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Famous Shaye Evans Quotes

“I knew,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to mine, “when I developed a crush on you.” My eyes flashed open. “But we drifted apart,” I whispered. He shook his head. “I was scared of how you’d react, that my feelings would complicate things, ruin our friendship. That is why we didn’t hang out much as we got older. We didn’t drift apart. I pushed you away.”

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“What kind of a father could do that?! It was bad enough—” I cut him off. “Wait, what?” I snapped my head toward him, knowing my gaze was glassy, the corners of my eyes stinging with tears that had forced their way to the surface. “How could your dad do that to you, let alone at this time of the year? And after everything with your mom—Christmas is about family.” “Wait,” I sniffed, wiping my eyes with the backs of my hands. “You were calling my dad a prick?” “Yeah, who else? Why are you cryin— Oh, Harper, no, I didn’t mean you.”

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“Whoa.” I snapped my head toward him then glanced over my shoulder to a gurney being rushed up the hall. “You’re sure you’re okay to leave? You’re not very… aware.” “Yeah, I’m fine.” I nodded. “So what did the doctor say?” he questioned as we continued down the hall. “He was concerned about the graze,” I said. “Told me to keep an eye on it and gave me some bandages to redress it every day.” I reached up and touched the bandage, trying to remove the creamy-colored gauze from my line of vision. It was protruding from beneath my eye. “He redressed it, and not well, I might add.”

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“The drive from the hospital to this street feels weird. It’s so quick compared to walking,” I murmured absently. Cash turned his head and stared at the side of my face. “You walked to the hospital?” “’Course.” I sat back. “It’s not like driving is really an option around these parts.” “No wonder you were cold. I thought you must have ridden a bike or something.” I snorted and rolled my eyes, turning my head toward him. “Do you really see me on a bike, of any kind?” “Point taken.”

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“Your room is empty,” he breathed, sliding in beside me. “Everything’s gone.” “What do you mean, ‘everything’s gone?’” “Your dad donated your furniture, clothes, bed, everything, to the Salvation Army. But I did manage to find this.” From around the other side of his body, he revealed a little brown plush dog. Its ears were dark brown and a white stripe ran from its forehead down to its paws. Its eyes drooped low, sad and sulky, almost crying as it looked up at you. Mom had given him to me when I was little. I had been begging for a dog for years, but Dad refused. He didn’t think I was responsible enough to look after it. “I found him sitting on the hall table and remembered what he used to mean to you.” “Thank you, Cash,” I whispered, glancing at him as tears welled. “Dad sure cleaned me out fast…” A smirk pulled at the corners of my mouth as I attempted to make it a joke, like I didn’t care, but my voice broke. “Oh, Harper.” Cash’s arms wound around my shoulders and pulled me in close. I rested my head in his shoulder and allowed the tears to flow freely, not just because of what my father had done, but for everything. For everything I’d bottled up in the six years since Mom had fallen sick. I’d held back the tears of fear and sadness, not wanting to upset Mom, then stopped them in the eyes of my father. But now, I could let them go, without fear of judgement, because Cash got me; he understood.”

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“He disowned me,” I murmured. “Kicked me out and told me to come back when I changed my choice.” “He seriously used those words? That it was a choice?” I nodded. “You can’t change it. Your sexuality is like your DNA. You can’t cut off your finger so it’s no longer there, because it is you. You’re born with it—you just discover it when you mature.”

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“Do you remember how your mom would wrap the presents so well it’d take at least five minutes to find where you could rip the paper?” I snorted. “Yes, and they were wrapped so much it was like unwrapping a hundred packages from morning ‘til lunch. It was Mom’s way of extending Christmas.” “I loved that—it always built the excitement. Just when you thought you had it, you had to unroll it. I miss her—she was like a second mother to me.”

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“I understand. Just long as you know it wasn’t and isn’t your fault, Harper. It was an illness, one you had no control over. ” “I think deep down I did, I do, but hearing someone like Dad say it was my fault, it…” I trailed off, shaking my head. “It made it real.” “Yeah, exactly.” I nodded absently. “I’m selfish… It’s easy for me to say all that when—”

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“done this. “Fay… I-I’m…” I swallowed and bit my lip. Cash wound his arm around my shoulders, and it was all I needed to find the strength, because I knew, no matter what, he’d always be there for me. “I’m gay. Dad kicked me out last night and accidently slammed the door in my face. That’s how I bruised my cheek.” Her eyes flicked from me to Cash and how he was holding me. A new realization dawned across her face. Her lips parted and she slowly raised her hand to her lips. I wondered if she saw the connection between us. Cash was making it perfectly obvious. She ran forward and pulled me into her arms, her eyes glistening. “Oh Harper, honey, I’m so sorry.” “It’s okay,” I said awkwardly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

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“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. Harper?” “Aw, God, what’d I hit?” I asked, groaning while shifting to sit up. The place spun a little. The cold tiles bit into the seams of my jeans. “The shopping cart,” Cash replied, humor edging his voice. “Shit… Feels like a truck, only it hit me.” “Anything hurt?” Cash bent down into my line of vision. “My hands.” I turned them over to find them grazed, “and ass. I fell on it.” “Can you bash yourself up any more?”

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“Harper?” Cash murmured after a long moment. “Hmm?” I turned my head. “Do you believe in Santa?” I shifted onto my side to look at him, smiling. “Yeah, I do.” He adjusted his head to look at me. “Even though he’s something our parents say isn’t real?” I nodded. “Yeah, definitely. There’s usually some kind of truth behind stories.” He looked up to the tree then to me. “Think we can see him tonight?” I laughed and sat up. “Who? Santa? Why not? It couldn’t hurt to try.”

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“At the beginning of the month I wrote a letter to Santa—I know, childish—but I needed something to hope for, even if it felt silly.” He smiled and shifted to sit by my side, winding his arm around my wait. “Wishing and hoping is never silly, Harper,” he whispered, nipping my jaw. I leaned into his hold and twined our fingers. “I had two things on it: you, and to be accepted.” I stared at the black ink marking my letter in my messy handwriting. He pressed his forehead against my temple. “You were on mine too, only, I didn’t send it to Santa.”

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