Saint takes a small sip from a beer he had opened not too long ago. “My favorite color?”
“Yes.” I laugh before adding, “I’m curious.”
“Orange.” He states it so matter-of-fact that it catches me off guard. I take in his appearance. The dyed black hair, the black sweats, the tattoos, unable to picture the broody man before me loving orange.
“Really? Why?”
He reaches forward, using his hands to tear the strings of cheese I had been fighting with. “Marigolds. They were the first flower I ever cared about.”
I chew on my food silently as I mull over his answer. How had I never noticed how deeply I had embedded myself into his life? The hurt I know I’ve caused him gently places itself on my shoulders, weighing down the peace I had begun to feel.
“Okay my turn!” Saint claps his hands together, looking over at me with mischief twinkling in his eye. “What’s your most embarrassing memory?”
I roll my eyes at him, but he shatters the make believe hard surface of me when he wiggles his brows playfully at me.
I turn towards him, bringing my legs up onto the couch and sitting criss crossed. “Do you promise not to laugh?” I ask, scrunching up my nose.
“Absolutely not.” He states, smiling at me with the most happiness I’ve seen since I’ve returned.
“You suck!” I laugh out loud. “Okay, do you remember when your mom thought you had peed all over the couch in the living room?” I ask, biting my lip.
He looks at me curiously as he responds. “How could I forget? It took me hours to convince her it was the dog after she had chased us around with a rolled up newspaper.”
I cover my face with my hands, already feeling my skin heat up. “It was me.”
“No way!” Saint laughs, smacking my knee. “Are you serious?”
I give him a shy nod, my own laugh bubbling up in my cheeks. “She told me that if I didn’t sit still while you finished cleaning your room, we couldn’t play.”
Saint dramatically falls into my lap, looking up at me with a wide grin. “How could you do that to Muffin?”Muffin.Memories of Saint’s childhood dog flash before my eyes. A beautiful Australian Sheltie who was so loving, she wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“I was six!” I squeal out.
His smile softens as his gaze continues to look over me. “I’m sorry about your mom, by the way.” I state, quieter than necessary. My hands gently comb through Saint’s hair. “She deserved so much better.”
His smile falters, but only for a moment. “She always told me you’d come back. That I just needed to be patient while you figured yourself out.”
I give him a sad laugh. “Well I certainly didn’t do that. But I am back. I’m home now.”
His hands reach up, pushing my fallen hair out of my face, before wrapping around me and pulling me down. Our lips gently press together, all of my apologies trying to express themselves through the simple kiss.
It’s a moment I could’ve stayed in forever, had the door not creaked open. I rear my head back at the sound, Saint scrambles out of my lap, knocking the half eaten pizza onto the floor. Together we both turn our heads to see the person who caught us, both praying it’s not Abby. Yet, when my eyes meet Jackson’sand I see the hurt and confusion, I start to think maybe I would’ve preferred Abigail.
Play Single by The Neighbourhood
“Hey Jackson. It’s Nova as I’m sure you can tell.” I twist a strand of hair in my hand as I continue talking to the voicemail I’m surprised I haven't filled. “Please just talk to me. Let me explain.” I stare at the phone in my hand, wondering what I would even say if he actually picked up. “I’m sorry.”
I hit the end call button, sliding the device back into my pocket. Saint sits down next to me on the trailer’s porch. He pulls a menthol cigarette out of its paper like box, sticking it between his lips. “Still no answer?” He asks as he lights up the end. The tobacco immediately begins to burn, sending little wafts of smoke into the hot air around us.
It’s been three days since either of us had heard from him, but as far as we were aware he hadn’t outed us. Saint let me know that Abby had been staying at her mom’s again. After he ran after me back at the diner, she accused him of caring too much. Putting too much of himself into me.That’s a bit of an understatement.I had thought to myself, though I didn’trespond.
The idea of being the reason behind her moving out, even temporarily, made me feel gross. Yet here I was, practically in Saint’s palm. We had been non-stop texting or calling since I had left. Today I finally was able to see him again, since he had promised mom he’d patch up the hole in the bedroom wall.
“Nope.” I respond, plucking the cigarette from his mouth. I drop it down to the concrete in front of us, rubbing the toe of my sneaker into the burning stick. “Have you heard from him?”
He frowns down at the now shredded remains of his addiction. “What was that for?”
“What was what for?” Mom asks, pushing open the screen door behind us. She plops herself onto the other side of Saint and without waiting for an answer asks, “Do you have a cigarette I could borrow?”
