As We Burn

Sixteen.

Crispen's car roars away from the Starbucks drive-thru window as he hands me one of the pumpkin spice lattes we ordered. The warm aromas of pumpkin, cinnamon, nutmeg, and clove surround us - the signature October scents. It reminds me of autumn back home, the one time my mother actually bakes. On the first of October, she would buy apples and oats from the local farmer's market to make a delicious apple crumble. It was crispy and soft at the same time, and it was absolutely delicious with a cold scoop of vanilla ice cream. Despite whatever was going on at the time, we would all put it aside to make time to sit together at the dinner table for her apple crumble. I can't help but feel a twinge of guilt as I wonder if she still made it this year, despite being all by herself. I like to imagine that she invited some of her friends over to share it with her. I know I need to call her; she would be giddy with excitement if I told her I was meeting Crispen's mother today. I suppose I'm afraid that her enthusiasm will transfer over to me, and I will get carried away in my wishful thinking again. After our conversation in the meadow, a sort of unspoken agreement has settled between Crispen and me. It's obvious that we want - need - each other, but we're both afraid of what that really means. For now, it's better to just take things slow, with zero expectations. I've come to learn that if you don't trust anyone, they can't let you down.

"Are you sure you'll be warm enough?" Crispen asks, his eyes briefly landing upon my thin denim jacket. It's getting cooler out as the day goes by, but I haven't had the time to pick out a new, warmer coat yet.

"I'll be fine. I need to start looking for something to replace this old thing," I answer, picking at the loose threads on its edges. Cripsen's brows are still pushed together in concern, and I feel a little embarrassed; his black leather jacket was probably triple the cost of mine.

"So this is your first time meeting your mom's new boyfriend?" I ask, changing the subject.

"Yeah. It's her first boyfriend since my dad died," he states bluntly.

"Oh, that must be really hard, for both of you," I point out.

"Kind of. I mean, I'm glad she's moving on and found someone to be with, you know? I just hope he's nothing like my father." I don't know how to respond to Crispen's minuscule insight into his past. I want to know more, I want to know all about his father and his mother and what chaos this boy has endured that caused him to become a collection of sharp and broken edges, too afraid to mend themselves back together. But I know now is not the right time to get into it.

"I'm sure it will be great. I'm excited to meet them," I say, trying to lighten the mood. Crispen's face relaxes and he takes a deep breath. I spend the next moments of silence trying to soothe my own nerves about meeting his mother and coming to terms with the drastic change in our situation since only this morning. It's crazy how one conversation can change everything and how much time we've already lost due to our lack of communication, but I guess that's just us - always one extreme to another. I try not to think about it. I can't let myself get lost in what could have been or would could be. I need to stay here, now, and get to know who Crispen St. Clair really is.

After a short little while, we pull into a dirt parking lot full of cars, a large white barn visible in the distance. We're clearly on the outskirts of Laurelwood; the smell of manure and hay fills the air. It's comforting in a way, and reminds me of the little beauty Eastview has. Crispen's phone vibrates and he tells me that his mother is already here, waiting for us. Instead of getting out of the car, he stays put in his seat, looking out the window. He's nervous.

"Hey," I say softly, placing my hand on his thigh. His head turns toward me, and I can tell my touch startled him. "We're in this together. And if anything goes wrong, we can head back home and do something else."