The Part of Me with You

Chapter 3: Libby

Libby hadn't always been at war with the path her life was taking. She hadn't always harbored dreams about being a writer, and she still wasn't quite sure what it meant for her future. Her feedback in fiction courses so far had been less than ideal. Lackluster...that was what the professor with thick black glasses and buzzed grey hair said at one point about her characters, even as Libby thought that this woman would make a great one herself and resolved to add her into a future story.

Naturally, her family was still expecting her to follow the track she was on, to become the environmental lawyer she been talking about becoming since she was twelve. She'd started at the university last year as pre-law with a plan to double major in Political Science and English. She still could, but while she'd struggled to keep her mind from wandering out the window in her science classes, she'd fallen in love with the cozy hall where the English ones were held. The long discussions and the interesting people with even more interesting tales to tell, the assignments that barely felt like work and the reading time that was always excused because it was required...all of it was surreal, like it was this whole new world she couldn't have imagined herself exploring.

Miles on the other hand had always been sure that books were the way he wanted to live his life. If he could make a living that way, great. If not, he always said that baking bread was the next best thing anyway. Her parents, who did love him, had often spoken of "concern for his future." Of course, they were talking about money. He didn't exactly project the image of potential prosperity in his area of passion. His workspace was always cluttered with junk food and maps along with scratches of notes and plot lines,  and he spent his time researching obscure fantasy elements and commenting about them in online forums.

When they were younger, he'd cosplayed, he'd LARPed, he'd gamed. He'd worn pop culture t-shirts and had his own catch phrases. While he'd grown out of some of that on the exterior, he was still that nerdy kid at heart. And now, Libby had seen the overstuffed offices of the grad students and professors in her program. Their ever-present coffee-stained papers and ink-stained hands. She knew that Miles would fit right in if this was the route he chose to go. While her stories might always be just a hobby, she truly believed in his.

Which had made it all the harder to carry his work out of his room in a beat-up cardboard box bearing her name, reducing it to a bit of clutter. The night before, Mrs. Graham had called and asked her to stop by if she had the time. She said was cleaning up in Miles's room. Cleaning up, not cleaning out, a distinction she made very clear. She'd found some books and things of Libby's along with some of her son's fiction that she thought Libby might want to hold onto for him. She'd wanted to say no, to explain that his desk was his writing sanctuary and shouldn't be disturbed, that her own stuff could live there as long as it wanted...but it wasn't her house, and it wasn't her coping mechanism.

So, she dropped by and she took the box with a grateful smile. She'd really been missing this copy of Harry Potter, and the sweater she'd left behind ages ago. That was what she told Mrs. Graham before she'd driven home with a pit in her stomach, refusing to look in the rearview mirror. That was why the box was still here and why she'd crawled into bed numbly, forgetting to plug in her phone.

Miles's parents had both been invited to the shower today but so far Libby hadn't seen them. She wouldn't be surprised if they didn't show. They weren't doing well, and that was the best way to put it. With a sigh that fogged the window next to her, Libby turned off the ignition and carried the box back to the porch. If she was careful, it might be possible to make it to the stairs without being seen. She was just rising onto her tiptoes to peer through the glass of her own front door like a stalker when nearby someone cleared their throat, making her jump. It was the boy from her room, sitting on the far side of the porch swing and watching her warily.

Libby groaned, moving the box to her hip. "You should really wear a bell, you know that?"

His cheeks reddened. "I'm sorry about that," he said. "I was only looking at your books, but it wasn't appropriate."

She wanted to stay annoyed with him, even just for the trouble he had no idea he'd caused between her and her mother. But between the blushing and the downcast gaze of shame, she decided to accept his apology.

"So, which one caught your eye?" she asked, giving into her initial curiosity.

He looked up, seemingly relieved at the lack of anger in her response. "I never could pick favorites," he grinned.

Libby lifted an eyebrow as she studied him properly out here in the sunlight. She might have mistaken him for a caterer if she hadn't known they didn't hire any for today. He was dressed in black and his shirt had a collar, but it wasn't a classic button down. His shoes were a dressy style of brown boots instead of loafers. A very different sense of fashion than any other guy inside. It made him even more interesting than their initial encounter.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked even though he was the stranger, and this was her parents' porch.

He nodded politely and she sat down next to him while his eyes tracked her in a guarded way. The rest of his face remained open, pleasant.

"What's in the box," he asked in the same slight accent that she couldn't place.

"Oh, odds and ends," she said vaguely, then picked out a portion of the truth. "More books."

The corners of his mouth twitched upward. "It sounds like you can't get enough of them."

"I guess not." She crossed her legs beneath the swing, causing the whole thing to sway a bit. The silence between them stretched on. "So...even if you can't pick a favorite book, what do you usually like to read?

He thought for a moment. "I like to read about new places. Different worlds than the ones we know."

Libby smiled. "I get that. I have this friend... he really likes fantasy too, so for a while that was all I read because he had a new recommendation every week." She smiled at the thought of fourteen-year-old Miles shoving a book in her hands, usually with a dragon or a sword on the cover. "I guess I'm kind of the opposite, I'm more into science fiction."

"Science Fiction," he repeated.

"Yeah, the kind that tackles the real problems in our own world, you know? Not so much to escape things, but to understand them. It's what I like to write about too."

"You're a writer?" he asked, and Libby bit her tongue. She hardly ever told anyone about her stories, and she didn't even know this guy's name. How was it that he knew her Aunt and soon to be Uncle?

"Not really," she said, backtracking. "I'm Libby by the way."

He hesitated before giving his name. "Deluca."

"Deluca. So, are you from Italy?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but once more their conversation was interrupted by her mother at the door. She stuck her head outside, her mouth forming a thin line when she saw the two of them together again. Her words were like little pellets of hail on a roof, with no bit of patience in between.

"There you are. Elizabeth, I'd like it if you would come inside and talk to our guests." The screen door clattered shut before she could even blink. Libby sighed and looked down at her clasped hands, her fingernails digging into her palms. She could tell Deluca was watching her but when she turned her head, he'd moved his gaze to the sky.

"She thinks something happened between the two of us this morning," Libby explained. "It's not your fault, she just thinks everything I do right now is some sort of rebellion."

He nodded slowly. "And what are you rebelling against?" he asked.

"What? Nothing, I'm not. But...I should get inside. It was nice meeting you." She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd spilled out too much of herself, like overshooting the line on a measuring cup. She'd never been so forthcoming with someone she'd just met.

Libby picked up the box and paused at the door. "If you're sticking around, make sure you get some cake. It was insanely expensive."

He smiled. His eyes were still searching her face, but for what she couldn't guess. "Thank you," he said.

She shrugged, still self conscious, and left him there just as she'd found him.