Until Then Read online

  He.

  Smiles.

  It makes me smile as he snaps again.

  I’ve been photographed before, many times. Being an accomplished pianist and composer at such a young age has attracted a lot of attention. But never in my life have I felt the way I feel right now, with this guy taking his photos.

  I feel desired. Not just for my talent. But as a real human being. Him objectifying me with his camera makes me feel real.

  This is not a feeling I’m used to. I’m starting to like it.

  “You know you never really told me how you know me,” I remind him, as he reviews his photos. If this is my attempt at flirting, I’ve got a hell of a lot to learn. Because I’m not flirting; I’m hitting all the flat notes.

  He smiles at his camera, at his pictures or my comment, I’m not sure.

  “I mean aside from being my first stalker, I don’t know anything about you.”

  Crew chuckles to himself and finally looks toward me. “Like I said, I live in this town. I know who you are. Everyone does. The piano prodigy.” He says that last phrase with mock humor. And gives me a wink, which travels right to my insides.

  Oh no. Don’t be an idiot, Summer. Don’t like him.

  “Doesn’t explain why you have those older pictures of me. On your personal camera. From a year ago,” I reply, with a hint of amusement. I figure making light of the situation will get me more answers than being defensive.

  Crew looks to his camera for his next sentence, fumbling with the buttons. “I was here last year and happened to see you. I knew who you were and what happened.” He looks to my eyes, and I feel like I swallowed an extra heart because my heart is now beating extra beats. “I took your photo because you were the most genuine person I’d seen in a very long time. I couldn’t not take it.” He shrugs.

  He turns the camera’s screen toward me to show me the pictures he’s just taken. I’m in awe of how well he took my photo. The lighting. The mood. The brilliance. I’ve never seen such beautiful photos of me. While I been photographed a lot by some incredibly talented professionals, none of them can compare.

  Suddenly I feel sad.

  I’m going to miss him.

  “Why were you here last year, Crew?” I ask him, feeling unusually brave.

  He swallows hard, pulling his camera back and fidgeting with the lens. “For my mother,” he finally replies, never looking at me.

  I leave it alone, but I can’t help but feel for him. He comes here to see his mother’s grave. He’s obviously still struggling, all these years later.

  “You know, you never gave me your last name so that I can peruse your social media library,” I remind him.

  He smiles away whatever angst was just tormenting him. And I want him to keep smiling at me.

  “Evans,” he finally replies.

  “Will you look me up?” I ask, wishing I could reign in my outspoken mouth.

  “Nope,” he says flatly as he turns off his camera and tucks it back into his bag.

  He might as well be tucking away my hope.

  Before I can ask, he continues, “I could, but social media is only about 50% truthful. And I wouldn’t get what I wanted. I’d get filtered, sugar-coated images. Images that have no character. Images that should never have been created. Images that exist just to show the perfections. I don’t want the perfections, Summer. I want the flaws.” He stares right into my eyes when he says that, hardening my breath.

  I don’t want to show him my flaws because then he’ll know what a lunatic I can be when it comes to my own accomplishments. I never stand in my own way when it comes to piano. But I do get in my way when it comes to people and relationships. I simply have no idea how to have a relationship with a beating heart.

  “I want the real thing,” he says roughly.

  “Do you think you’re seeing the real thing right now?” I ask him, braver than I’ve ever been in my life. Knowing that I probably won’t see him again gives me the illusion that I can say anything. It’s liberating.

  Crew gives half a smile and nods his head. “I think I’m seeing part of the real thing but still real nonetheless.” He tilts his head to his shoulder, giving me room to reply.

  “I doubt it,” I say in the most flirtatious manner I can muster, lifting my bag onto my shoulder because my car is pulling up. “You know my name and what I do, but you don’t know anything about me really.” I start walking to the black car pulling up to the curb with the service symbol in the window.

  My reply makes him smile wide enough to reach his eyes. It’s like he’s amused by his own private joke.

  “You know,” I hear him say as I walk to the car, “they’re all right choices, Summer,” he says after me, still sitting on the bench.

  It makes me stop walking and turn to face him. “What did you just say?”

  He shoulders his bag and walks achingly slowly towards me. “Before when you were talking with your dad, you said something about choosing the right direction and needing confidence to keep going.” He looks to the ground, ashamed that he’s confessing his eavesdropping. I grow taller as he gets closer, knowing that I’m making him uncomfortable. Because I am angry that he was listening, and he needs to know that I’m not a pushover.

  “They’re all the right choices. You just have to see them through,” he says, stopping in front of me. “It’s like looking through a camera lens. There’s the blurry background contrasted by the focused center. It’s all still there in sight, but you need to zoom in and focus on what’s important to you.” His green eyes search my brown eyes, and I feel heat emanating from every pore in my body as rage floods through my organs.

  “Why were you listening to me, Crew?” I ask with a haunted whisper.

  His face softens, and it assuages my rage a little. I don’t think he was trying to be malicious, but it still stings. “I needed to get close enough to take your picture. I’m sorry I heard you.” He looks down between our feet for a moment and tucks his hands into his back pockets. This must be his version of surrendering. “But it’s ok, Summer.” He looks back to me. “From what you told me about your father, I think you made the right decision.” He holds out one hand, waiting for me to place my hand in his. I feel that same pull, like a tug of war inside me. I want to meet his gesture, but I also want to smack him across the face.

  “I won’t hurt you, Summer,” he says softly.

  “I don’t like people listening to my conversations, Crew,” I inform him with a hard resolve.

  He presses his lips to a thin line. “I’m sorry. I just needed —” he pauses.

  “Needed what?”

  He blinks a few times. “My muse.”

  There is it again. Two words that I didn’t know could slay me. He’s reaching out, one troubled soul to another. And I need to give him the benefit of the doubt. I need to lighten up and figure out how to “do” relationships with people. So I start right now. I take his hand and hope he can’t feel my raging pulse through my palm.

  Then he smiles.

  I know I’ve done the right thing because I smile, too. And it feels really, really good.

  “Will you be here next year, Summer?” he asks, gently squeezing my hand.

  My heart flutters, but I do my best to hide that I liked what he just did.

  “I’m here every year.” I squeeze his hand back. Then I take it away and turn to open the car door. My hand suddenly feels naked, empty, missing the fullness of his warmth.

  Placing my bag in the car, I step one foot in, and turn to him. “Will you be here next year, Crew?” I ask, surprising myself with my audacity.

  He smiles again at his own thoughts. “Absolutely.”

  I smile at him and say, “Until then.”

  After I climb in, I shut my door and look at Crew through the tinted windows. They’re not very dark but dark enough to hide me inside, which I’m thankful for. Otherwise he’d see my smile beaming from ear to ear.

  He may know who I am. But he has no clue who
I really am.

  With his hands in his pockets, Crew looks at the tinted indow. He’s not smiling or waving. He’s thoughtful yet taciturn. I have no idea what he’s thinking, what he’s about.

  I can’t believe I just gave him my signature send-off — Until then. I’ve only ever said that to my father. Why the hell would I say that to Crew?

  I can’t pull up my social media app fast enough to find out more about him.

  I just know that he’s somehow magical. Because I’ve never wanted it to be February 2nd any more than I have right now. A day full of heartache and despair. A day I dread all year long. A day that, for the first time, I’m looking forward to next year.

  The Following February

  I love you as certain

  dark things are to be loved,

  in secret,

  between the shadow and the soul.

  ~Pablo Neruda

  5.

  Summer

  12:05am

  “She’s really funny, Dad,” I say to my father’s tombstone, like we’re having a casual conversation. “Lily has a wild sense of humor, which I would never have expected from someone who plays the violin like she can. She is amazingly talented. So artistic. I could sit and listen to her play for hours. But she would probably just end up throwing her bow at me to get me to stop. Telling me I had better things to do.” I laugh inwardly at the year I’ve had with my new friend. So much has changed this year.

  Telling my father about my friends at school should feel surreal, but today, it feels normal. Maybe it’s because I feel so content. Maybe it’s because things are finally going well in my life.

  Or maybe I’m just excited to see Crew.

  I’ve had quite a year, with a lot of unexpected twists and turns — things that don’t often happen to me because I’ve always taken control of my life. I knew exactly what was going to happen long before it did. Because I made it happen.

  I picked out my first grand piano at the age of five so that I could perform the pieces with the deep, rich sound they were intended to be heard. I played my first concert at 10 years old because I begged my parents to allow it. I went to public schools for a short time because I convinced my parents that I wanted to be a “normal” kid like everyone else my age. I kept the friends I liked and blew off the ones I didn’t like. I chose my car, my music, my studies, my clothes, even Julliard.

  All because I wanted it to happen. It was that easy. If I wanted it, I got it.

  There’s only one thing I would change in a heartbeat if I could. Not my publicized yet isolated childhood. Not my clingy and crazy mother. Not even my lack of a brother or sister.

  My father.

  Nothing on earth could gut me worse than losing my father.

  But here I am, on the third anniversary of his death, sitting on his grave in Austin, Texas. Having traveled from New York City — taken a bus, taken a car, left my mother, left my work, left my friends — to be here because I want to be here.

  Because I need to be here.

  Because I promised to be here.

  To someone who isn’t here.

  It’s after midnight, and Crew hasn’t shown up. Maybe he forgot the day. Maybe he forgot what happened last year. Maybe he couldn’t make it. Maybe he forgot about me altogether. Maybe he’s somewhere in the world taking amazing photos and showing them to a girl who is now swooning over him.

  Whatever the reason shouldn’t affect me. But dammit, it does. And I want to punch the girl he’s showing them to.

  I was anticipating him being here so that I can tell him that he was right. That the choice I made to go to New York was the right one. Things were starting to pan out for me. I wanted to tell him about so many things, but instead I’m telling them to my father. Who already knows because I talk to him daily.

  Still, saying it out loud makes me feel good.

  Things look to be panning out for Crew, as well. I’ve seen his social media page. He’s taken incredible photos around Europe, mostly concentrated in Italy. They’re remarkable, and he’s certainly not lacking in anything now.

  “But I like her. She gets me, too, which is probably why I like her.” I shrug, as if my father sees me.

  “Mom’s the same. I keep encouraging her to go out and meet new people, but she says she’s fine. She got a job working at a bookstore, and she seems to like it. I’m just happy she’s not home all day while I’m at class and rehearsal.” I can’t bring myself to tell my father something I’d never want to tell him, so I excuse it away, realizing that he probably already knows, seeing as he can read my mind and see everything I do. Still, I keep my secret for now…until it doesn’t have to be a secret anymore.

  Crew

  12:07am

  She has no idea I’m here.

  I’ve been here since 10pm, waiting for her to show up. When she arrived just after 11:30, I watched her walk up to her father’s grave with a bounce in her step. She brushed off her father’s tombstone with her hand. Then she smiled. And I took her photo.

  Summer sat down and started talking to her father. I know how mad she got last year when I told her I was inadvertently eavesdropping, so I took a few big steps back to get out of earshot. Besides, I just wanted to watch her. She looked so warm and bright, quite a contrast to what I saw the last couple of years. Last year, her dull blond hair fell limp past her shoulders, her vacant eyes were hooded by her sadness, and her skin was sallow and pale. Summer’s composure screamed all of her emotions. She captivated me, enthralled me, enlightened me. She was anything but “summery.”

  But the girl in front of me looks like she’s taken a bath in sunshine. Her strawberry blond hair cascading in waves down her back. Her deep brown eyes so kind and gentle. But her smile says it all. It says that she’s happy and loving her life right now.

  For the first time in years, I feel like I can take a deep breath.

  When she stands and kisses her fingers, I realize that she’s making her way to leave. Slinging my bag over my shoulders, I make my presence known by walking straight toward her from the trees.

  Summer’s smile sticks to her face when she sees me. I think I’ve swallowed a bag of cotton balls, my mouth is so dry.

  “Hi, Crew. You made it,” she beams. It takes me a few moments to gather myself and form thoughts. She’s so damn beautiful that it’s hard to breathe.

  Speak, Crew.

  “Hi, Summer. I told you I would,” I reply and smile.

  She bends down to her father’s tombstone and whispers to him. “Thanks, Dad. I miss you every day. I’ll see you soon. Until then. I love you.” After pressing her fingers to her lips and then to the tombstone, she comes back to me.

  We start walking slowly together toward the bench we sat on last year. Her proximity is intoxicating, but I stay strong and focused, swinging my bag onto my shoulder.

  “Have you taken any good pictures lately?” she asks, playfully with a smile.

  I smile back at her. “I have, actually.” And they’re all of you.

  “Will you show them to me?”

  Remembering what she said last year, I reply, “I’d like to, but I can’t. I promised I wouldn’t show them to anyone.” I wink at her, and her half smile turns into a full-blown beaming smile, remembering our private joke.

  We stand behind the bench and face each other awkwardly, shifting on our feet in unison. Under other circumstances, I’d say we were almost dancing. But it feels good. Standing here with her feels really good, like all I needed to do this past year was see her beautiful face.

  There are so many things I need to tell her, but none of them seem to matter when she’s as happy as she is right now. I’m sure she’s already called for the car, so I know my time is limited.

  “Would you like to go get some waffles, Crew? I know this great diner down the street.” She shrugs her shoulders, looking more adorable than I can ever remember.

  Hell, yeah - I want to get some waffles.

  “Sure, Summer. Waffles sound good.
” My stomach might be empty, but I feel a warmness fill my body when I’m with her.

  I turn to walk next to her. Meandering slowly to the diner, I feel like time is standing still, and I want to soak it up before I our date tonight ends.

  “How’s school?” I ask her.

  She looks up to the sky and smiles wide. When she turns her face toward me, I actually feel my heart skip a beat. It’s like a thunder bolt in my chest.

  “School is good, really good,” she says, radiating confidence. It’s infectious, and I would give anything to crawl into her body and feel the same thing.

  “How was Europe?” she asks, confirming that her follow on my social media page wasn’t an accidental touch of the button.

  I smile. Not nearly as good as this. “Europe was good. I saw some amazing places while I was there.”

  “Did you travel all by yourself the whole time?”

  I laugh to myself. She must have seen the photos with some friends I met up with. One of my friend’s sister, Adriana, was attractive. She liked taking pictures with me and posting them. A lot.

  “I stayed with some friends here and there. I had a place in Italy but traveled all around.”

  My answer does nothing to pacify Summer. Despite looking so calm and confident, she seems to be reeling inside. It makes me laugh, seeing her somewhat jealous.

  “Why are you smiling?” she asks defensively but still smiling.

  “Because I think it’s cute that you’re jealous,” I reply.

  Her mouth drops open, and her cheeks turn beet red. She gives me a playful shove.

  “I’m not jealous!” she exclaims, feigning offense.

  Right.

  She turns her head forward and bites her lip to catch any more lies. Still smiling.

  I nudge her with my shoulder. She blushes.

  Blushing looks incredible on her.