He usually showers in the morning, so it’s easy to pick up on the clue that he doesn’t want to be here or involved in the conversation. I don’t regret offering to go for Oswald, but I’m sad Memphis is upset. I should have done something different.
Oswald pulls my thumb down from my mouth, where I was worrying my lip. “I’m excited you guys will be there,” he tells me.
I wish his words could erase the unease I feel, but they don’t. However, I don’t let it stop me from telling him, “Glad to be there.”
Memphis
When I walkinto Waylynn’s room and look around, I can’t help but see it with different eyes. I knew she had money, but it never bothered me. Hell, it wasn’t long ago that I was telling Oz not to worry about it because it’s clear we come from different backgrounds and she never seemed to care, so what’s different now?
Knowing she has access to a plane, probably a private jet with just a phone call, freaked me the fuck out. I don’t know how to deal with that. What kind of people is she used to being around? What will the people in her life think of us?
I lean my palms on her bathroom counter and hang my head down, avoiding the mirror. Never once has Waylynn judged us for not having money, but here I am, passing judgment on her and her family for having it.
Pissed at myself, I strip off my clothes, leaving them in a messy heap on the floor, then get in the shower, because that’s what I said I was doing and I’m not ready to face Waylynn yet.
After a long soak, I grab a bottle of shampoo off the ledge. It’s not the strawberry scented one she uses, but the same cheap shit I have at home in my bathroom. I examine the new bottle, realizing she took the time to notice our fucking shampoo brand the one time she was at my apartment and got it—not to rub it in my face that she could, she would never do that. She probably got it because she wanted us to be comfortable, to feel welcome.
I squirt it in my palm and scrub my hair. I really need to pull my head out of my ass and quit being an idiot before she decides she doesn’t want me around.
When I exit the bathroom in just a towel, Waylynn is sitting on the edge of her bed. Her eyes are on me as the steam billows out into her room. I’m able to see the flush of her cheeks before she turns to the side, hiding her face and giving me privacy I didn’t ask for.
“Gosh, sorry.”
“For what?” I play dumb.
“I should have waited for you to come out.”
It would be easy to pretend nothing happened downstairs and ignore the reason she came up here. It wasn’t to catch me without my clothes, but I can tell she’s flustered by seeing it. All it would take is a few steps around the bed and a tug on the towel at my hip, and I could either have her panting or maybe fleeing from the room, depending how I played it, but I don’t do that. Instead, I walk over to my bag on the floor, grab a pair of shorts, and slip them up my legs before untying the towel and tossing it in her bathroom with my other shit I’ll clean up later.
She peeks at me, keeping her eyes above my waist as I round the bed and finally sit next to her. Her shoulders relax a little when my leg touches hers.
“Sorry I was pissy,” I say at the exact same time she says, “I’m sorry I upset you.”
I reach for her, putting my palm on the back of her neck and pulling her closer. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. Don’t apologize.”
“I upset you. I don’t want you to be mad at me.” She’s watching my face with a pleading expression.
“Why are you so worried about me being mad at you? You know I would never hurt you, right?”
Her lips pinch just the tiniest bit. If I weren’t so close, I wouldn’t have been able to tell. “Physically, yes, I know.” She’s quick to respond, but her answer doesn’t make me happy. It feels like she’s admitting she thinks I will hurt her in other ways, and I can’t even argue with her right now, because I have done things to hurt her.
“Has anyone else hurt you?” I question with my throat tight.
“Like hit me? No.” She even shakes her head.
I take a deep breath as the knot in my chest unfurls. I don’t know what I would do if I found out someone had hurt her. “Will you help me understand why you’re always worried about people being mad at you?”
Her eyes drop from mine. “I’m hard to be around, I know that.”
An ugly feeling sours my stomach. “No, you’re not. Who told you that?” My tone is harsh, but I can’t help it.
“No one had to tell me. I just know I am.”
“Waylynn.” I squeeze her neck a little more, making sure I have her attention. “You are not hard to be around. You are the fucking opposite. Why do you think we pretty much moved ourselves in with you? And it’s not because you have a nice house. I could give a shit. We could all move into my shitty apartment,” I add before she has time to answer.
“Because… Because you don’t know me well enough yet, and I’m medicated.”
“You think I’m going to learn something that will change my mind about you next week or next year? Because I won’t. And you take Xanax. I’m sorry I gave you shit for it. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Do you know how many people take medication for anxiety?”
