I couldn’t even say it with a straight face. She had every reason to keep her boyfriends a secret from me. I had become an expert over the years in picking them apart, piece by tiny, annoying piece. Not that I could take all the credit. I didn’t choose the guys, and I certainly didn’t make her break up with them. That was on her. All I did was open up a window of doubt, and she did the rest.
It kept her single, and it kept her hating me. Win-win. Or lose-lose. Sometimes I really despised this game we played.
“Has John met him yet?” I asked.
“Nope.” She practically ripped a paper out of the printer and held it out to me half crumpled. “We have someone interested in the Caterpillar 420. They’re coming in a half-hour. Make sure it’s clean and that Herbert didn’t leave any sunflower seed shells in it from when he was working on it, and make sure the hours match what’s on here, and take the keys up front.” She must have realized how bossy she sounded because she put on what sort of could be considered a smile and added, “Please?”
“As you wish.” The words were out of my mouth before I could rethink them.
Lauren’s face froze for a second, and then she raised an eyebrow. “Don’t try to butter me up, Clay.”
I grinned, taking the paper from her. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She reached out and gripped my forearm before I could walk away. “You won’t say anything to John, will you?”
“About the boy toy?” I concentrated on keeping my voice even. The last thing I needed was my voice to crack, or worse, get all breathy with excitement over her touching me.
“I know he’ll hear about it anyway, but just…” She released my arm, muttering to herself. “It’s hopeless. Evan will tell him the second he sees him.”
“I won’t say anything to your dad.” It was all I could promise her. I couldn’t get in the middle of every fight in the Harwood household, especially the ones that involved my boss.
She waved me off, and I went to get the equipment ready, putting my focus on the job where it belonged.
Evan was too busy doing maintenance tasks on our truck fleet to say a word to anybody about anything, and I was relieved. Until John came over and hovered while I replaced the worn out track pads on a mini excavator.
John was never one for idle chitchat. Whatever he had to say, he always came out and said it point-blank. But I still almost drilled one of the bolts into my hand when he opened with, “I want you to break up Lauren and this new boyfriend of hers if things start to get serious.”
“And why would you think I’m qualified to do that?” I concentrated on keeping my response casual. This felt like a kick in the pants from Karma, one I should have seen coming.
I tightened the last bolt, and John picked up the worn-out pad I’d taken off, turning it over in his hands. “You’ve always been like a protective older brother to her. It’s no secret Lauren listens when you make fun of whoever she’s dating. And you and I both know she’s too young to date anyone seriously. Not anyone good enough for her, anyway.”
Lauren had just turned twenty-three. How was I, at twenty-five, so much more mature and wise? John never asked who I dated or why. When would Lauren be old enough in his eyes to have a serious relationship? When she was thirty? Forty-five? After he wasn’t around to see it? John was a helicopter parent, but this was taking it to a whole new level.
“I’m going to have Lauren bring him to lunch Sunday at our house. Make sure you’re there, too, so you can meet him.”
I considered declining, but John would insist, even if I had an excuse ready, which I didn’t. So, I nodded, focused on my work, and reasoned I could untangle myself from this trap later. But even after John left, I couldn’t relax. The more I thought about it, the worse I felt.
John was an observer. Somewhere along the line, he’d caught wind of what I did to Lauren’s boyfriends, and now he wanted to mold my gift for his own purposes. I felt exposed. My messed-up relationship with Lauren was a private battle I waged in my head and my heart where no one could see it. Or so I’d thought. Now it belonged to my boss. This wouldn’t end with her current boy toy. That much I knew.
4
___________
Lauren
Pulling out of the lot after work, I was in the mood for some angry rock music. Not quite the garbage Parker listened to, but something that would match the frustration I felt inside. I settled for a girl power rock band I’d listened to in high school long after it would have been considered cool. In fact, the more Parker and Clay made fun ofShadow Behind the Sun, the more l had clung to the band’s cheesy, angst-filled lyrics. Their songs filled me with nostalgia for a time when life had been less complicated, when straight A’s and not getting speeding tickets was enough to make my dad happy.
Dad had lectured me when I talked to him about Parker’s scissor lift purchase. He said I was tattling, as if I’d caught Parker using Mom’s good sewing scissors to cut poster board. And yes, I’d tattled that time, too.
Dad didn’t get it. We were adults now. I was happy about the scissor lift being a good buy. Anything good for the company was good for me. Team player right here, ladies and gentleman. This was about Parker’s undying confidence in making gut purchases. Like gambling, there was an ugly side to any lucky streak. I wasn’t being petty; I was trying to be proactive. But Dad missed all that, and when I tried to explain, he’d turned the conversation to the new guy in my life. Or tried to. I shut that down like a strict librarian with chatty patrons.
Once again, I considered leaving the company I loved, the one I’d help build up to what it was today. I’d been battling for my place with Parker and my dad for so long that it was hard to tell whose fault it was that we were like this—so stubborn, so in each other’s business. Connor was the smart one. My older brother hadn’t worked for the company since high school.
I merged onto the freeway, loving the punchy power of my old ’92 Chevy Silverado. Dad had offered to get me a new work truck several times, especially after we had to replace the alternator and the transmission and finally give my Chevy a paint job worthy of the Harwood fleet. But there was no better engine than the small block 350 in this thing, and I’d fight anyone who said differently.
By the time I reached my apartment, I was calm. Jenny stood at the stove making dinner. It smelled amazing.
“Best roommate ever,” I said, hanging my cross body bag on a hook and coming into the kitchen to have a look at the stir-fry sizzling in a pan.
