“What do you see? In the clouds?”
He’s silent, and when I turn to him, he’s not looking at the clouds at all, but at me, confused. “People do that, right? Look at the clouds and find shapes?” An embarrassed blush burns over my cheeks now. “Or is that just a movie thing, too?”
“No, no, it is.” From the sound of his voice, I know he’s looking at me, but I refuse to turn my head and return the gaze, to see if he still has that pity on his face, if he’s still trying to read and understand me.
After a long, near-painful moment, he speaks again. “A cat,” he says. “Right there.” His hand comes into my line of sight, pointing at the clouds to one that has two peaks, and I grin.
“I see it,” I agree. “There’s a dolphin jumping out of a hamburger,” I say, pointing elsewhere. A loud laugh leaves his lips, filling the sky, and it settles that icky feeling in my chest.
“You’re a nut,” he murmurs.
“You like it,” I say without thinking.
“Yeah. I do,” he says, low, but I don’t look at him.
I don’t know what I’ll see, and the fear that whatever I’m picturing in my mind won’t be the reality is far too terrifying. Because I’m picturing something sweet and impossible, and for once, I want to let myself live in that fairy tale.
So, instead, we lie like that for a long time, pointing out shapes occasionally, and it’s the most at peace I’ve been in years, if I’m being honest.
And despite every ounce of logic screaming to keep that hopeless romantic locked where I’ve kept her for eight years, she smiles.
TWENTY
LEO
I’m having my morning coffee on the back patio, the pavers now weeded, and at least half of them moved, reset, and leveled with the help of Willa. It’s been almost two weeks since she started coming to help me out with house projects, and even though she originally said it was because everyone else was out of town, both Adam and Wren and Hallie and Jesse have returned from their own summer trips, and she’s still here every day to help out.
For the most part, I’ve managed to keep us outside and keep my distance while she’s here. After painting the walls inside for two days in a row, I realized being indoors was a terrible, terrible fucking idea. I would consider myself to have pretty good willpower, but in close quarters where I couldn’t ignore her, where I could smell her sweet perfume lingering long after she left for the night, there are too many opportunities to brush an arm against her, and too many opportunities to envision her sharing this space with me in a very, very different way.
An inappropriate way.
A way that never, ever could happen, even if with each passing day, I find myself wonderingwhy not?
For that reason, outside is safer. So much safer, especially when I can take intentional steps to be on the opposite side of the yard from her, or when I use loud power tools like the lawn mower or the weed whacker, making conversation impossible. It helps that Willa seems to enjoy being outside, clearing out the garden beds and planting the dozens of plants she’s helped me pick out. Two days ago, she moved on to one of the overgrown areas along the fence line, weeding and clearing what was once a garden, but looked like nothing of the sort. She told me she had a vision for a flower wall, naming some flower that would creep up the fence, though the name went in one ear and out the other as soon as she said it.
I agreed instantly because when she spoke of white, fragrant flowers and green vines along the fence, her entire face lit up with excitement, and there was no way I was going to say no and wipe that look from her face.
Unfortunately, as I sit outside, I watch a dark cloud roll in from the west and realize today might be the day the plan fails. I’m lost in that thought and trying to think of what to do if we’re stuck inside, where I can stay as far from her as possible, when my phone rings. My stomach tenses at the instant worry that it’s a call from Jefferson. It’s been this way for weeks, and the mere fact that this is my instinct each time my phone rings—fearing it will lead to another conversation with Jefferson—is further confirmation that my exit plan is a necessary thing.
But more concerning, as of last week, every time I get any kind of communication from Jefferson, a brand-new worry sets in—worry that it will be the call confirming the start date for Willa’s next relationship.
At first, I convinced myself that the gnawing pit in my stomach was a signal that my peaceful retreat was ending. But more and more, I realize it’s because it will also signal the end ofWilla’s peaceful retreat, and with the way the color and joy that’sslowly been leaving her over the years has returned to her face, I want to draw it out as long as I can.
Relief racks through me when I see that it’s my mom.
“Hey, Mom,” I say when I answer, and an exaggerated gasp comes over the line.
“Is thatLeo? Leo, is it really you? I thought you were lost at sea, gone forever!” she says. “My baby boy is alive! I should call the papers!” My mom has always had a flair for dramatics, something my dad was both annoyed by and deeply adored.
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I say with a shake of my head.
“I’m sorry, I just never thought I would ever actually hear your voice again. I was preparing to send a carrier pigeon, but I wouldn’t even know where to send it since you haven’t given me your new address,” she says, accusation in the tone. Despite that, I close my eyes, shaking my head and smiling.
This is my mom in all her chaos, and even though she drives me up a wall, I know she loves me more than anything, and there’s something familiar and nostalgic about her pestering. For a moment, I wonder if maybe that’s why I’ve been enjoying someone else’s brand of pestering lately. Maybe it’s a sick and twisted family trait.
“I haven’t given you my address because the place I bought is a dump. I knew if I gave you the address, there was a not-small chance you’d show up at my front door randomly one day, and I don’t even have anywhere for you to stay yet. I want you to see it when it’s done.”
“Or maybe you just hate your dear mom,” she says, but I ignore that, continuing on with my explanation, a smile on my lips.
