And as the car peels off onto the dirt road, I catch the little smile on her face as our eyes hold tight and she mouths, “Thank you.”
Walden lifts up when I trudge through my front door at nearly midnight, looking like a drowned rat. The dog appears confused as hell as he stands a few feet away from me, eyes bugged out and probably judging me. The red ball hasn’t moved from its place beside the couch, and his food bowl remains untouched, leading me to believe he enjoyed his night just as much as I did.
My car keys clank against the little glass table as I pull off my soggy t-shirt and toss it into the heap of other stray shirts I still need to wash. Walden stares at me, unmoving, as I saunter into the living room, bare-chested and bad-tempered, but his eyes never stray from my face. They never dip any lower, and I appreciate that.
He doesn’t notice my scars.
Then I scold myself because he’s just a dumb dog that doesn’t know what scars are, and also, he’s probably going blind, so my thought process is being really fucking stupid.
Shaking my head, I reach for a random banana sitting on the ottoman and peel it back, debating whether I want to head straight to bed or go jerk off in the shower because my dick is still restless and pissing me off. But I think handling that situation will piss me off even more since I know exactly what triggered it.
And fuck that.
Fuck giving anymore ammo to that absurdity.
That fluke.
I eat the banana in three bites and glance at my laptop before heading down the hallway. My unfinished response to Magnolia glares back at me, and I hesitate, finally sighing as I make a pit stop to the rolling chair and gather my train of thought.
Words appear in the little Hangouts message box as my fingers type away, but I backspace and delete them at least five times before settling on something. As I’m reading over my reply, Walden lies down beside me with a little grumble, making his presence known, and I have to do a double-take because he always wanders back to his dog bed after greeting me. He rests his chin between his paws and looks up at me with only his eyes.
I don’t smile, even though the thought crosses my mind, but I do soften my gaze.
I see you, old mutt.
Then I click “send.”
Me: You asked about my heart, so here’s my answer… this heart is a burden. It’s a fraud. Most days I resent it and wish it had been given to a better man. A worthier man. And I know that sounds shitty because your husband is gone, and here I am complaining about my healthy, beating heart. Doesn’t seem fair. But it’s the truth, and I won’t ever lie to you.
Before I rise from the chair and head to the bathroom, because I think I’m going to take that shower after all, I add one more thing:
Me: Unless it’s about Cheese-Rolling. That never happened.
—THIRTEEN—
“August.”
Melody sweeps her hair over to one side, crossing her legs at the knee. Her voice doesn’t crack or waver in detailing her starting point, and her eyes even sort of twinkle as I study her from one seat over.
Wait… twinkle?
No. Fuck, no.
I don’t notice shit like eye twinkles. I don’t even fucking remember my own eye color half the time.
“Growing up, all of my friends hated August—it’s hot, school was about to start, and summer was coming to an end. But I always felt like it was a new beginning,” Melody explains as the rest of the group listens fondly. “Fall has always been my favorite season, and August is kind of like a prelude to colorful leaves, apple cider, and bonfires. Plus, my birthday is in August… which also happens to be National Rum Day, so it all makes sense.”
People laugh. I groan.
August is the worst month. The sun is way too bright, fuck rum, mosquitoes are literally plotting their apocalyptic reign over humanity, and it’s hotter than Satan’s ball sack.
August can suck it.
Melody spares me the tiniest glance, lips curled up, cheeks pink, probably checking to see if I’m one of the people laughing.
I make sure my face looks extra insufferable.
When the meeting wraps up, I fucking book it, and my chair nearly tips backwards as I jump to my feet and make a hurried escape out the double doors. I don’t want to deal with her today. I don’t want to deal with her sunny smile, citrus shampoo, and goddamn eye twinkles.
Sifting through my pockets for my keys, I half-jog to my truck, eager to get the hell out of here before anyone tries to talk to me—before she tries to talk to me. I don’t have many hobbies or interests, but if I had to put something at the top of that list, it would be avoiding people.
As I squint my eyes against the setting sun, I tug open the door to my pick-up truck and attempt to dive in, but something stops me.
There’s a container of a dozen cupcakes sitting on the driver’s seat with a cheery little note on pink paper attached.
Of course there is.
I’m not sure what it says because I don’t really bother to read it.
Instead, I turn towards the front of the building just as Melody saunters out through the main entrance, her yellow sundress billowing as a quick breeze tries to lift the skirt. She fluffs it back down and pauses her steps, her chin tipping up to meet my stare from across the parking lot. It’s a brief pause, a fleeting moment of eye contact, before she resumes her pace and moves toward her Camry a few spots over—almost as if she didn’t just catch me discovering her futile gift.
I follow her.
“Hey,” I call out, gaining her attention before she slips inside the car. “What the hell?”
Melody falters, her hand curling around the door frame. She watches as I storm over to her, a frown unfurling, then tucks her windswept hair behind her ear. “What’s wrong?”
“Why are there a dozen fucking cupcakes in my truck?”
Her frown deepens. “You don’t like them?”
“They look fantastic, but that’s not the point. Why are they there?” I stop right in front of her, maybe a few feet away, but it’s close enough to smell her shampoo when that breeze blows through again.
“Did you read the note?”
“No.”
Melody’s lips part to speak, but only a little burst of laughter spills out. “I just wanted to thank you for… last week.” Her smile brightens with genuine gratitude as she glances at me. “And thank you for driving my car home that night. It was an unexpected surprise.”
My fists clench at my sides, my teeth grinding together. “Yeah, well, you were an idiot and left the keys in the ignition. I didn’t have much of a choice.”
Her face falls, her smile fading, but I refuse to feel bad about it. This is better—this is so much better, this anger and resentment. It’s better than whatever the hell else has been simmering beneath the surface, trying to crawl its way inside, unwanted and unwelcome.
Trespassing.
“Well, I do appreciate it.”
She’s still all sweetness and niceties, despite the fact that I just insulted her to her face.
No, Melody, get mad. It’s easier that way.
“I don’t need your appreciation. Or your cupcakes. Or your damn love notes,” I bark back, inching closer, so she can feel my anger. She can soak it up and throw it back at me, just like she did last week, beneath dark clouds and furious rainfall.