I shake my head. “Well, thanks. I appreciate that, but it’s not like that.” It’s exactly like that, but I’ve got to stick to my guns. I’m not the right guy for Isabelle Harmon. She deserves better than me.
14
Isabelle
“Ugh.”I moan as I roll over onto my stomach in bed. The movement angers my old bed as it squeaks like I’m killing it. Covering my head with a cool pillow, I grumble.What was I thinking last night?“I’m never drinking again.”
“That’s what they all say.” My dad’s deep voice sounds like it’s coming from inside my bedroom.
I peek out from beneath my pillow and discover I was right. He’s leaning on my doorframe. “Dad,” I groan. “What time is it?”
“You’re burning daylight. Time to get up and get your day started.”
I swear, it can’t even be seven yet.
“Mom made pancakes, and there’s a fresh pot of coffee.”
“Coffee?” I say into the pillow. “Fine. Give me five.”
“I’ll get your favorite cup ready.”
My favorite cup is white with hand-painted kittens all over it. Inside, at the bottom of the cup, is a ball of yarn. I’ve had it since I was ten or eleven. I can’t explain why, but coffee just tastes better in that cup.
After my door shuts, I lie still for another minute or two, then push the blankets off and sit up, wincing at my headache. “Never drinking again,” I mumble softly. When I’ve got my bearings, I push to stand, reaching out toward my door in case I get woozy. When I’m sure I’m okay, I open the door and walk to the top of the stairs and down, holding on to the railing as I go.
I hear voices as I approach the kitchen—the voices are usually just Mom and Dad talking over breakfast, but today it’s different. Pushing open the kitchen door, I step into the room and nearly trip on my own feet because it isn’t Mom and Dad. Nash is here. Why? Why is he sitting at my parents’ kitchen table looking perfectly… well, perfect. I can’t think about that. I’ve got to act casual. I do my best to sound aloof and not at all surprised he’s here. “Oh, hey, Nash. What’re you doing here?”
“Came to take you to get your car.”
My car? I have to think back to last night. Things are a bit blurry. Now that he mentions it, I do remember leaving my car at Sisters. I look at Nash for just a second, then down at the counter. He drove me home. God, I’m a silly person when I drink. I know this. There’s video evidence on my college roommate’s phone. She likes to play it for me whenever we get together.Ugh.
“Sure. Great.” But first, coffee. Nothing is happening until coffee. “Where’s Mom?” I ask as I pick up the kitten cup my dad prepared for me. I sip and release a moaning sound that can’t be helped. When I look at Nash, he’s staring. Actually, he looks irritated, which could be caused by a number of things. One, he’s in my parents’ kitchen. Two, he’s got other things to do, but he’s doing this favor for me. Three, he’s in a bad mood, or four, all of the above, which makes him annoyed with me. I choose door number four. With a sigh, I take my cup and walk back around the counter.
“Mom went into town for groceries.” I love it when my parents refer to each other as “Mom” and “Dad.” It makes me laugh.
“Okay.” I take another sip, heading toward the kitchen door. Looking over at Nash, I say, “Give me a minute to change. Then we can go.”
“Sure,” he says in a grumbly voice.
Yep, he’s irritated.
At the top of the stairs, I head to the bathroom first. I pee, wipe, and flush; then I step in front of the mirror to wash my hands and nearly scream from the sight. I’ve got mascara circling my eyes. Picture a raccoon. The lipstick, at least what remained, has found its way onto my left cheek. And my hair? Let’s just say Iwishit were a rat’s nest. This is something out of a horror film. And then it hits me.Hesaw me like this. I walked downstairs and into my kitchen looking like I’ve been hit by a tornado. Then, there’s my nightgown. Yes, that’s what I said. My flannel nightgown. Thick flannel covered in tiny pink flowers. He saw me like this and didn’t say a word. Neither did my dad. We’ll have to have a word about that. He knew Nash was here and didn’t warn me. “Thanks a lot, Dad.”
Bending, I pull a washcloth from beneath the sink, wet it, and begin to scrub. It takes me longer than usual to get ready because it takes double the time to untangle my hair. I give up and roll the whole thing up into a big bun on top of my head. Next, I slip the nightgown off and quickly dress in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. It’s still quite warm for October here in Iowa, but it’s chilly this time of morning.
At the kitchen door, I hear the men talking but can’t make out their conversation. As I push through, Nash looks up at me and smiles just as my dad says, “Well, that’s better. You were lookin’ a little rough earlier.”
Nash chuckles, and I choose to ignore it. “Yeah, well, I’m a real girl, and real girls aren’t always pretty in the morning.” Or ever.
“I never said you weren’t pretty, honey.” My dad is so dang sweet.
“Thanks, Dad.” I turn to Nash. “Ready?”
“Yep.” He reaches his hand out to shake my father’s. “Thanks for the coffee, Bruce.”
“Anytime, Nash.”
I move out, looking around for my purse. “I need my purse. Then we can go.”
