In Our Bones

And then before I knew it, we were all sixteen, juniors in high school, taking AP classes and drowning in the work. Kansas made the dance team and she lost much of her baby fat, her belly flattening but her curves remaining. I still ran the mile on the track for P.E. and Booker starred on the swim team. Those two seemed to excel at everything while I went on being mediocre.

I couldn't tell you what made me start staring back at Booker that year. He wasn't shy anymore; he didn't look away when I caught his eye. We'd share heated glances across classrooms, our eyes focused on reading one another. If I'd been made of glass, one look from him would have been powerful enough to shatter me.

Kansas was president of her Spanish Club by junior year. It kept her busy during breaks and lunch. Booker and I kept eating Pick Up Stix and throwing curly fries at each other. Sometimes we threw Skittles too, but we usually tried catching those with our mouths. On rainy days we'd stopped going to the gym. We'd walk the field, huddled under one umbrella, talking still about everything and nothing just like we'd done for years.

I knew everything about Booker and Booker knew everything about me. We were best friends.

And then came the day he dumped Kansas and kissed me in the community college parking lot. The hardest decision of my life was to send him back to her. I'd gone home and cried and cried and cried. It was like losing Daddy all over again, except it felt that this time I had been the one to die. A piece of me had died with losing Booker to Kansas yet again.

So I guess my point is, I've loved Booker for a long time.

But Kansas loved him longer.

And that made him hers.

"You have to go, Booker."

He looked at me, his eyes red. "I know."

—

When I woke in the morning, it was a Friday and I was late to work. I was also a little hungover so I called out, letting the hospital know that I might pop in later in the afternoon to finish my shift.

Waking up alone in an empty bed after making love was something that made my heart hollow, like it had been carved out, just a heart-shaped hole left behind.

Booker. I missed him.

I'd known Booker under a different sun. He'd been the guy who'd held me after my first heartbreak, the guy who'd been wiping my tears away for years, the guy who'd taught me how to drive, but we weren't sixteen anymore. We were twenty-two now, and everything changed the moment Booker proposed to my best friend. I'd been so happy for them. So fucking happy.

So why did I go home and cry?

They were so in love.

And I was so fucking lonely.

After the engagement, I couldn't stop thinking about Booker. It was like subtle little hints from my fucked-up brain, little images of our childhood; of climbing trees and breaking my arm, of a Booker who'd carried me back to the house even though I could walk; of Daddy passing away and Booker being there by my side, holding my hand in a tight grip through the eulogy that Aspen delivered; of the way he taught me how to be studious and approach a problem with the knowledge that there would always be an answer; of just how warm his hugs had been, always making me feel better.

And those eyes. Those wild, untamed eyes, the color of a fresh drizzle of honey, heavenly sweet. That dark hair, always a little unkempt, tousled thick locks. The hard lines that appeared on his face where there had once been soft curves; a strong jaw, sharpened cheekbones, dimples you could run your finger down. Tall, so fucking tall that he towered over you, which was unbearably funny because you'd spent so much of your childhood not noticing because you'd always been equals, but now he was better somehow, better than you could ever hope to be.

Had I lied to Kansas at the wedding? Had I really not cared that her husband still had feelings for me?

No.

I did not want Booker. That was pure and honest truth. I'd never wanted Booker.

But I did need him.

God, how I needed him.

There was an avalanche of change, a rush of cold feelings that hit me so hard and so fast that there was no escaping. No rescue team in the world could dig me out of that snow, out of that creeping darkness, white-hot and freezing. I was dead inside. Maybe I was just crazy.

Why was I pining after my best friend's husband?

But Booker had said it years ago, hadn't he? He wasn't her property. Kansas did not own him. If only she'd never fallen for him, if only she'd found someone else to love, maybe, just maybe, Booker and I would have naturally fallen in line, organically becoming what we'd always been meant to become: one; one mind, one body, one soul.

Because it had always been him, hadn't it? He'd always been there, always understood me, always protected me, and comforted me. He was Booker, and he'd always loved me first; he'd always loved me most.

Why did I push him away?

Because I loved Kansas. I loved her so much that I fucking sacrificed the one thing, the one person, that filled the emptiness inside my heart. Booker took the void and swallowed it whole, dissolving it on his tongue, destroying the dark.

And I could have had him.

I should have had him.

Booker.

Booker.

Booker.

I love you.

—

I didn't end up going to work. Jamie arrived at half-past six, dressed in his partying best, his golden hair sleek and slicked back from his handsome face. His blue eyes were bright, and he was cheerful as he stepped into my apartment and kissed me on the cheek.

"Ready?" he asked.

I was wearing a flowery dress with a thin belt to cinch in my waist, boots, some bangles on my wrists, and feather earrings. Yeah, don't judge me. It was 2005, okay? I felt cute, and Jamie seemed to agree.

"Cutie," he cooed.

I chewed my bottom lip. I needed to do something. I'd thought about it all day and prepared.

"We need to talk about something before we go," I said. I felt so ashamed, so guilty, so afraid. Jamie was Bad News, but even Bad News didn't deserve to be cheated on. He deserved to know. I had to tell him.

Jamie reached out and placed a finger on my hickey. "Babe, I already know."

My face burned hot. "I-I'm so sorry."

"Lucky fucker, isn't he?" Jamie mused. "Always knew I wasn't meant to have you for the long haul. Was good while it lasted, wasn't it? We had some pretty great sex."

He grinned and I couldn't help but return a watery smile.

"Don't, babe," Jamie said, wiping away a tear from the corner of my eye with his thumb. "We had a good run. Friends?"

"Friends," I agreed.

"You better make up for cheating on me by being the best fucking wing-woman there is."

"For sure," I said, sniffling and laughing at the same time. Jamie opened his arms and I fell into them, taking in the smell of his ridiculously expensive cologne, and felt the crinkle of his freshly pressed shirt. He was a sleaze, but he was still a catch and someday, someone was going to see that in him. He deserved the very best.

We slid into a waiting cab, giggling about something stupid, and bar-hopped for the rest of the night. I did end up helping Jamie with women, pretending to be more interested in him than I actually was, giving him my own sleazy version of Juno. I talked him up with some girls in the restroom, telling them that I'd slept with him before, that he was amazing in bed but hard to lock down. Ah, a challenge. Nothing a woman loved better than a chase, despite what the rom-coms may tell you. Needless to say, Jamie went home with some hot chick that night, courtesy of my drunken praising of his dirty tricks in bed.

At two in the morning, I knew where I was headed. Drunk, but I'd been drinking water the last hour, so I was feeling better. I relieved myself in the restroom and called myself a cab. While I waited for it, my cell rang. It was Booker.

"Where are you?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

"Waiting for my cab."

"How drunk are you?"

"I'm fine."

"Fuck the cab. Cancel it. Which bar are you at?"

"Hopscotch off Commonwealth Avenue and—"

"I know where it is. Give me five minutes. I'm coming to get you."

I called and canceled my cab while I waited on the sidewalk. As promised, five minutes later a black Camaro came to a stop on the street beside me. I walked over, opened the door, and slid into the seat. My seat was heated and warm, and the car was nice and dark.

"June," Booker murmured, and I finally looked at him. He had a tired, lopsided smile on his face, looking at me with love in his eyes, observing me in a way that filled up the hollowness in my heart. He reached for my face, cupping my cheeks in the palms of his big, warm hands.

"Kiss me," I whispered, and he did.

A car horn went off behind us, jolting us apart.

"Oops," Booker said, laughing. He was still stopped in the middle of the street. He put the car in drive and drove off, that smile still on his face, and it made me happy, so unbelievably happy to know that I was the reason it was there.

Booker drove us to a park. We got out into the cold air and he put an arm around me, pulling me against his warm, hard body. I hugged him, looking up at him as the moonlight shone down on us, his dark hair shining. It was at that moment that I felt a drop of water on my forehead. Then another on my cheek, and another on my nose.

"It's sprinkling," I said, my eyes wide.

"No shit," Booker said, grinning.

"Let's go back to the car."

"June," Booker said, stopping me by pulling me tighter against his body. "I know this is cliché and stupid, but I'd like to kiss you in the rain."

The sprinkling turned into rain, and I got on my tip-toes, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him down until his lips met mine. We kissed in the dark park in the middle of the night, kissing like it'd hurt not to, kissing like we'd die without it. Booker opened his coat and I snuggled into it. He closed the coat around me, and I looked up at him, the rain soaking us both, but neither of us was shivering.

We had each other.

We'd always had each other.

He was the one.

"I'm leaving Kansas."

The moment was shattered.

"Booker, you can't. She's preg—"

"I know, but I'm sick without you, June," Booker said.

"Why did you marry her in the first place?" I finally asked. The question had been burning inside of me for months. I'd always been afraid of the answer. What if he really, really loved her? More than me? What if I was just something on the side, something to pass the time and keep his bed warm?

"She gave me an ultimatum. Get married or break up," Booker said. "I thought... I thought that if we broke up, things would get awkward with all three of us. I wasn't sure how Kansas would react. I didn't know if she'd be vindictive and turn you against me. I couldn't stand the idea of losing you both. It scared the shit out of me, June. So I married her."

I frowned. "Booker, nothing can turn me against you. I can make my own decisions."

"I know," he said, sighing. "I just—panicked."

"You got married because you were afraid of losing us?" I asked. I mean, me and Kansas were pretty much his oldest and closest friends. It made sense.

His voice was soft when he spoke. "I got married because I was afraid of losing you."

This was so fucked up. Kansas would be heartbroken if she ever found out. I tried to put myself in her shoes, tried to imagine what this kind of betrayal would feel like so that I could locate my conscience, but Jiminy Cricket was nowhere to be found. I loved Kansas. She'd always been there for me, had helped me through so many hardships in my life, and was so fucking cheerful and kind and sweet that it hurt to do this to her.

Except I wasn't doing this to her.

I was doing it to me. I was the one fucking my relationships up. I'd already lost Jamie. Next Kansas would find out and then she'd give Booker another ultimatum: their child or me. I already knew Booker well enough to know he'd pick his child, and I wouldn't want it any different either. There was only one ending to this story. The genre?

It's a fucking tragedy.

It's also my life. My real life, the life I have to live, the actions I have to someday answer for.

"Booker, we can't do this anymore."

"June—"

"No," I said firmly. "You're having a baby. Don't let that kid grow up without a father. We both... We both know what it's like to lose a father. Be there for everything, Booker. The first steps, the baseball games, the family dinners and the holidays. Go back to Kansas and make that happen. If you're the man I think you are, that's exactly what you'll do."

We both had tears in our eyes. This wasn't just sex. This wasn't purely physical. This went beyond that, right into the center, right into the soul, right where there was the worst pain imaginable. This was like splinters under the fingernails, stepping on a nail, chipping your tooth on something hard; so terrible that you don't even want to think about it.

I kissed him again, knowing that it was over. Half of my life, loving a boy who would later become a man, was over.

"I love you, Booker."

"And I love you, June."

—

On a beautiful late summer day in 2006, Cade Phoenix Booker was born into the world with ten perfect tiny fingers, ten perfect tiny toes. It was love like I couldn't describe; the second I set eyes on that little boy, he instantly became the center of my universe. He wasn't my son, but he didn't have to be. He was two halves of a whole, made up of the two people I loved more than anything in this world: Booker and Kansas. I loved everything about Cade, from his cute little button nose to the startling honey-colored eyes to that beautiful dark hair. He was the spitting image of his father, but he had his mother's personality; he was loud, a wailer, and he had some sass in him.

I was the first person in the entire world that got to hold him. He was so small, so delicate and fragile that it seemed like it should be illegal for me to even touch him. I rocked him, cooed at his adorable face, and let him hold my finger when he cried. He had a tight grip, and very beautiful little hands. If given the time, I'm sure I could spend the rest of my life praising this kid. He was just perfect.

And I loved him.

The nurses took him to be checked and cleaned and I just kind of stood there, the video camera on a chair beside me. I picked it up, shut it off and slumped down onto the chair, exhausted. I'd been standing and recording for hours while Kansas had been in labor. Hell, she'd been pushing for almost an hour. I had caught every second of it, just as she'd asked me to. That's why they'd wanted me to be first to hold Cade. They wanted the shot of him being brought to the camera, the first look at him after being born.

What a privilege it had been.

Booker walked over, taking off the latex gloves he'd been given to wear while cutting the umbilical cord. He threw the gloves in the trash and sighed, looking dazed. There were tears in his eyes.

"Congratulations, Booker," I said, smiling. "He's beautiful."

"He is, isn't he?" called a weary voice from in front of us. It was Kansas. She was red in the face, exhausted but ready to hold her baby. The nurse brought him over and helped teach her how to get Cade to latch.

"Not even five minutes old and the kid already gets his first view at a naked breast," I said.

"I worry about you sometimes," Booker said, laughing. I stuck my tongue out at him.

I wanted to spend every last second with that baby, but Cade wasn't mine, so I left him with his parents and went to grab something to eat from the cafeteria. I bought and ate some chicken tortilla soup and on my way back, as I was passing the gift shop, I ran into Aspen.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. Aspen had dyed her hair a light pink and was impossible to miss. She really stood out in an orchestra. I was told they hated it, but she was too good not to hire.

"Oh, I'm here buying a teddy bear and flowers for my husband's graduation," she answered dryly.

"You don't have a husband."

"Exactly, Juno," she said, rolling her eyes as she paid the cashier. "Why else would I be here? I want to see the new Booker baby."

"He's perfect, Aspen," I said dreamily.

"Booker or the kid?"

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "The baby."

"The way you were making googly eyes at Booker at the baby shower, it was hard to tell."

See, here's the thing about my sister: she's annoyingly perceptive. She's mindful of everything, and is always observing, always watching, like she's Big Brother or something, except she'd be Big Sister. She probably already suspected that I was in love with Booker.

"I was not making googly eyes at anybody."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that," Aspen said, giving a bright smile to the cashier as he handed her the receipt. I could see that she'd momentarily stunned him. Yeah, Aspen's pretty. Like really pretty. She gets that kind of reaction out of everybody. I grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her out of the gift shop before he could stupidly ask her for her number. He had zero chance.

"If only you'd make googly eyes at somebody. Then maybe I'd have a niece or nephew," I said.

"Juno, you know I'm gay."

I laughed, which made her laugh. Aspen being a lesbian made no difference; she was still so single by choice.

"Well, adopt or something already! I want a baby," I said.

"So make one, Juno," Aspen said. "No one's stopping you."

"What's stopping you?"

"My career. I don't have time for children."

"Ah, yes. The greatest pianist of our time," I said, winking.

"Shut up."

We started walking toward the elevator to get up to the maternity floor. Aspen suddenly looked troubled and distracted.

"What's up?" I said.

"It's just... You know you can't have Booker, right?"

I stopped in my tracks, and a moment later, she noticed and stopped too.

"I-I wouldn't—"

"But you did," Aspen said. "You already did."

"What are you talking about?" My heart was racing. I hadn't told her. I hadn't even hinted at it. And Booker and I were over. We'd been over for months.

"I heard you."

"What?"

"It was a couple of months ago. I was going to drop off a book I'd borrowed from you, and that's when I heard the banging and screaming. I thought you were in trouble or something. I even got my mace out and everything, but then I heard you, and I heard Booker too. You were fucking him, Juno." She looked so disappointed in me. My sister meant the world to me. I'd always looked up to her and begged for her attention growing up. To have her displeased with me? That was rough.

"Aspen, I can explain."

"I know you can," she said softly. "But you don't have to. Just tell me it's over."

"It is," I said, a tear falling down my cheek. "It's been over for months."

"For the record, Juno, I always thought it should've been you," Aspen said. "Booker was in love with you from day one. Any idiot could have seen that. But I'm glad you two ended things. He's married, Juno. You can't—you're not that person, okay? Don't go down that route."

"I won't."

"Good," she said, holding out her arms. I hugged her, wiping my cheek. I was choking on my feelings again. I loved Booker. I loved him so much that it hurt.

And I couldn't have him.

Ever.

Ten minutes later, Aspen was holding Cade in her arms, cooing to him, wiggling her finger, kissing his head and Kansas asked me to take Booker down for something to eat.

"I'm not hungry," he said immediately. We'd been avoiding being alone together.

"Nonsense," Kansas said, munching down her own meal that a nurse had delivered to her just moments before. "I'm starving, you're starving, and Juno was starving until she went down to the cafeteria. Show him where it is, Juno?"