All the Missing Pieces (UNDER REVISION)

Twelve

                       When I wake up in the morning, I have no idea where I am, but I do know that my head is on fire. I run a hand through my hair and realize my skin is bare. I'm not wearing a shirt or pants. Just boxers and socks. What the fuck. The room I'm in is light already, the walls covered in paper. I rub my eyes and look at the wall again. Not paper, paintings, I realize. They're paintings. I groan and look around. There's paint on every surface - even the bed spread. I slowly take in the assets of the room - a white lamp, a wooden desk, teal curtains cracked open to let sunlight in, an old Apple desktop reflecting the morning sun. Where am I? Finally, my brain puts everything together. This must be James' room. "How?" I mutter, and sit up. James is lying down on the floor in the corner of the room, reading a book. "Good morning," He says. I yawn and prop myself up with my elbows. Then it hits me, I literally spent the night in James' bed. I suppose he probably wasn't sleeping with me because there's a stack of pillows and a blanket on the floor, but still. James sits up, and my face heats up when I remember that I'm not wearing a shirt. He puts his book down on the floor, and bites his lower lip inquisitively. "Hey," I say. I smile for a second, trying to remember anything at all from the previous night. "How did I get here?" I ask him. "Emily and I dragged you in here like a corpse." He replies. I narrow my eyes and nod my head rhythmically for a minute as silence pursues. Breaking the silence, he then asks quietly, "Do you remember anything?"
"The last thing I remember is talking to the baseball team at Jared's house. Why, did I do something stupid, like, I dunno make out with Marina?" His face scrunches slightly, "I did, didn't I? What did I do? Oh dios." I know I wouldn't have done anything stupid with Marina, but James? I shudder at the thought of my own plausible stupidity. "James you'll tell me if I did something outrageous? One night and I lose all my dignity, aye dios."
"No you didn't do anything," He says, almost hesitantly. I try to make eye contact but he looks away. "I didn't do anything stupid?"
"No." He glances at his book he's folded over on the ground, and puts the bookmark inside of it. I sigh out of relief. "What time is it? Like ten?" I ask. "It's almost two now, actually."
"Mierda, really?" He nods, pointing to the clock. I stand up and instantly sit back down because I'm seeing stars. "Take it easy." James says, standing up himself. "Do you want some water?" He asks. "Water?" I daze off for a second. Water. I contemplate the word. I feel certain something happened last night pertaining to water, but what? I blink, "Uh, sure."
"I'll grab you a shirt from my dad's closet too. Mine probably won't fit." He scratches the back of his neck and smiles at me, but then continues on his way to the kitchen. I find my pants on the floor and slide them on before crossing my legs on his bed and getting comfortable. I take in his room. Paintings are pinned to every feasible surface. Some are pinned to the ceiling above his bed, some on the floor, a few on every wall, and a literal rack with painting after painting set on top of it. Each and every one of them blows my mind. On the wall to my left, a painting of a bear in the sunset, some flowers, and two people are pinned to the wall. Another painting, the only one on a canvas that I can see, catches my eye, though. A boy sits on a hill looking over a city. The city is surrounded by orange and pink strokes that I assume to be the sun set. It's so vibrant, yet somehow the piece is sad. Most of all, it looks so realistic. I don't know how James does that. I think I fall in love with him just a little bit more in that second.

          James re-enters the room with a bottle of water and some Advil. "I figured you could use this." He says, handing me the water and the Advil, and laying the shirt on the bed between us. It's an ugly yellow shade, with NATROIL CO written across it in big blue letters. I down the Advil, and then slide the shirt over my head. "Your room is awesome."
"Thanks." He says, sitting next to me on his bed our knees are centimeters apart. That always seemed like some epic movie troupe. The knees scooting closer together. But he doesn't move towards me, so I just sit there. "I really like that one," I say pointing to the one of the boy looking over the city. "Ah that one. I think I've decided that's the one I'm going to submit for the festival this summer."
"It's incredible." He blushes. "How come you don't show us more?"
"I dunno, it's like. They usually don't turn out how I want them to. Like, I have this picture in my head and they just- they're not it."
"They're so cool though!" He smiles.
"Yeah." He adjusts his glasses. I look at him and sigh. "I should probably go. I don't want to overstay my welcome, I mean, I'm in your friggin house that's never happened." I say. "No, I mean you're fine. Like, I guess you have to go home at some point, but it's not like you've overstayed or anything."
"Oh, well, thanks," I pause, "I just kinda thought, you know, you never invite us over. You always insist on walking home yourself or something,"
"I dunno. I'm not crazy about the idea of any of you meeting my dad. Plus the house is always messy."
"Oh." His room looks relatively neat, paintings aside. His art supplies is organized, there's no laundry on the floor, and the books are sorted by color on the shelves. He sees that I'm thinking about it, and notes, "It's the rest of the house." He swings his feet against the side of the bed.
"I guess I should call my mom and let her know I'm alive. I'll tell her to pick me up at three thirty-ish?"
"Sure. By the way, I texted them that you were coming over last night so they, like, know where you are."
"Oh thank God! You're a blessing." He smiles. "Your phone is on the nightstand. I plugged it in for you." I reach over and pick it up. I can't remember the last time I had to call my mom and get her to come pick me up.
"Hey mamá."
"Hola, mijo, ¿Que pasa?"
"Could you pick me up from James' house at like 3:30?"
"Yeah, sure! I'll need an address, though."
"Oh, uh," I turn to James, "What's your address?"
"413 Maple Street," He says. "413 Maple Street."
"Okay, I'll be there soon."
"Okay."
"By the way, ¿cómo era la noche pasada? ¿No hiciste algo estúpido con su amorcito, sí?"
"Mom! I'm hanging up right now."
"Jaja, te quiero." She hangs up. "So," I say.
"What was that about?" James says. "She wanted to know if I did anything with Marina."
"Haha, ew."
"I know right?" Suddenly, the door swings open a little. "Mrow." A slightly obese, light brown cat walks in. "Mae, you have a cat?"
"Yeah. This is Waffles."
"Aw." Waffles reaches his paws as far up on the bed as he possibly can, like he wants to join us. James picks him up, and pulls the cat into his lap. "Hey bud." He says, scratching the cat behind the ears. "Mrow," Waffles replies. "Why didn't I know you have a cat? What else are you hiding from me, mae? Amazing paintings, chubby kittens? What other lies?" He laughs, rubbing his fingers in circles on Waffles' head. "Uh, I have another cat named Checkers but he kinda disappears. He's an outdoor cat." I rub Waffles on the head, and he swats his little paw at me. "Awww."
"You're a total dork for a high school jock," he teases.
"Hey! I'm not a dork. I just love cats. And dogs. And basically all animals."
"Whatever you say." He drops Waffles onto the floor and stands up. "Do you want anything to eat?" I've been so distracted all morning I've totally forgotten that I haven't eaten. "Yes."
"We've got sandwich stuff, if you want." I nod my head, following him into the kitchen. The rest of his house is completely different from his room. The walls have peeling wallpaper, bottles are strewn all over the tables and magazines tossed carelessly onto the floor.

And there's not a single piece of artwork on any surface.

"Sorry. I know it's really messy. You getting too drunk to go home was not exactly part of the plan." He picks up a few bottles off of the floor. "I'm sorry, you know. I really wanted you to come over sooner." He looks at me with dread in his eyes. "You don't have to explain, dude."
"It's just me and my dad," He says anyways, "My mom died when I was five from pancreatic cancer."
"Oh. James, I'm so sorry."
"It's okay. I don't remember her that much anyways. But yeah, it's just been me and my dad since and he took it sorta. Well. Sorta hard. As young as I was, I don't remember what it was like to watch her suffer. But I read some articles about it when I got older. You just kind of waste away. Your body shuts down slowly. My dad had to go through all of that alone with a five year old kid." We walk into the kitchen. I stop him by the fridge and awkwardly pat his back. "Huh?"
"I'm sorry. I know you said it's okay but really, if you need anything ever I'm here for you." He leans his head against my chest. I gasp. What the hell am I supposed to do in this moment? I reassuringly hug him, if that's a thing that people do. "Thanks," He says. We just stand there for a second. It felt so right. I want to live in this moment for a while longer, but he pulls his head off of my chest, and opens the fridge. It's surprisingly organized. He notes my shock, "I take care of the food most of the time."
"Yeah, I see that."
"So, grilled cheese?"
"Sure." He pulls out some cheese and shuts the fridge.

            I'm now realizing that I know a lot less about James than I thought I did. Because aside from all of his amazing drawings, and Waffles and Checkers, he's also amazing at making grilled cheese. "Dios mío, dude this is the best grilled cheese ever."
"After 12 years of living on a grilled cheese and salad diet, I consider myself an expert. It's all in the butter. If you're not using Irish butter, you're not making grilled cheese." Waffles the cat hobbles into the kitchen and rubs up against his leg. "I'll say it again, what other secrets are you hiding from me, James O'Connor?"
"Honestly that's about it. I guess I'm kinda obsessed with comic books if that's anything, my middle name is Quinn, uhhhh... Oh! I took an embroidery class once."
"DC or Marvel?" I ask. "DC for sure, the art's way better, but I like Marvel okay."
"We're just gonna have to agree to disagree on that one." He rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. I've learned more about him today than I thought was possible; he's finally letting me in a little bit. My heart flutters. It's the best feeling, even if my head feels like someone just bashed it in with a hammer and I can barely walk in a straight line.

---------

Twenty minutes later, amidst the greatest debate about DC versus Marvel in all of history, there's a knock at James' door. "That's probably my mom."
"Yeah."
"Do I have anything else that I brought?"
"I think your keys, your shirt, and your tie are on my bedside table." He runs to get them for me, and I open the door for my mom. "Hola, mijo."
"Hey." She quickly surveys the room. "You can come in!" James shouts from his bedroom. She steps inside. James rushes to the door with my belongings. "I'm sorry, I know it's a disaster."
"No it's okay." If anything, my mom seems slightly shocked. "I get it. Our house isn't ever clean either." He nods in agreement. "Well, I'll see you Monday," I say. "Yeah," He adjusts his glasses, and waves as he shuts the door behind us.
"So any funny business with James?"
"Dios mío, mamá!" I shout. Then I mutter half heartedly, "He's not, you know."
"Are you so sure?"
"He kissed Emily like eight times last night, mom, yes I'm sure." She seems a bit unsure. I change the subject, "He has cats."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah, they're named Waffles and Checkers."
"Cool."
"His mom passed away 12 years ago."
"Oh."
"Yeah." She breathes, "That sucks."
"Yeah." She taps her fingers on the steering wheel. "It'll be okay," She says.
"Huh?"
"Life's a bitch, but I swear to you it gets better." I wonder if she's talking about me or James. Maybe she's talking about both of us. Regardless, I think 'it gets better' is way too optimistic, but I don't say anything. I just nod my head and turn on the radio.