Page 13 of Beautiful Small Things

Since her older sister Colby was good friends with my best friend, Callan, I’d see Colby and James when there was a party or something for Callan and Nolan.

All I knew about James was that she loved to dance and eat. I wasn’t lying when I said she was a chubby little kid. She had long, unruly hair strewn with a dozen sparkly clips in her hair on any given day, and a tutu in various stages of tatters. She was always an unabashed hot mess. She was the very definition of a kid who did not give two fucks what anyone thought of her.

She was also a stem cell match for Nolan and had saved his life when she was born, making her very special to everyone.

As time went on, I saw her less and less. Colby went to a different school than us, and she and Callan drifted over time, as often happens with childhood friendships.

James wouldn’t become more firmly planted in my life for quite some time.

I ran into Colby when she started at the same university Callan and I attended. He had been in a bad place mentally for several years, despite my attempts to help him enjoy life.

As soon as I saw Colby, I knew she was what he needed. Turns out I was right. I just had to help him get out of his own way. James was the 13-year-old in the picture at that time. I saw her sporadically at family gatherings. She was an adorable kid. Hilarious and quick-witted with a snarky attitude of a teenage girl who knows everything.

It was also obvious she had a crush on me. She didn’t hide it very well. She would get red in the face when I spoke to her and gnaw on her thumbnail like a rat with a piece of plywood. She’d trip, drop things, and stammer, and then get pissed off about it and turn that snark toward me. I thought it was endearing, which only seemed to piss her off more. That became our dynamic for a long time. I never took it seriously. She was just a kid. I laugh at how tenacious she was. It reminds me a lot of Iris, actually.

Chapter seven

Worst Christmas Ever

James

I’m absolutely exhausted by the time I finish at the studio. I know my husband is fast asleep, so I don’t bother calling or texting. He has some pretty difficult things going on with work right now, and I’m stuck here in this stupid hotel until this studio gets up and running.

After my shower, my body is aching and ready for sleep, but my mind won’t turn off. I loved seeing Iris today. I have missed her over the past several days.

Her questions have been awakening thoughts that I don’t often revisit anymore. As we get older, people tend to think about the past less and less and focus instead on the time in front of them. Marcus would say it’s an issue of dealing with mortality. I think it’s because looking back at the past can be embarrassing. For example, how I acted around Marcus when I first developed a crush on him.

“Oh my God,” I recall, hiding my head under the covers as I remember all the times I tried to get him to notice me.

I morph back into that girl as I think about it. He was so cute when I first saw him in a restaurant after my sister started dating his best friend. He walked in after a football game, all six feet, three inches of him, with wet blonde hair, blue eyes, a smile a mile wide, and enigmatic energy that drew everyone in. Men and women alike stared at him.

He sat beside me and smiled politely before saying, “Hi, James,” and then began speaking to my parents. I was amazed that he knew my name. He paid attention to me. In my mind, that meant we were so obviously meant to be.

I fumbled and bumbled my way through the evening. I spilled my water glass, tripped over all of my words, dropped silverware on the floor, and acted like a complete lunatic. He smiled, calmly cleaned up the water spill, stole a clean fork off an empty table, and gave me a hug at the end of the evening.

In his mind, it was a brotherly hug. In mine, it was the hottest moment of my life. I could feel his muscles through his tight henley tee shirt and smell his cologne and body soap against my skin. I didn’t wash that stupid shirt for weeks because it smelled like him. I even slept in it.

I was such a dork. I spent my time in school ignoring boys my own age and doodling “James Arielle Sinclair” all over my notebooks. I told no one about my secret crush. They couldn’t possibly understand our connection. But one day everyone would see what I knew to be true. One day we would be together.

Instead, one day, my dream came crashing around me like an imperfectly created domino house that gets knocked over by the family dog, and no one bothers to fix it because it was crap to begin with.

The dog who knocked over my domino house was named Stacy. She was blonde with legs that reached her neck. Impossibly skinny with a flat stomach and big boobs. Marcus brought her to my home for a Christmas party when I was still a pubescent girl with braces, acne, and though I had shed the baby fat, I had no curves.

James - Age 14

“You look so cute, Little Mermaid,” Colby says, leaning in my door to steal a look at me.

“Don’t call me Little Mermaid, and don’t come in my room,” I inform her, marching across the area to shut the door in her face with a loud “slam.”

“OK,” I hear her mumble through the door like she’s pressing her lips to the door jam. “You’re a little crazy, but I still love you.”

Pfft. I’m not crazy, I think, turning and looking at my reflection in the mirror. I’m on a mission. A mission to finally get Marcus to notice me. I’m almost 15. Some girls at school have already gone to third base by age 15. Not that I want to do that. Besides, Marcus is a gentleman. He will fall in love with me and wait until I’m 18. Then we can be together and tell the world about our love.

I totally look the part. My hair is curled and bouncy, flowing down my back. My dress is black and plain but follows my frame. My boobs are starting to come in, helped by the padding in my bra, but my hips are still slender and slightly boy-like because I dance. But it doesn’t matter. Marcus likes smart women. I just know it. And I have that in spades.

My nails are painted and my lips are glossed. I step into heels I have no business wearing and look at my reflection one last time. “This is it, James,” I say to myself. “This is the night he finally sees you as a woman.”

I walk in the living room to “oohs and aahs” from my parents and sister.