I call Dart to come help, and we load up the trucks in a matter of minutes. The whole time, London is screaming at Leroy and throwing his things out on the lawn. I don’t tell Dart about Leroy because, unlike the summer programs I want to participate in to bring awareness to mental health, Dart has nothing holding him in line. He’ll beat the shit out of Leroy for Angie, and I won’t stop him.
Hell, I’ll buy him a beer.
And a stripper.
London doesn’t say anything to Angie, and Leroy hightails it pretty quickly. I don’t say anything either. I can’t even look at Angie, I’m so pissed at her. I thought she had overcome her body image issues. She was scared about her parents, and they loved her right through that. Our sex is unbelievable, but I’ve been so blinded by her, I didn’t even notice that I never fully got her naked. Like, how pathetic is that? She mesmerized me and hid herself from me, the one person who loves even a pimple on her ass. I’ve made that known, yet she still hid. Angie knew how much I wanted her to feel comfortable and love herself, but I’m left feeling played.
It’s a really crappy feeling.
Angie sits in the cab, quiet and looking small as we drive back to my house.
“I’m sorry about Leroy.”
I make a face. “It’s not your place to apologize, Angie.”
“I know, but thank you for not killing him. I really didn’t want you not to be able to do those programs this summer.”
“I know,” I answer. “That’s why I didn’t kill him.”
She grimaces. “I can stay at a hotel if you’d like.”
I don’t even look at her. “I wouldn’t like that at all.”
“I know you’re mad.”
“Hopping mad.”
She frowns. I’m pretty sure the last time she heard that phrase was when Evan and I put a hole in Benji’s trampoline because we wanted to see who could stay out of the hole. My buddy Asher Brooks fell through and broke his arm. Mom was hopping mad then. “I understand if you—”
“Angie.”
“Yeah?”
“Stop. Give me a few.”
She snaps her mouth shut, and we drive back in silence. As Dart and I unload her boxes, she carefully takes in her plants. The house is so full of tension, I feel like I’m drowning in it.
Dart isn’t dumb, and when we’re alone in the room, he asks, “Are you two fighting?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not good on moving day.”
I shrug. “It happens.”
“True that. Did you choke out that Leroy guy? It was either you or the chick, ’cause his neck was busted.”
I raise my hand, owning it. “He called Angie a fat, disgusting cow.”
Dart blinks and hooks his thumb behind him. “And you let him walk away?”
I exhale heavily. “I can’t have a record for assault. It will ruin my work with the mental health compound this summer.”
“Ah, true. Okay. Want me to go back and make sure he can’t walk?”
I cup my best friend’s shoulder, laughing. “He isn’t worth it.”
“Shit, it’s more for me than anything. Oh, and Angie’s honor.”
And this is why Dart is my best friend.
We share a nod of acknowledgment before we go to get more boxes. Once everything is in the house, I move her desk to the plant area where she is. Very carefully, she rearranges her plants and makes sure none of them are touching. She doesn’t look as happy as she usually is when she does this, and that’s how I know she’s truly upset about our fight. I set up her laptop and then some of her schoolbooks before putting her book bag on the chair.
When I’m done, I walk toward our room, but I pause to ask, “Do you want me to start putting your clothes away?”
She shakes her head without looking at me. “I’m coming.”
I head to the room and start unloading the boxes so the clothes are easier for her to hang. When she comes in, I’ve made piles everywhere, and she gets to work. She doesn’t have many clothes but enough to take her an hour to put away. We do it in silence. We’ve never not talked for this long and it’s killing me, but I’m still so upset. I watch as she hangs things, and she’s just so goddamn magnificent.
I get up and grab a guitar. I tune it and feel her gaze on me. When I start to play “Just the Way You Are” by Bruno Mars, I see her out of the corner of my eye as she leans against the wall, clutching some clothes to her chest. I start to sing the chorus, badly, but it’s only for her. I finish the song, meeting her gaze, and a small smile sits on her lips. I drop my hands to my sides and then shrug.
“You know I love every single thing about you.”
Her eyes are shiny with tears as she meets my gaze. “I know you do.”
“Surely you understand why I’m so upset, then.”
“It’s not that I don’t, Owen. It’s that it’s not that easy for me.”
“But it should be, because I wouldn’t be grossed out or anything of that nature when it comes to you.”
She looks away and shrugs. “I just feel like sometimes you forget I’m overweight.”
“Because to me, it doesn’t matter,” I say simply. “And I’ve told you that from the beginning.”
“I know, but I…” She struggles as her voice fills with emotion. “Not everyone is you.”
I nod. “You’re right. But I’m yours.”
Her little lip wobbles, and she hangs the dress she’s holding. When she turns, she looks at me as the tears begin to fall. “I’ve just spent so much time hating myself, and then I started to fall in love with me, enjoy how strong I am and the shape my body is taking. I started working out because it was fun, especially when I’m with you. But my stomach isn’t doing much—it’s all lumpy and full of marks. It’s not pretty.”
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen it,” I throw at her, and she rolls her eyes.
“You’ll say it’s beautiful because you love all of me—” She stops mid-sentence and swallows. I want to scream in victory at her eureka moment, but I stand silent and I wait. The gears are working in her head, and then without her saying a word, I watch as she kicks off her shoes. I press my tongue up into the roof of my mouth as she undoes her pants and pushes them down those delectable thighs. My mouth is watering when she reaches for her shirt. I can see her hands shaking, but I stay where I am. I want to help, but she has to want to do this.
Her eyes meet mine, and I smile. “Show me the goods, gorgeous.”
She hesitates for only another second before she lifts her shirt, revealing the reason for our fight. Honestly, then I get distracted by her perfect boobs, but when I see what she’s been hiding, I’m flabbergasted. The part she hates most about herself isn’t even what she claimed it to be. I’m pretty sure my gut is bigger than hers. I shake my head, and her eyes widen. I hold up my phone and ask, “Can I take a picture to use when I need to get off on my road trips?”
Her eyes go wild as she covers her stomach. “Owen!”
“What? Sugar,” I say, shrugging as I walk toward her, “you’re fucking hot.”