“Mom, I really don’t want to talk about this right now.” I get up from the table and start collecting the empty plates to toss.
“There you go again, running away.” Mom’s tone shifts and I can tell that she’s angry.
I toss the plates and the minions all run to the living room to finish watching the marathon of Christmas cartoons.
“That’s not fair. Just because I didn’t want to marry some loser guy right after graduation and start popping out babies and live paycheck to paycheck does not mean that I was running away. I left. I wanted more than this,” I say, motioning to the house.
Mom crosses her arms and her eyes narrow, just a fraction. Great. She’s about to blow.
“I’m so sorry that what your father and I worked our asses off to provide for you and your siblings isn’t good enough for you. I’m sorry that we’re such a disappointment that you don’t want to associate with us.” Mom rarely gets upset like this and I can see that she’s going to cry, so she heads out the back door so no one will see. I’ve never seen my mother cry. She always leaves before that happens.
I sit back down at the table and my stomach feels sick. I’ve ruined everything. Sawyer, my family, Christmas. It’s a wonder they want me back. I should just go now, before I do any more damage. Allison will let me stay with her, no questions asked.
I go to my room and start packing my stuff.
“What are you doing?” Mom’s voice makes me jump.
“I’m leaving. All I do is cause problems when I’m here, so I’m going to remove the cause of the problems. I don’t know why you want me here in the first place if I’m so ungrateful.” I throw a shirt in my suitcase, not even bothering to fold it. She comes and stands behind me, takes the shirt and folds it.
“If that’s what you want. I’m not going to beg you to stay.”
“Fine,” I say.
“Fine.” She takes another shirt and folds it, and then another. The silence in the room is thick and sticky, but I’m not going to break it.
Once all of my stuff is packed, I close my suitcase. Then mom finally speaks.
“We miss you. I know you don’t care what we think anymore, but we do. The house isn’t the same without you. When Drew and Stacy come over, there’s always an empty place where you should be. You’re my daughter and I love you and I wish you were around more. I understand that you’re off in school, but at least a phone call. Something. I know you think I’m mad that you left, but really, I just miss you, Ivy. Your father does too, although he’ll never say so. Just try and stay in touch.” She pats my shoulder and leaves while I stare at the suitcase.
I get three miles down the road when my phone rings from an unknown number. I ignore it and keep driving. Then it rings again. I shut my phone off and toss it on the floor.
Then a familiar truck zooms up behind me with its warning lights on. What the f**k is this? I flip him off and keep driving. What’s he going to do, run me off the road and pull me out with his chain again?
Nope, what he’s going to do is pull alongside me, motion for me to pull over and put his life and any other drivers on the road, in danger. I have no choice but to pull over to the side of the road as he pulls in front of me. Could this qualify as stalking? Not that the cops would do anything about it. They were too busy busting people for smoking pot and then stealing it and smoking it themselves. Seriously.
I turn off my car and wait for him. I lock all my door and keep my windows rolled up. I keep my glare on as he gets out and walks to the passenger side and taps on the window. I stare straight ahead. He knocks again.
“I’m going to stand here until you let me in and it’s f**king freezing, Poison.” The combination of not wanting him to get frostbite and the use of the nickname makes me lean over and unlock the door. He gets in, rubbing his arms.
“It’s colder than a witch’s tit out there.” I wish I could let the comment go, but I can’t. And he knows that, because he knows me.
“What the f**k does that even mean?”
He laughs and blows into his hands.
“I have no idea. So, where the hell are you going?”
“Um, I’m not going anywhere, and it’s none of your business even if I was. Stalker.” I’m still staring out the windshield even though he’s turned toward me.
“I’m not a stalker, your mom called me.” Of course she did. I knew she wouldn’t let me get away that easily. She’s sneaky, that woman.
“And why did my mother call you to run me off the road?” He clears his throat.
“Well, she didn’t call me to do that. She just called me and said that you were leaving and I might want to do something about it. She really doesn’t want you to go.” I finally turn toward him.
“Is she the only one?”
“Ivy.”
I raise my hands and smack them on the steering wheel. This back and forth is killing me.
“Don’t leave like this. Stay with your family. I’ll leave you alone. Just don’t bail on them because of something that might have happened with us. I mean it.” Ugh, why does he have to be so convincing? I know running back to Columbia is childish, and that I’ll regret not spending Christmas with my family.
“Whatever,” I mumble and turn the car on. “Get out.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I hate it when he calls me that and he knows it. He shuts the door and I peel out, turning into the first driveway I can find so I can turn around and go back home. Sawyer waves at me as I drive by him and I flip him off again.
“Let’s get this straight,” I say when I walk back through the door with my suitcase, “I’m back because it’s my choice. Not because of anything anyone said or forced me to do.”
Mom just nods and turns to hide a little smile as I go to put my crap back in my room.
Chapter 6
I feel so awful about leaving and bailing on my parents, I decide to make them dinner. I only have a few choices, so I go for macaroni and cheese, since pasta is buy one get one free at the grocery store. I also get the last head of lettuce and the last apple crumble pie from the tiny bakery in the back.
I don’t run into Sawyer this time, and I’m glad. When I get back to the house, Mom informs me that she’s taking the minions to go play at the Saltwater School playground for a while. She says it’s because they need to get out, but I think it’s so I can have some time to myself. I never got much of that growing up. I might have only had one brother and one sister, but there were always other people around. Once again, that’s what living in a small town is. Everyone has their own house, but your friend’s house is always open to you, and vice versa. What’s mine is yours. I always hated it when I’d think I had the house to myself and someone would stop by and I’d have to chat, but it did mean that I never felt alone. Lonely, yes, since I didn’t feel as if I had much in common with everyone here. Still, they treated me like one of their own.
You can take the girl out of Saltwater, but you can’t take the Saltwater out of the girl. I’d tried, and failed.
I spend my alone time at the house taking a long shower and then starting dinner, playing the classic rock station from the old radio my parents keep in the kitchen. I’m grooving and grating cheese for the pasta when there’s a knock at the door.
I knew this was too good to be true. I go to answer it before whoever it is just lets themselves in. I’ve had that happen before, which taught me to never walk around in a towel in my own house. I unlock the door and open it. Sawyer.
Of course.
“Is this you leaving me alone? Because you seriously suck at it. Also, shouldn’t you be at work? Do you EVER work?” I put my hands on my h*ps and wait for the explanation.
“My mother sent me over, okay? Put your daggers away. I’m just here to pick up a crockpot.” Sure he is. I roll my eyes, but let him in.
“Do you know where it is?” I ask.
“No, but she said that your mom had put a note on it.” I have no idea what he’s talking about. Mom hasn’t said a word about it, and I’m guessing this is another part of some convoluted plan to get me and Sawyer to spend time alone together in the hopes that our hormones will take over and we won’t be able to help ourselves, Sawyer will convince me to stay, we’ll buy a cottage and have lots of sex and babies.
That’s their plan, but it’s not MY plan. It ain’t gonna happen. Not in a few days. I can’t give up what I already have at Columbia.
Sawyer follows me back to the kitchen and we start looking for the crockpot, but it’s nowhere to be found. Big shocker.
“I don’t know where else to look,” I say, banging the last cabinet closed.
“What are you making?” he says, leaning against the counter. He doesn’t seem too upset about not finding the crockpot. If it were really missing, I’m sure his mother would have his hide if he came home without it. Or at least she would have, before she lost her husband . . .
“Mac and cheese. I’m sorry we didn’t find it.” I don’t want to talk about what I’m making. I kind of just want him to leave so I can continue to enjoy my solitude.
“Looks good,” he says, peering at the pile of cheese I’ve been grating. He’s full of shit because I haven’t cooked anything yet. It’s just cheese and dry pasta and a giant pot of boiling water. He’s lingering.
“Need any help?”
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” This is the second time I’ve had to bring this up.
“I’m avoiding it. They’re delivering bait to sell and it makes me dry heave.” I don’t blame him. Bait is rotting fish. If you’ve never smelled it, then you haven’t really lived. The fishermen say that you get used to the smell, but I think they’re full of shit. NO ONE could get used to that smell. Not even if you smelled it every day for a hundred years.
“So you need a hideout.”
“A fortress of solitude, if you will.” I roll my eyes at the Superman reference. Great. His solitude is my annoyance.
“Well, if you’re going to hang around, you’d better help.” I point to the boxes of pasta and the pot of water. “Dump them in and stir. If any sticks to the bottom, I’ll grate your ass with this.” I hold up the grater.
He shudders and goes to open the boxes of pasta.
“How’s your mom doing?” I ask as he stirs the pasta and I keep grating cheese. I should have bought it pre-shredded, but they didn’t have sharp cheddar, which is what my family prefers.
Sawyer sighs.
“She’s, um, she’s doing as well as I think can be expected. She’s seeing a therapist and I think it’s helping.”
He’s full of shit. I know Sawyer too well for him to lie to me.
“Okay, so how is she really doing?” He looks up from the pot and the pain is in full view.
“Not good, and I don’t know what to do. I feel guilty that she was here and she was alone when it happened. And then I almost resent her for not getting her shit together and then I feel like an a**hole for resenting her. It’s kind of like living in a tornado.” Wow, some honesty. At least he’s opening up to me.