind of days, you know? Yeah, I’m gonna change now. Bye.” Mouse opens his mouth as if he has more to say but I slam shut my laptop lid before he says more. I exhale deeply, letting go of a breath I did not know I was holding. Damn.
I am a liar. A big, fat, boyfriend-cheating, two-timing liar. What am I doing?
9. behind closed doors
The sharp sound of the whistle travels across the field as I blow on it. “Alright, everybody, that’s it for today -- see you in school tomorrow.” The players on my team clap their hands as per habit before slowly trickling away back home.
I go around the field, picking up stray sports equipment that somehow ended up under the bleachers or behind the goal posts.
A few girls giggle and I turn to look that some of the juniors have gone up to pester Duck as he downs a bottle of water. All of the girls have slight crimson blushes and they are grinning mischievously at him. There is not a hint of emotion on his face except when he suddenly looks at my direction with a raise of an eyebrow. It’s only then I realize I’m glaring at the group of girls.
Eventually the annoying gang leaves; eventually I finish collecting the stray equipment and have put them in the large basket we keep them in.
As I push the basket towards the storage room, another pair of hands join me -- I don’t even need to look up to know the calloused hands and long fingers beside me is his.
Somehow, it’s always him.
Together, we managed to put everything back in place -- the baskets on the right shelves, the cones and nets in the right drawers. I take pride in keeping the storage room clean, and sometimes the headmaster is also surprised at how tidy athletes can be.
The sound of the door closing and locking startles me, making me turn around in an instant -- but Duck has already closed the distance between us by pressing me against the wall with his body; and suddenly his lips are on mine.
We kiss for a long time. Minutes, hours… Maybe too long. But who cares? When my mouth is on Duck’s, and his hands are threatening to put my skin on fire -- I quite literally forget about the world around us. I forget that we’re in a musty, dusty storage room. I forget we should go home before our parents start worrying about us. I forget that my sister is waiting for us too…
Neither of us hear the knock nor do we have enough time to react as we hear the jingle of the spare set of keys.
She sees us like this — my hands around Duck’s neck; his fingers still entangled in my hair; our eyes wide as we stare at her pushing the door open to my downfall.
Her gasp and her gape — but, most importantly, the hurt across her face -- breaks my heart. My heart takes the blow, and she turns on her heel to leave straightaway, without any other word.
Prying myself away from Duck, I leave the room too, trying as hard as I can to fix this. I try catching up, calling her name out -- her name echoing through the empty hallway -- but she doesn’t react. Eventually, I do, as I extend my hand and I grasp onto her hand.
She stops and I stop, too. Turning around, I do not see the hurt anymore. Painted across her face is anger -- her eyes are red with fury, and her nostrils flare. Too hard, she yanks her wrist out of my grip and glares as hard as she can at me. And she spits in my face, with every word dipped in vile hatred.
“You bitch! You knew! You knew how much I liked him, yet you still went behind my back and snogged yourself senseless!”
My voice cracks. “I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry.”
Something breaks in her fury at the word sorry. For a fraction of a second, I saw hurt and disappointment and a tiny hint of sadness. She cries out at me, “How could you?” Then she runs off, her ponytail whipping behind her. She leaves behind without even turning back once.
Suddenly, my knees go weak, I drop so hard to the floor hard but not even the pain can mask the hurt going on in my chest. What have I done? I scream at the disappeared shadow of my sister; into the empty hallways.
I scream so hard and raw that my voice goes hoarse. But the screams in my ears are louder -- homewrecker! Thief! Bitch! Betrayer. I try covering my ears with both my hands but all the voices do is just get louder and louder.
It is too late -- I have hurt my sister.
The sharp sound of the whistle travels across the field as I blow on it. “Alright, everybody, that’s it for today -- see you in school tomorrow.” The players on my team clap their hands as per habit before slowly trickling away back home.
I go around the field, picking up stray sports equipment that somehow ended up under the bleachers or behind the goal posts.
A few girls giggle and I turn to look that some of the juniors have gone up to pester Duck as he downs a bottle of water. All of the girls have slight crimson blushes and they are grinning mischievously at him. There is not a hint of emotion on his face except when he suddenly looks at my direction with a raise of an eyebrow. It’s only then I realize I’m glaring at the group of girls.
Eventually the annoying gang leaves; eventually I finish collecting the stray equipment and have put them in the large basket we keep them in.
As I push the basket towards the storage room, another pair of hands join me -- I don’t even need to look up to know the calloused hands and long fingers beside me is his.
Somehow, it’s always him.
Together, we managed to put everything back in place -- the baskets on the right shelves, the cones and nets in the right drawers. I take pride in keeping the storage room clean, and sometimes the headmaster is also surprised at how tidy athletes can be.
The sound of the door closing and locking startles me, making me turn around in an instant -- but Duck has already closed the distance between us by pressing me against the wall with his body; and suddenly his lips are on mine.
We kiss for a long time. Minutes, hours… Maybe too long. But who cares? When my mouth is on Duck’s, and his hands are threatening to put my skin on fire -- I quite literally forget about the world around us. I forget that we’re in a musty, dusty storage room. I forget we should go home before our parents start worrying about us. I forget that my sister is waiting for us too…
Neither of us hear the knock nor do we have enough time to react as we hear the jingle of the spare set of keys.
She sees us like this — my hands around Duck’s neck; his fingers still entangled in my hair; our eyes wide as we stare at her pushing the door open to my downfall.
Her gasp and her gape — but, most importantly, the hurt across her face -- breaks my heart. My heart takes the blow, and she turns on her heel to leave straightaway, without any other word.
Prying myself away from Duck, I leave the room too, trying as hard as I can to fix this. I try catching up, calling her name out -- her name echoing through the empty hallway -- but she doesn’t react. Eventually, I do, as I extend my hand and I grasp onto her hand.
She stops and I stop, too. Turning around, I do not see the hurt anymore. Painted across her face is anger -- her eyes are red with fury, and her nostrils flare. Too hard, she yanks her wrist out of my grip and glares as hard as she can at me. And she spits in my face, with every word dipped in vile hatred.
“You bitch! You knew! You knew how much I liked him, yet you still went behind my back and snogged yourself senseless!”
My voice cracks. “I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry.”
Something breaks in her fury at the word sorry. For a fraction of a second, I saw hurt and disappointment and a tiny hint of sadness. She cries out at me, “How could you?” Then she runs off, her ponytail whipping behind her. She leaves behind without even turning back once.
Suddenly, my knees go weak, I drop so hard to the floor hard but not even the pain can mask the hurt going on in my chest. What have I done? I scream at the disappeared shadow of my sister; into the empty hallways.
I scream so hard and raw that my voice goes hoarse. But the screams in my ears are louder -- homewrecker! Thief! Bitch! Betrayer. I try covering my ears with both my hands but all the voices do is just get louder and louder.
It is too late -- I have hurt my sister.
10. eureka
An owl hoots somewhere outside the car, loud and clear in the silent night. The sun had set long ago, though I am determined to stay inside Duck’s car until my corpse rots. How am I supposed to go back inside my own house? I do not belong there anymore -- it is a home for people who follows The Plan; for people who do not break everybody’s hearts.
Beside me, Duck sighs. When I turn to look at him, his beautiful blue eyes glow in the dark but they are filled with worry and sadness. Before he even says it, I shake my head, knowing full well he is going to tell me I have to go back inside. He sighs again, though he doesn’t say anything -- he just pulls me into his arms, and he kisses the top of my head.
My hands do not hug him back, I know I have damaged The Plan too much this evening. But I let him wrap his arms around me; let him comb his fingers through my hair, the same way he does all these years whenever I have a breakdown. He has always been there for me, I realize, and I don’t give him enough credit for it.
We stay there in the car for a couple more minutes until the light of my house's front porch turns on. I see the faint silhouette of my mother as she steps outside and stares at Duck’s car. She sees us -- me in his arms, both our faces so close that we could kiss -- and I know she can already figure out what is happening.
Duck runs his fingers through my hair one more time. He looks at me with his electric eyes and that look he only has for me. “I’ll always be here for you. You know that, right?” I nod, and he plants the softest kiss to my lips.
Here I go.
My feet drags itself across the front yard, towards my mother, who I can see clearly now in the light -- she’s wearing a sensible cardigan, a frown and worry in her eyes -- judging by her intuition, she has probably already known what a terrible person I am and would most likely disown me tonight.
However, she doesn’t. She does not even let me muster my weakest smile before hugging me into one of her warmest embraces.
I crack, of course, and the tears come pouring again. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve kindness and mercy. I cry so hard that I hiccup, leaving snort all over her lovely cardigan. But she doesn’t scold me or snap at me -- she lets me lay my head on her shoulder.
Eventually, my father comes opening the door, and advises us to come inside before we catch a cold. We do, but I am still hesitant to enter.
My mother has me seated on one of the stools by the kitchen counter. And, if my scent does not deceive me, my father has brewed a pot of chamomile tea. I try not to be too loud with my nose sniffling; and not to be too messy with my tissues littering everywhere.
I am eternally grateful that my parents are not bothered by what state of a mess I am in. Instead, there isn’t shouting or yelling as I had expected. They’re both sitting down, absolutely quiet and not even looking at me as if I’m the villain -- which I really am.
My mother is sitting next to me, and my father across the counter. Each of us has a steaming mug of tea but I honestly do not have the appetite to drink it. Of course, they’re looking at me with their eyebrows in a furrow and their looks of absolute worry.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?”
Immediately, at that question, my insides feel like they’re going to go up my throats anytime again. “The Plan, mum,” I try to ignore the tears brimming at the edge of my eyes but they sting, and it hurts like a bitch. I try again, furiously, this time to wipe them away with the back of my hand. “I’ve failed The Plan. I did everything wrong. I’m such a failure—” And, I’m officially a mess again.
My mother holds me in her arms again, her hands patting my hair and my back softly in that way she always does when I was younger. My heart breaks and breaks again; I don’t even mind how loud I’m sobbing right now. She — my sister — isn’t here. Her shoes aren’t on the shoe rack by the door; her school bag isn’t in the middle of the living room floor. Relief comforts me a little at the thought that she isn’t in the same house as me at this moment — what am I supposed to say after breaking her heart? After her knowing that I have lied to her when she had trusted me the most?
Then again, perhaps she would have forgiven me if she’d see what a pity and pathetic state I am in. She would probably scoff in your face, the inner voice tells me, which I wholeheartedly agree with. Damn, I would if I wasn’t crying my face off in my mother’s arms like a baby.
We stay like this for too long — my father not saying a thing, just nursing his mug of chamomile, and my mother putting her arms around me, cooing me; me trying to get whiffs of my mother’s perfume because it calms me infinitely. When I start to calm down, and I no longer sound like a dying walrus, she says softly, “I have no idea what plan you are talking about but I have a feeling it is a terrible one.”
I frown and look up at her. “The Plan, mum — I know you always wanted me to marry Mouse, and to take over Dad’s bookstore.” I say this with all seriousness, but the both of them just laughs. Bemused, I frown harder at them. What the fuck is so funny?
Both of them eventually stops. “Yes, we had our expectations — we always knew you were going to want my store, and that you were going to fall for one of the wonderful Tillman boys,” my father starts. He smiles and gets off his stool to come over and hug me briefly. He looks into my eyes and pats the top of my head. “But, your mother and I, never wanted to impose on your future. It is all your choice, whether you want to marry or not. Heck, if you wanted to leave this town, we’d support you unconditionally.”
None of this makes sense. The Plan suddenly felt inconsequential, and my thoughts becomes a jumble of words; though my head is now clearer. “But—”
She cuts me off. “And, your sister may be furious with you right now, and you may have lied to her,” She says very firmly. “Although I do not condone such behavior, she is still your sister, and she loves you more than any boy.”
Suddenly, it all makes sense.
There wasn’t a plan at all. The voice in my head goes small. I was always stressed by the thought of living my life to perfection; to whatever this small town had expected of me. Everybody had always thought it would be Mouse and I — the golden couple — and it was always this concept I had been compliant to. As if it was my duty.
As a young girl, whenever the grown-ups would come over, they always looked at both Mouse and I, predicting our marriage. People around town would always tell me how he was my soulmate. And, now that I think about it: what bullshit. What do they know?
Poor Mouse had a crush on me and all I did was led him on, when I was sharing candy and listening to rock vinyl records at the back of the local music store with his brother. I always thought he was my only option — that if I didn’t take certain subjects or become head girl or go to homecoming with him, I would be a disgrace. But you are--
And that pesky voice in my head, constantly telling me I’m not good enough! It had always raved on and on about The Plan when, in fact, it did not exist!
My heart stops for a fraction of a second. My parents look at me, still worried. And that’s when revelation dawns upon me. The moment I’m free. Eureka.
The Plan never existed.
An owl hoots somewhere outside the car, loud and clear in the silent night. The sun had set long ago, though I am determined to stay inside Duck’s car until my corpse rots. How am I supposed to go back inside my own house? I do not belong there anymore -- it is a home for people who follows The Plan; for people who do not break everybody’s hearts.
Beside me, Duck sighs. When I turn to look at him, his beautiful blue eyes glow in the dark but they are filled with worry and sadness. Before he even says it, I shake my head, knowing full well he is going to tell me I have to go back inside. He sighs again, though he doesn’t say anything -- he just pulls me into his arms, and he kisses the top of my head.
My hands do not hug him back, I know I have damaged The Plan too much this evening. But I let him wrap his arms around me; let him comb his fingers through my hair, the same way he does all these years whenever I have a breakdown. He has always been there for me, I realize, and I don’t give him enough credit for it.
We stay there in the car for a couple more minutes until the light of my house's front porch turns on. I see the faint silhouette of my mother as she steps outside and stares at Duck’s car. She sees us -- me in his arms, both our faces so close that we could kiss -- and I know she can already figure out what is happening.
Duck runs his fingers through my hair one more time. He looks at me with his electric eyes and that look he only has for me. “I’ll always be here for you. You know that, right?” I nod, and he plants the softest kiss to my lips.
Here I go.
My feet drags itself across the front yard, towards my mother, who I can see clearly now in the light -- she’s wearing a sensible cardigan, a frown and worry in her eyes -- judging by her intuition, she has probably already known what a terrible person I am and would most likely disown me tonight.
However, she doesn’t. She does not even let me muster my weakest smile before hugging me into one of her warmest embraces.
I crack, of course, and the tears come pouring again. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve kindness and mercy. I cry so hard that I hiccup, leaving snort all over her lovely cardigan. But she doesn’t scold me or snap at me -- she lets me lay my head on her shoulder.
Eventually, my father comes opening the door, and advises us to come inside before we catch a cold. We do, but I am still hesitant to enter.
My mother has me seated on one of the stools by the kitchen counter. And, if my scent does not deceive me, my father has brewed a pot of chamomile tea. I try not to be too loud with my nose sniffling; and not to be too messy with my tissues littering everywhere.
I am eternally grateful that my parents are not bothered by what state of a mess I am in. Instead, there isn’t shouting or yelling as I had expected. They’re both sitting down, absolutely quiet and not even looking at me as if I’m the villain -- which I really am.
My mother is sitting next to me, and my father across the counter. Each of us has a steaming mug of tea but I honestly do not have the appetite to drink it. Of course, they’re looking at me with their eyebrows in a furrow and their looks of absolute worry.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?”
Immediately, at that question, my insides feel like they’re going to go up my throats anytime again. “The Plan, mum,” I try to ignore the tears brimming at the edge of my eyes but they sting, and it hurts like a bitch. I try again, furiously, this time to wipe them away with the back of my hand. “I’ve failed The Plan. I did everything wrong. I’m such a failure—” And, I’m officially a mess again.
My mother holds me in her arms again, her hands patting my hair and my back softly in that way she always does when I was younger. My heart breaks and breaks again; I don’t even mind how loud I’m sobbing right now. She — my sister — isn’t here. Her shoes aren’t on the shoe rack by the door; her school bag isn’t in the middle of the living room floor. Relief comforts me a little at the thought that she isn’t in the same house as me at this moment — what am I supposed to say after breaking her heart? After her knowing that I have lied to her when she had trusted me the most?
Then again, perhaps she would have forgiven me if she’d see what a pity and pathetic state I am in. She would probably scoff in your face, the inner voice tells me, which I wholeheartedly agree with. Damn, I would if I wasn’t crying my face off in my mother’s arms like a baby.
We stay like this for too long — my father not saying a thing, just nursing his mug of chamomile, and my mother putting her arms around me, cooing me; me trying to get whiffs of my mother’s perfume because it calms me infinitely. When I start to calm down, and I no longer sound like a dying walrus, she says softly, “I have no idea what plan you are talking about but I have a feeling it is a terrible one.”
I frown and look up at her. “The Plan, mum — I know you always wanted me to marry Mouse, and to take over Dad’s bookstore.” I say this with all seriousness, but the both of them just laughs. Bemused, I frown harder at them. What the fuck is so funny?
Both of them eventually stops. “Yes, we had our expectations — we always knew you were going to want my store, and that you were going to fall for one of the wonderful Tillman boys,” my father starts. He smiles and gets off his stool to come over and hug me briefly. He looks into my eyes and pats the top of my head. “But, your mother and I, never wanted to impose on your future. It is all your choice, whether you want to marry or not. Heck, if you wanted to leave this town, we’d support you unconditionally.”
None of this makes sense. The Plan suddenly felt inconsequential, and my thoughts becomes a jumble of words; though my head is now clearer. “But—”
She cuts me off. “And, your sister may be furious with you right now, and you may have lied to her,” She says very firmly. “Although I do not condone such behavior, she is still your sister, and she loves you more than any boy.”
Suddenly, it all makes sense.
There wasn’t a plan at all. The voice in my head goes small. I was always stressed by the thought of living my life to perfection; to whatever this small town had expected of me. Everybody had always thought it would be Mouse and I — the golden couple — and it was always this concept I had been compliant to. As if it was my duty.
As a young girl, whenever the grown-ups would come over, they always looked at both Mouse and I, predicting our marriage. People around town would always tell me how he was my soulmate. And, now that I think about it: what bullshit. What do they know?
Poor Mouse had a crush on me and all I did was led him on, when I was sharing candy and listening to rock vinyl records at the back of the local music store with his brother. I always thought he was my only option — that if I didn’t take certain subjects or become head girl or go to homecoming with him, I would be a disgrace. But you are--
And that pesky voice in my head, constantly telling me I’m not good enough! It had always raved on and on about The Plan when, in fact, it did not exist!
My heart stops for a fraction of a second. My parents look at me, still worried. And that’s when revelation dawns upon me. The moment I’m free. Eureka.
The Plan never existed.
11. on-route (again)
I have my passport in one hand, and Duck’s hand in the other. He’s helping me hold my luggage, which is actually quite light because I’ll only be away for the weekend. The boarding ticket, however, feels extremely heavy tucked in between the pages of my passport.
We get to the gates where Duck and I have to separate, my heart sinks in my stomach and I can’t help but wonder if this whole trip would be a failure. Duck must have sensed my anxiousness — as he does have a knack for it — immediately he leans forward and kisses me deeply. So deeply, it almost makes my head swarm, but it does make me forget all about the strange queasiness.
He pulls away from the kiss, and laughs at me when I pout at him. A small tinge of pink goes across his cheeks when he notices that other people are staring, highlighting the little freckles on his face. If only we weren’t in public, I would have placed a kiss on each and every one of them.
“Don’t do anything stupid, would you?” He teases.
I roll my eyes. “Never.”
He smiles that wonderfully adorable smile of his at me, his nose scrunching a little as he looks down at me. His lanky long arms wrap themselves around my waist as he says, “And, no falling in love with my brother, okay? I would be heartbroken.” I gasp in mock terror, and it makes him chuckle.
“Never again.” I assure him.
More people start to line up at the check in, and I take my bag from Duck, feeling a little braver to board the plane, a little more ready to see Mouse again. I kiss Duck — the beautiful, electric, blue-eyed boy I get to call mine finally — one last time. He squeezes my hand and, before I join the queue, he tells me the most electric thing I’ve heard: “I love you.”
I smile — so hard my cheeks hurt, and I just know that the crinkles by my eyes are visible as I do.
“I love you too.”
I have my passport in one hand, and Duck’s hand in the other. He’s helping me hold my luggage, which is actually quite light because I’ll only be away for the weekend. The boarding ticket, however, feels extremely heavy tucked in between the pages of my passport.
We get to the gates where Duck and I have to separate, my heart sinks in my stomach and I can’t help but wonder if this whole trip would be a failure. Duck must have sensed my anxiousness — as he does have a knack for it — immediately he leans forward and kisses me deeply. So deeply, it almost makes my head swarm, but it does make me forget all about the strange queasiness.
He pulls away from the kiss, and laughs at me when I pout at him. A small tinge of pink goes across his cheeks when he notices that other people are staring, highlighting the little freckles on his face. If only we weren’t in public, I would have placed a kiss on each and every one of them.
“Don’t do anything stupid, would you?” He teases.
I roll my eyes. “Never.”
He smiles that wonderfully adorable smile of his at me, his nose scrunching a little as he looks down at me. His lanky long arms wrap themselves around my waist as he says, “And, no falling in love with my brother, okay? I would be heartbroken.” I gasp in mock terror, and it makes him chuckle.
“Never again.” I assure him.
More people start to line up at the check in, and I take my bag from Duck, feeling a little braver to board the plane, a little more ready to see Mouse again. I kiss Duck — the beautiful, electric, blue-eyed boy I get to call mine finally — one last time. He squeezes my hand and, before I join the queue, he tells me the most electric thing I’ve heard: “I love you.”
I smile — so hard my cheeks hurt, and I just know that the crinkles by my eyes are visible as I do.
“I love you too.”
12. confession
It has not gone off to a good start. Terrible, terrible. No, the flight was great, and I enjoyed it a lot. I had always liked airplane meals, and I hadn’t need to use the scary toilet bowl that makes that horrible and loud sound whenever you flush it.
Everything sort of went downhill the moment I saw Mouse standing there in the arrival hall, waiting for me. His eyes sparkled when he catches me across the room, but all I had wanted to do is be swallowed by the ground. Of course, it’s great to finally see one of my best friends — especially if he was the one who grew up with you and has always been there for you — however, seeing him as my boyfriend, I can’t help but want to cringe my head off.
The first thing he does is hug me in one of those giant bear hugs he always had. Mouse is a very big hugger. And, then, when he pulled away and I just knew that he was about to lean in to kiss me.
So, I dodged, leaving Mouse looking as if he had been slapped. Being the gentleman he is, though, he doesn’t linger on the strange lack of affection — he shouldn’t be, considering how little affection I do show him — and awkwardly released me from the hug.
Besides suddenly realizing what a horrible girlfriend I am, I can’t help but admit: this is so fucking awkward. Everything about the moment felt like the end of the world for me. It doesn’t help that I hear the voice in me cackling.
Mouse helped me carry my luggage and called us a taxi to get back to his place. On the way there, I tried so hard to make small talk to cut the tension in there but I keep coming up blank. Mouse was polite enough to answer me and occasionally smile a little but anyone could see it was the least romantic thing that could happen between supposed lovers.
Even the taxi driver gave us a discount because he thought we were having a little trouble in paradise.
After we do get to his place, he lets me settle down first (on another note, his roommate was very nice, as she had let me stay in her room, while she stayed at her girlfriend’s place for the weekend). I sat on the bed, wondering whether or not I am making a huge mistake.
I came here to apologize, make amends — and while I am very sure Mouse is a very kind and forgiving person — he might not forgive me for leading him on all during our two-year relationship. I never cheated on him when he wasn’t away at university, but that doesn’t give me the pass to sleep with his brother. This can go very wrong.
Mouse sticks his head in, looking nonchalant, and asks me whether I’d like to grab supper with him at the downtown pier or not. I’m actually not that hungry, and am feeling rather jetlagged, but I agree to go. A little fresh air and being around him might open me up a little.
Both of us grab our coats, and we walk down the block, towards the lights and sounds which I can only assume is the pier he had mentioned. We don’t talk on the way there — we let the silent sounds of the wind and the distant chatter from the pier, and the splash of the waves against the rocks flood the spaces between us.
Somehow, it doesn’t feel so awkward that way.
Neither of us has our hands dangling between us — no one makes the initiative to hold hands; neither of us look at the other as if we’re still in love. We aren’t masking anything, yet we aren’t speaking the truth. I look up to watch the stars glitter. We’re at a seaside city, and for some reason, the skies look different here. Foreign. Unique in its own way.
So beautiful. At least one thing is going right tonight.
The chatter becomes no longer indistinctive as we join the crowd at the pier — I hear hawkers loudly calling at us; subtle talk as other people walks by; the soft melody of the crashing waves gone and drowned out.
The smell of food is absolutely amazing, though, and it makes me thank Mouse silently for taking me out. I have always loved piers — the voices, the lights, the food and entertainment — and I have a feeling Mouse remembered that about me.
The thought twists my gut in guilt.
He stops at one of the stalls and later hands me one of those paper plates full of chili and chicken. “Fish and chips just aren’t as good as the ones back home.” He tells me. We find a bench at the very end of the pier, where it is surprisingly quieter. So, there we ate, in slight darkness and a whole lot of awkward, as we stare off into the black waters.
When am I gonna tell him? When am I gonna tell him--
“You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” This makes me stop mid-bite. I stare at him, totally shocked, but he doesn’t look the least bothered. I open my mouth to say something — deny it, tell him he is being ridiculous — but quickly stops when I realize it is the truth.
The scariest thing about it all is that Mouse is so calm. He doesn’t raise his voice; he just keeps on eating his chili and chicken, staring off into the sea. The light from the festivities behind us gives a soft shadow to his face, making him more beautiful than he already is.
I never really understood how this golden boy was mine.
Finishing his food, he lays the empty paper plate beside him on the bench. It amazes me how his blue eyes glow in the dark as he turns to me. “It’s another guy, isn’t it?” I nod. He purses his lips for a while, sighing. “So, who is it?”
“Duck.” I answer, so quietly, like a whisper thrown into the wind.
But Mouse hears it crystal clear. He widens his eyes and looks at me. His voice finally raises a little. “Duck? My brother? You’ve been sleeping with my brother?” Suddenly, he breaks out of his usual sophisticated and calm self by burying his face in his hands. He groans so loudly that I can't help but worry.
And, when he looks at me, I see it: the sadness and hurt that I saw on my sister’s face. The golden boy cracked. “I’m sorry, I just can’t right now.” With that, he stands up and leaves. But I don’t try to catch up with him — he’s experienced enough pain without me already.
I bury my face into my hands, as well, and groan loudly. Well, that went well.
It has not gone off to a good start. Terrible, terrible. No, the flight was great, and I enjoyed it a lot. I had always liked airplane meals, and I hadn’t need to use the scary toilet bowl that makes that horrible and loud sound whenever you flush it.
Everything sort of went downhill the moment I saw Mouse standing there in the arrival hall, waiting for me. His eyes sparkled when he catches me across the room, but all I had wanted to do is be swallowed by the ground. Of course, it’s great to finally see one of my best friends — especially if he was the one who grew up with you and has always been there for you — however, seeing him as my boyfriend, I can’t help but want to cringe my head off.
The first thing he does is hug me in one of those giant bear hugs he always had. Mouse is a very big hugger. And, then, when he pulled away and I just knew that he was about to lean in to kiss me.
So, I dodged, leaving Mouse looking as if he had been slapped. Being the gentleman he is, though, he doesn’t linger on the strange lack of affection — he shouldn’t be, considering how little affection I do show him — and awkwardly released me from the hug.
Besides suddenly realizing what a horrible girlfriend I am, I can’t help but admit: this is so fucking awkward. Everything about the moment felt like the end of the world for me. It doesn’t help that I hear the voice in me cackling.
Mouse helped me carry my luggage and called us a taxi to get back to his place. On the way there, I tried so hard to make small talk to cut the tension in there but I keep coming up blank. Mouse was polite enough to answer me and occasionally smile a little but anyone could see it was the least romantic thing that could happen between supposed lovers.
Even the taxi driver gave us a discount because he thought we were having a little trouble in paradise.
After we do get to his place, he lets me settle down first (on another note, his roommate was very nice, as she had let me stay in her room, while she stayed at her girlfriend’s place for the weekend). I sat on the bed, wondering whether or not I am making a huge mistake.
I came here to apologize, make amends — and while I am very sure Mouse is a very kind and forgiving person — he might not forgive me for leading him on all during our two-year relationship. I never cheated on him when he wasn’t away at university, but that doesn’t give me the pass to sleep with his brother. This can go very wrong.
Mouse sticks his head in, looking nonchalant, and asks me whether I’d like to grab supper with him at the downtown pier or not. I’m actually not that hungry, and am feeling rather jetlagged, but I agree to go. A little fresh air and being around him might open me up a little.
Both of us grab our coats, and we walk down the block, towards the lights and sounds which I can only assume is the pier he had mentioned. We don’t talk on the way there — we let the silent sounds of the wind and the distant chatter from the pier, and the splash of the waves against the rocks flood the spaces between us.
Somehow, it doesn’t feel so awkward that way.
Neither of us has our hands dangling between us — no one makes the initiative to hold hands; neither of us look at the other as if we’re still in love. We aren’t masking anything, yet we aren’t speaking the truth. I look up to watch the stars glitter. We’re at a seaside city, and for some reason, the skies look different here. Foreign. Unique in its own way.
So beautiful. At least one thing is going right tonight.
The chatter becomes no longer indistinctive as we join the crowd at the pier — I hear hawkers loudly calling at us; subtle talk as other people walks by; the soft melody of the crashing waves gone and drowned out.
The smell of food is absolutely amazing, though, and it makes me thank Mouse silently for taking me out. I have always loved piers — the voices, the lights, the food and entertainment — and I have a feeling Mouse remembered that about me.
The thought twists my gut in guilt.
He stops at one of the stalls and later hands me one of those paper plates full of chili and chicken. “Fish and chips just aren’t as good as the ones back home.” He tells me. We find a bench at the very end of the pier, where it is surprisingly quieter. So, there we ate, in slight darkness and a whole lot of awkward, as we stare off into the black waters.
When am I gonna tell him? When am I gonna tell him--
“You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” This makes me stop mid-bite. I stare at him, totally shocked, but he doesn’t look the least bothered. I open my mouth to say something — deny it, tell him he is being ridiculous — but quickly stops when I realize it is the truth.
The scariest thing about it all is that Mouse is so calm. He doesn’t raise his voice; he just keeps on eating his chili and chicken, staring off into the sea. The light from the festivities behind us gives a soft shadow to his face, making him more beautiful than he already is.
I never really understood how this golden boy was mine.
Finishing his food, he lays the empty paper plate beside him on the bench. It amazes me how his blue eyes glow in the dark as he turns to me. “It’s another guy, isn’t it?” I nod. He purses his lips for a while, sighing. “So, who is it?”
“Duck.” I answer, so quietly, like a whisper thrown into the wind.
But Mouse hears it crystal clear. He widens his eyes and looks at me. His voice finally raises a little. “Duck? My brother? You’ve been sleeping with my brother?” Suddenly, he breaks out of his usual sophisticated and calm self by burying his face in his hands. He groans so loudly that I can't help but worry.
And, when he looks at me, I see it: the sadness and hurt that I saw on my sister’s face. The golden boy cracked. “I’m sorry, I just can’t right now.” With that, he stands up and leaves. But I don’t try to catch up with him — he’s experienced enough pain without me already.
I bury my face into my hands, as well, and groan loudly. Well, that went well.
13. no judgement
I chuck the paper plates into the nearby bin. Mouse is right — the fish and chips here just doesn’t beat the ones from back home. I sigh and slump back into the seat on the bench at the end of the pier.
I just got off the phone with Duck. Despite his efforts to convince me that his brother will forgive me, he still can’t deny that I am a horrible, cheating ex-girlfriend who broke his brother’s heart; and, that Thanksgiving at his family’s this year would be a very awkward time. Nevertheless, listening to his voice made me very calm, and it quiets out that stupid voice in my head.
Before I hung up, I couldn’t help myself but tell him “I love you”.
He giggles a little when he says “I love you too” back.
Before, when I was with Mouse, he had always told me that he loved me — but, each time, I had only smiled. I never returned it. I guess it just didn’t feel right.
Of course, I love him — he means so much to me — but as a brother more like. I love him like that big brother who always protected you; who bought you little things to make your day; who never let you put yourself down because it was his nature to do so.
Being his girlfriend never really felt like dating him — it felt like being his best friend, but with a title, I guess. With Duck, I couldn’t keep myself from him. I always wanted to be with him; to put my heart in his palms; to tell him everything about the universe.
And, Duck always wanted to do the same.
My watch beeps at the stroke of midnight. The vendors already started packing up, and most of the chatter had already died down. Here I am, on a bench, alone. I pull my knees up to my chin, as I sit there and watch the waves take over one another — pushing and pushing until the first one dies.
It startles me when I look over, and there Mouse is again, standing and peering down at me with his sad blue eyes. I extend an arm, inviting him to sit with me again — which, fortunately, he takes and he continues to join me under the night sky.
We sit in silence again. Only for a while this time.
“I’m sorry I left you.” He apologizes. I smile at him.
“I’m sorry I slept with your brother.” Thank God he laughs at that.
He puts one arm on the back of the bench behind me. I lean against him, cuddling against the warmth of his chest. We stare forward for a little more. “Do you remember how we would run outside for midnight picnics when we visited the beach during summer?”
Mouse laughs, throaty and very attractively, as he throws his head back, letting the ocean breeze tousle his curls. “The four of us, didn’t we?” His blue eyes sparkle in the dark. “We used to nip Irn-Bru and cake into that basket.”
“And we’d wear our bathing suits underneath our clothes,” I add, smiling, feeling incredibly happy. “Remember when we’d dance and stargaze around that bonfire you and Duck built?”
Mouse lifts his chin smugly. “Scouts training coming in use, aye?”
I laugh and playfully smack his arm. “It’s a wonder we never got caught.”
Happily, he sighs. He cuddles closer to me and I continue to cherish the familiar warmth he radiates. I sneak a whiff of him — slight firewood and a tinge of the ocean — he smells like home. He starts again, “Duck always insisted on playing his guitar around the fire,” He peers down at me and grins gently. “I didn’t know it then, but it was so obvious that he was serenading you.”
I roll my eyes at the cheesiness. But Mouse continues to tease me by singing one of the old songs that Duck written. “Maybe we can run off to cities without maps; falling into love, not traps,” Mouse hums it into my ear. “As long as we’re not apart, I’ll let you break my heart...”
I chuck the paper plates into the nearby bin. Mouse is right — the fish and chips here just doesn’t beat the ones from back home. I sigh and slump back into the seat on the bench at the end of the pier.
I just got off the phone with Duck. Despite his efforts to convince me that his brother will forgive me, he still can’t deny that I am a horrible, cheating ex-girlfriend who broke his brother’s heart; and, that Thanksgiving at his family’s this year would be a very awkward time. Nevertheless, listening to his voice made me very calm, and it quiets out that stupid voice in my head.
Before I hung up, I couldn’t help myself but tell him “I love you”.
He giggles a little when he says “I love you too” back.
Before, when I was with Mouse, he had always told me that he loved me — but, each time, I had only smiled. I never returned it. I guess it just didn’t feel right.
Of course, I love him — he means so much to me — but as a brother more like. I love him like that big brother who always protected you; who bought you little things to make your day; who never let you put yourself down because it was his nature to do so.
Being his girlfriend never really felt like dating him — it felt like being his best friend, but with a title, I guess. With Duck, I couldn’t keep myself from him. I always wanted to be with him; to put my heart in his palms; to tell him everything about the universe.
And, Duck always wanted to do the same.
My watch beeps at the stroke of midnight. The vendors already started packing up, and most of the chatter had already died down. Here I am, on a bench, alone. I pull my knees up to my chin, as I sit there and watch the waves take over one another — pushing and pushing until the first one dies.
It startles me when I look over, and there Mouse is again, standing and peering down at me with his sad blue eyes. I extend an arm, inviting him to sit with me again — which, fortunately, he takes and he continues to join me under the night sky.
We sit in silence again. Only for a while this time.
“I’m sorry I left you.” He apologizes. I smile at him.
“I’m sorry I slept with your brother.” Thank God he laughs at that.
He puts one arm on the back of the bench behind me. I lean against him, cuddling against the warmth of his chest. We stare forward for a little more. “Do you remember how we would run outside for midnight picnics when we visited the beach during summer?”
Mouse laughs, throaty and very attractively, as he throws his head back, letting the ocean breeze tousle his curls. “The four of us, didn’t we?” His blue eyes sparkle in the dark. “We used to nip Irn-Bru and cake into that basket.”
“And we’d wear our bathing suits underneath our clothes,” I add, smiling, feeling incredibly happy. “Remember when we’d dance and stargaze around that bonfire you and Duck built?”
Mouse lifts his chin smugly. “Scouts training coming in use, aye?”
I laugh and playfully smack his arm. “It’s a wonder we never got caught.”
Happily, he sighs. He cuddles closer to me and I continue to cherish the familiar warmth he radiates. I sneak a whiff of him — slight firewood and a tinge of the ocean — he smells like home. He starts again, “Duck always insisted on playing his guitar around the fire,” He peers down at me and grins gently. “I didn’t know it then, but it was so obvious that he was serenading you.”
I roll my eyes at the cheesiness. But Mouse continues to tease me by singing one of the old songs that Duck written. “Maybe we can run off to cities without maps; falling into love, not traps,” Mouse hums it into my ear. “As long as we’re not apart, I’ll let you break my heart...”
14. flashback
“Dreaming of the stars and moons above, as long as I am the one you love.” Duck strummed the very last chord. His golden hair darker in the faint glow of the bonfire; his skin dewy with the salt in the breezes of the seas. So beautiful, he is — the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in a while.
The both of us paused to look at our siblings — both of them already fast asleep under the dark velvet blanket of stars. He placed his guitar down and scooted closer to me. We lay down on one of the large picnic mats we brought with us, and gazed up at the tiny glints in the sky.
Neither of us said a word, just letting the rumble of the waves lull us — and we were so content with that. Just the two of us, holding hands, underneath the dark blue skies. If only it were only like this forever: him and I; no one to tell us what to do, what to be.
I wonder whether I am in love with Duck for the thrill. The adventure. The risk.
If thrill felt like being with Duck, I would never want to feel anything else.
Duck’s palm cupped my face perfectly, as if they were made for holding me, and he leaned in — close enough that I could feel my heart racing, my stomach in my throat — but pressed his forehead against mine. Him and I, only a hairbreadth away from lip locking but we did not — instead, he pierced into my soul with those remarkable blue eyes of his.
I could have stayed like this with him forever.
“He isn’t the one,” he told me, almost a whisper, so quiet that it could have been just the wind. I sighed and pulled away — but Duck tugged me back into his arms, and he finally kisses me. Fireworks. His kisses felt like fireworks to me.
Though wonderful he kisses were, reality washed over me when I heard the distant sound of my sister gurgling in her sleep. The both of us leaned away from each other, still staring at each other and I wondered how does his eyes glow in the dark. I touch his cheek.
“That’s what everyone expects, no? It’s as if the whole town wants him to marry me; wants me to never leave this place,” Sadness filled his gaze but I knew that he understood — our mothers had predicted it; I’ve eavesdropped on their wedding planning and little conversations after dinner.
Duck kissed me again. This time slow and sad and desperate, his hands gripped the back of my head, not wanting anyone to take me away from him. When he let go, he selfishly gave me hope. “We could run away. We could be together —”
“And my sister and your brother?” I asked, wishing this situation were as easy as he described.
“It was always meant to be you and I.”
I opened my mouth, prepared to say otherwise, but I knew that deep inside me, I wanted to believe that it was that easy — that Mouse did not like me; that people around town had always said Duck and I were meant to be; that The Plan didn’t exist.
So, I had just nodded and we lay there silently, under the millions of stars and at the edge of the ocean. Our hands clasped tightly between us as we slowly fell asleep. At the brink of danger, knowing anytime in the morning, the tide would drown us if we weren’t careful — yet we hadn’t cared, as long as we were in love and together.
“Dreaming of the stars and moons above, as long as I am the one you love.” Duck strummed the very last chord. His golden hair darker in the faint glow of the bonfire; his skin dewy with the salt in the breezes of the seas. So beautiful, he is — the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in a while.
The both of us paused to look at our siblings — both of them already fast asleep under the dark velvet blanket of stars. He placed his guitar down and scooted closer to me. We lay down on one of the large picnic mats we brought with us, and gazed up at the tiny glints in the sky.
Neither of us said a word, just letting the rumble of the waves lull us — and we were so content with that. Just the two of us, holding hands, underneath the dark blue skies. If only it were only like this forever: him and I; no one to tell us what to do, what to be.
I wonder whether I am in love with Duck for the thrill. The adventure. The risk.
If thrill felt like being with Duck, I would never want to feel anything else.
Duck’s palm cupped my face perfectly, as if they were made for holding me, and he leaned in — close enough that I could feel my heart racing, my stomach in my throat — but pressed his forehead against mine. Him and I, only a hairbreadth away from lip locking but we did not — instead, he pierced into my soul with those remarkable blue eyes of his.
I could have stayed like this with him forever.
“He isn’t the one,” he told me, almost a whisper, so quiet that it could have been just the wind. I sighed and pulled away — but Duck tugged me back into his arms, and he finally kisses me. Fireworks. His kisses felt like fireworks to me.
Though wonderful he kisses were, reality washed over me when I heard the distant sound of my sister gurgling in her sleep. The both of us leaned away from each other, still staring at each other and I wondered how does his eyes glow in the dark. I touch his cheek.
“That’s what everyone expects, no? It’s as if the whole town wants him to marry me; wants me to never leave this place,” Sadness filled his gaze but I knew that he understood — our mothers had predicted it; I’ve eavesdropped on their wedding planning and little conversations after dinner.
Duck kissed me again. This time slow and sad and desperate, his hands gripped the back of my head, not wanting anyone to take me away from him. When he let go, he selfishly gave me hope. “We could run away. We could be together —”
“And my sister and your brother?” I asked, wishing this situation were as easy as he described.
“It was always meant to be you and I.”
I opened my mouth, prepared to say otherwise, but I knew that deep inside me, I wanted to believe that it was that easy — that Mouse did not like me; that people around town had always said Duck and I were meant to be; that The Plan didn’t exist.
So, I had just nodded and we lay there silently, under the millions of stars and at the edge of the ocean. Our hands clasped tightly between us as we slowly fell asleep. At the brink of danger, knowing anytime in the morning, the tide would drown us if we weren’t careful — yet we hadn’t cared, as long as we were in love and together.
15. remember
Mouse was fairly cool about it — he did not blame me; did not call me names. He wished Duck and I happiness wholeheartedly, which I definitely appreciate. He is my best friend after all — ex or not, he is a very important part of my life.
Guilt wrenched my heart as I hugged him goodbye. No matter if he has chosen to forgive me or not, I had broken his heart, and it would take a lot to earn back his trust. I am very lucky to have the Tillman boys in my life.
After the lengthy process of checking in and getting luggage, then the actual flight itself, I finally find myself back at the airport an hour’s drive away from my town. As I scour through the crowds at the arrival hall, trying to find Duck, I am surprised by another familiar face, instead.
My sister stands there — looking absolutely beautiful, her posture tall and her hair falling just above her shoulders. The moment she looks up, we catch gazes, and I am immediately overwhelmed by how much I miss her.
Instantly, I drop my bags and run towards her, enveloping her in a very big hug. Heavy streams of tears fall down my cheeks. But I don’t let go, I just hug her and bask in her warmth.
I hear her laugh. “I miss you, too.”
My mother was right: she is my sister; no boy matters more to both of us than each other.
Mouse was fairly cool about it — he did not blame me; did not call me names. He wished Duck and I happiness wholeheartedly, which I definitely appreciate. He is my best friend after all — ex or not, he is a very important part of my life.
Guilt wrenched my heart as I hugged him goodbye. No matter if he has chosen to forgive me or not, I had broken his heart, and it would take a lot to earn back his trust. I am very lucky to have the Tillman boys in my life.
After the lengthy process of checking in and getting luggage, then the actual flight itself, I finally find myself back at the airport an hour’s drive away from my town. As I scour through the crowds at the arrival hall, trying to find Duck, I am surprised by another familiar face, instead.
My sister stands there — looking absolutely beautiful, her posture tall and her hair falling just above her shoulders. The moment she looks up, we catch gazes, and I am immediately overwhelmed by how much I miss her.
Instantly, I drop my bags and run towards her, enveloping her in a very big hug. Heavy streams of tears fall down my cheeks. But I don’t let go, I just hug her and bask in her warmth.
I hear her laugh. “I miss you, too.”
My mother was right: she is my sister; no boy matters more to both of us than each other.
16. epilogue, the plan
“Would someone pass the turkey?” Mr Tillman calls across the table.
The eight of us — my family and the Tillmans — sit at the dining table, an incredible feast splayed before us. Roast turkey, steaming potatoes, eggnog, et cetera. A fire roars and crackles in the nearby fireplace, giving out its heat to the room. Each of us are in hideous Christmas sweaters and fuzzy socks, sat around the table, our chatter and giggles brightening the room.
I look around the room, and it feels great to be back home. Duck and I raced into a taxi back home from our university, once the winter holidays officially commentated. Even Mouse was here, looking better than ever (“American football does wonders,” he said when I commented on it).
Of course, our parents were thrilled to see us — they would not let us join in the preparation for the Christmas dinner. After some pestering, they eventually relented and let Duck and I decorate both households.
We didn’t get much done — with how much Duck loved fooling around — but it felt amazing to spend time back in this town. Being away for long periods of time actually made me realize how much I do love the place and its people. I’m glad that when I expressed these thoughts to Duck, he had only kissed my forehead and told me, “Guess we’re running that father’s bookstore, I’ve always loved that store.”
Now, he sits across me, in a horrendous green sweater that strangely brings out the blue in his eyes. Then again, everything looks good on him. Duck looks absolutely beautiful — he had been playing college football all autumn, and all that sunshine we had at campus really opened and brightened him.
I still adore him endlessly — he isn’t a temporary thrill or a risk; he was The Plan all along. My destiny was to kiss him that first time and the many times after; to fall for him again and again.
He catches me staring across the table, so he beams. A beautiful grin that reaches his electric eyes.
Everything turned out alright, didn’t it? The voice asks. This time, I agree.
“Would someone pass the turkey?” Mr Tillman calls across the table.
The eight of us — my family and the Tillmans — sit at the dining table, an incredible feast splayed before us. Roast turkey, steaming potatoes, eggnog, et cetera. A fire roars and crackles in the nearby fireplace, giving out its heat to the room. Each of us are in hideous Christmas sweaters and fuzzy socks, sat around the table, our chatter and giggles brightening the room.
I look around the room, and it feels great to be back home. Duck and I raced into a taxi back home from our university, once the winter holidays officially commentated. Even Mouse was here, looking better than ever (“American football does wonders,” he said when I commented on it).
Of course, our parents were thrilled to see us — they would not let us join in the preparation for the Christmas dinner. After some pestering, they eventually relented and let Duck and I decorate both households.
We didn’t get much done — with how much Duck loved fooling around — but it felt amazing to spend time back in this town. Being away for long periods of time actually made me realize how much I do love the place and its people. I’m glad that when I expressed these thoughts to Duck, he had only kissed my forehead and told me, “Guess we’re running that father’s bookstore, I’ve always loved that store.”
Now, he sits across me, in a horrendous green sweater that strangely brings out the blue in his eyes. Then again, everything looks good on him. Duck looks absolutely beautiful — he had been playing college football all autumn, and all that sunshine we had at campus really opened and brightened him.
I still adore him endlessly — he isn’t a temporary thrill or a risk; he was The Plan all along. My destiny was to kiss him that first time and the many times after; to fall for him again and again.
He catches me staring across the table, so he beams. A beautiful grin that reaches his electric eyes.
Everything turned out alright, didn’t it? The voice asks. This time, I agree.
30th AUG 20
17. acknowledgements
This composition took me a very long time to write — my first very rough concept of the story started almost three years ago! However, after spending many of my free time to write on it, and almost a year later — I'm very proud to have you experience the story with me. This story has a lot of detail and character, which is not usually my style (considering how short I usually keep my stories) but I am very glad that I got to bring so much depth and life to Duck and Mouse.
I'd like to thank a lot of my friends who might still remember this plot when I let y'all have a peek at it many years ago. To Disney, because they were my inspiration. To you — whoever you are, wherever you're reading this — thank you for giving my characters life.
And, to the real-life Tillman boys, you both know who you are — thank you.
This composition took me a very long time to write — my first very rough concept of the story started almost three years ago! However, after spending many of my free time to write on it, and almost a year later — I'm very proud to have you experience the story with me. This story has a lot of detail and character, which is not usually my style (considering how short I usually keep my stories) but I am very glad that I got to bring so much depth and life to Duck and Mouse.
I'd like to thank a lot of my friends who might still remember this plot when I let y'all have a peek at it many years ago. To Disney, because they were my inspiration. To you — whoever you are, wherever you're reading this — thank you for giving my characters life.
And, to the real-life Tillman boys, you both know who you are — thank you.
Love,
Dreamy
Dreamy