“So, Elvis, you’ve been seeing this one girl for some time now.
Am I r ight?”
The chatter around the table dies down. It has always been awkward to talk to my family about girls, especially as they’re aware of my history with them. But it’s different this time. I don’t want those girls—I only want this one. I run my fingers through my wild hair again; I’ve been practically pulling it out for the last few h ours.
“Uh, yes Mom, you’re right. I’ve been seeing this cute little brunette,” I answer her with a silly smirk. She looks at me with curio sity.
“Tell us about her?”
I say the first thing that comes to mind.
“She’s tiny!” I tell her with a chuckle. The thought of Scarlette makes me miss her. I have to call her. I have to talk to her. I stand up and push my chair back, wanting to rush out.
“Telling us she’s tiny doesn’t give much away,” my dad mut ters.
I’m not sure what more they want to hear.
“We met at university,” I say.
My mother still has an expectant smile on her face, waiting for me to share more about the girl in my life.
“What else would you like to know?” I ask.
“For starters, does she have a name?” my mom laughs while my dad stands up from his chair and walks over to the kitchen island to pour himself another glass of Cabe rnet.
“Scarlette,” I tell them, “her name is Scarl ette.”
“Scarlette?” my dad says. “Does Scarlette have a last name, son?”
He’s clutching the glass in his hand. Why does he have that baffled look on his face?
“Fay. Scarlette Fay,” I tell him.
The sound of a wine glass shattering on the kitchen floor cuts me off, making everyone jump.
“Archer, are you all right?” My mother is by his side in sec onds.
“Yes. Yes, I’m all right, Emily,” he assures her, as he places his hand on top of hers, holding his forearm. He doesn’t seem all right. This is str ange.
“You should have steadier hands, Dad,” Adam says. “You’re the top heart surgeon in the country! How does a glass slip out of your hand?”
I look up at him and we share a confused s tare.
“Dr. Sullivan, let me clean this up before anyone gets hurt.”
Lizzie is already in the middle of it, picking up broken glass and wiping the spilled red wine off our white marble t iles.
“Thank you, Elizabeth. I’ll go upstairs and change into clean clothes,” my dad says, leaving the kit chen.
I notice he’s covered with wet spots from the splash. This is a good opportunity for me to head out and do some damage con trol.
I’m already at the front doors when I hear Allison following a few feet behind me. Without turning around, my hand pulls on the door handle and I take my first steps out side.
“I’m glad to see you’re not wasting any time,” she calls afte r me.
“I have to find Scarlette. I have to fix this. She can’t stay mad a t me.”
I get into my car, pressing the button with my finger to start the ignition as I reach over to my phone and quickly dial Scarl ette.
“Hello,” she ans wers.
That sound is becoming one of my favourites to hear.
“I’m sorry.” Those are the first words that come out of my mouth.
I can hear her steady breathing through the p hone.
“I hope you are, Elvis,” she says in a soft but disappointed tone.
“I am. Will you meet me at Fondway Café in an hour?” I ask, hoping that she still wants to se e me.
“Fine,” she ans wers.
“See you soon, bye.”
“Bye.”
I hang up the phone and head towards Bur naby.
I reach the café before Scarlette, order two cups of coffee, and find a seat in the corner where we can have some privacy. I wait anxiously for her arrival, keeping my eyes on the door until I see a beautiful brunette enter. My heart begins its erratic rhythm. Scarlette notices me right away, and our eyes meet. She pauses for a split second—I can see her parted lips gently inhale
—then she steps closer. I stand up, frozen still until she’s in front of me. Her mouth opens before we can take a seat, with a firm but forgiving expression on her perfect face. She places both her little hands around her coffee mug.
“I had no idea that was what you meant by epic,” she says, sitting down, and I take the seat across from her.
“It will be epic every time. But uh … ” I swallow hard. “Okay, today it was not epic. Look, I didn’t mean to scare you,” I say,
“or Zack.” I’m annoyed having to even mention his name.
“Elvis, I know how kind and gentle you are. I’m not scared of you,” she says, staring at me with a warm and genuine expres sion.
I’m flattered to know she feels safe wit h me.
“I want to protect you, Scarlette. You’re precious t o me.”
She flushes. “You don’t have to protect me from Zack,” she says, stretching out both her arms on top of the table towards me.
“Zack has been my best friend since Grade 9. Stop being so jealous of him.”
I lock my blue eyes on her chocolate -b rown ones and move my hands over hers, holding them in my p alms.
“How would you expect me not to feel jealous, seeing another guy that into you?”
She squeezes my hands in hers, making sure our eyes are still locked. “You shouldn’t be, E lvis.”
“Scarlette, do you realize that Zack likes you as more than a friend?” I ask her.
She looks around the café before answe ring.
“I don’t think about it that way because he’s my friend. And he’s a good friend to me. He really cares abou t me.”
“A little more than he should in my opinion,” I mutter under my breath. “And I guess it bugs me how much more he knows about you than I do.”
“What is it that you want to know?” she asks.
My thoughts take me straight to her scar. I wonder why she’s so reluctant to open up to me about it. Is it a bad memory she’s trying to block, from that horrific accident when she was a child? I want to know everything about her. Every time I look into her eyes, there’s so much that’s still unclear. My mother is right: a person’s life story lives in their eyes.
I lean back against my seat and sigh. “Where’s the scar from?”
Scarlette blinks three times. I count each one.
“Does my scar change anyt hing?”
“No,” I tell her with certa inty.
“Then, why do you want to know right now?” she asks.
Why does she keep avoiding this ques tion?
“Will you ever tel l me?”
She places her hand on her forehead, rubbing it ge ntly.
“Why do you want to know so badly? Wouldn’t you rather know the good and happy facts abou t me?”
I don’t think twice about my response. “I want to know the good, the bad, the pretty, and the ugly. I want to know it all, Scarl ette.”
She looks away from me again, her eyes travelling around the room, then she closes them for a brief mo ment.
“I just don’t want any of my scars to change your mind.” She lets out a long breath, opening her eyes to meet mine.