by Mariah Dietz
“Did he tell you where he lives?” Charleigh asks, undeterred by my attempt to change subjects.
My index finger slams against my chest. “Drunk. Remember?”
“At least you remember what counts, I suppose.”
“I don’t remember his name, Charleigh!”
“But you remember that he made you see stars!”
“Stop! You make me sound like a floozy.”
“You were a floozy. You got pissed and slept with a complete stranger who had good teeth.”
“He did have great teeth,” I agree.
“At least we know he has good hygiene. That’s a plus.”
I groan, slapping a hand across my eyes to hide from my own embarrassment.
“I’m just teasing. I’m proud of you, Crosby. You finally got a piece! It’s been over a year since the last time someone dusted your hallway.”
“Stop!” My objection is met with her laughter, which has my eyes rolling.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m glad you found someone you’re interested in.” Her focus moves back to the windshield for a moment and then turns to me, her lips curled into a hopeful smile. “We could try changing the last two digits again, see if we get anything.”
I look down at the palm of my left hand that’s been scrubbed clean. Two weeks ago I woke up with a pounding headache, and a semi-hazy recollection of the previous night which involved meeting a guy with auburn hair, warm amber eyes, and some of the straightest, whitest, most even teeth I’ve ever seen—along with a phone number that was half smeared/half worn off of my palm. I vaguely recall mentioning to him that it was hard to read at the time and him smiling at me and assuring me it wouldn’t. My memories contain blurbs including people dancing and me laughing, but the bright smile, and eyes that held so many unspoken words—words I recall having to sometimes pull out of him—are the most potent.
My memories of later that night are even clearer, including one where I definitely remember convincing him I was sober enough to have sex.
I, Lauren Crosby, convinced a complete stranger to sleep with me at a house party.
On someone else’s bed.
He was quite possibly the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. There’s no way that, had I not been drinking, I would have spoken to him. Liquid courage alone led me to trace my tongue along the python snake tattoo that wrapped around his bicep and over his shoulder. I know we exchanged numbers in such an outdated fashion because I’d been wearing a dress and left my phone with my roommate, Kenzie.
“I doubt he even remembers me,” I mumble.
“Lauren, I swear to God, if I hear you say that again, I’m going to kick you in your loaf of bread.”
“Your cockney threats don’t scare me, they only confuse me.”
“I’ll kick you in your head! Make that brain of yours start working!”
“I’m sure I gave him my number, too. He hasn’t called,” I object, meeting her hard stare. “It wasn’t like I was the only person interested in him. Trust me.” My words trail off with the memory of how many girls had been staring at him all night.
“I think we should ask around some more.”
“Ask what?” My tone expresses my exasperation.
“Someone had to have seen you both at the party!”
“Charleigh, I’m giving up. It would be so weird to find him now, anyway. I mean, what am I going to say? ‘Hey, remember me? I’m the girl you gave water to because I was too drunk to take care of myself. Then I talked you into sleeping with me.’”
“You could tell him you’re pregnant.”
My hand flies out, connecting with her shoulder. “That is seriously the worst joke ever. Plus, Aunt Flo arrived this morning, thank you very much.”
“I know. You’re grumpy as all hell, and you ate a Snickers for breakfast.”
“Stalker.”
Charleigh laughs, shaking her head. “Did you try describing him better to Kenzington? She knows loads of people.” Only Charleigh insists on calling Kenzie by her full name—Kenzington.
“Like five times.”
“What about the others?”
“I’ve asked everyone I know. I’m beginning to look pathetic.”
“Stop being such a stubborn arse,” Charleigh orders, but the lilt in her voice makes it hard for me to take it as more than a suggestion.
“Can I be a cranky arse and tell you to just drop it? It happened, it’s over, we’re moving on.”
“But you liked him, Lauren! You really liked him!”
“I don’t even remember the entire night. Beer goggles make everyone seem amazing.”
“Well, let’s see Mr. Stars without the beer goggles, then.”
“Let’s focus on you staying on the right side of the road. The more you talk, the more you forget that we drive on the right side of the road over here.”
“Don’t be a twat.”
“I’m going to give you a pass and pretend I don’t know what that means. Meanwhile, I’m going to nap.”
“You’re going to make me stay awake and drive while you rest?”
“It’s better for both our nerves.”
“You’re a nightmare.”
“Dressed like a daydream.”
“Don’t you dare!”
I lean my seat back and start humming the popular song, eliciting a growl from Charleigh that makes me laugh before she reaches forward and drowns me out with the sound of a new song. I chuckle, and close my eyes, imagining the warm brown eyes I saw that night, and the chestnut hair with a natural wave that somehow managed to fall perfectly in place, unlike mine when I leave it in its naturally wavy state. There are dozens of partial memories I have from that night, but sleeping with him is as clear as crystal. Every breath, sound, stare, and touch is flawlessly etched into my memory, and I’m struggling to decide if I am grateful or rueful for it.
I stir as the car’s engine stops, grateful that I missed Charleigh’s parallel parking job. “Since you’re working a half shift, I’ll just take the bus home,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt.
“What time are you off?”
I grip the cloth strap of my messenger bag, pulling it into my lap so I can securely fasten the flap. Rain is coming down in sheets. It distorts the images of people and storefronts, bringing an itch to my brain that’s been absent. It’s the desire to create.
“Lauren.” Charleigh extends my name like it’s several syllables, and I shake my head and turn to face her.
“Sorry. I’m off at ten.”
“I was going to head over to the library. I’ve got some homework I need to work on, and I can’t go home and do it. It’s English, and I can’t focus on reading and books when I’m surrounded by fabrics and designs.”
“The library closes before ten.”
“Then I’ll just come by and have some nachos.”
“Charleigh, I’ll be fine.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you acting all mother hen on me?”
“Because you get distracted when she rings.”
“When who calls me?” I ask absently.
“Did she talk about coming to visit again?”
I shake my head and watch the blurred shape of a person jog across NE Martin Luther King Boulevard. “No. She said she wants to try again in November. She’s been busy.”
“But you’re her daughter.”
My nails rake across my forehead, likely leaving a red pattern across my fair skin. “I know. She’ll come eventually. Summer’s a busy time for her work.” I straighten in my seat and reach for the door handle. “I’m serious though—don’t hang around downtown for four hours. Go home. I’ll catch the bus.”
“I can come back. It’s a short drive.”
I drop my chin and close my eyes before slowly opening them. “I’ll. Be. Fine.”
“Call me then. I want to know when you leave and when you get home.”
“You know, I was doing this a long time before I met you.”
My eyes dance across her lips that are turned down at the corners. Her gaze won’t meet mine. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”
“All right, at least text me. I get anxious.”
“Deal. I’ll text you when I leave, and again when I get home. Seriously, you’re worse than the possessive boyfriend type.”
“Damn right. I got a key to your flat after knowing you for only a week. I move fast.”
“Did I mention you’re a stalker?”
“You can’t stalk the willing.”
“Only willing with you.”
Charleigh leans forward and kisses each of my cheeks and reclines back and opens her door. “Later, love. Don’t forget to text me!”
“Don’t forget to stalk Allie.”
“I already know she’s at her friend Katie’s, working on an empire waist dress that is going to look fab on you. Now get to work. You’re going to be cutting it close.” She slams her door closed as I stand on the sidewalk.
The rain quickly finds every fraction of exposed skin, including my wrists and the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. I give Charleigh a parting wave before putting my head down and making a run for Sonar, the small Mexican restaurant I work at.
“Hey, Lo!”
I smile at Mia as I make my way through the back entrance that leads directly into the kitchen.
“Guess what? Julio and Kendra are making mole and sopapillas tonight! Do you smell it?”
I stop and take a deep breath through my nose, taking in the tingling sensation from the spices and the sweetness lingering with the heat. “I was hoping for tamales, but mole is a good second.”
“The best.” Mia’s lips, which are painted a bright orangey-red, lift into a wide smile. Then she turns, heading over to the prep counter where she expertly begins dicing lettuce. She’s been working here since she was eighteen, and her thirtieth birthday is next week. She knows this place better than everyone aside from the owner, Estella.
“Hey!” I call, heading farther into the kitchen, passing several waiters, bussers, and cooks.
“Hey, Lo!” a chorus echoes in response.
“It’s crazy out there tonight,” a new waitress says, stopping in front of me. Her brown eyes scan her notepad as she shifts her weight to the other foot. “My feet are killing me.” She’s still trying to wear cute shoes with heels rather than practical ones for all the moving we do.
“I’ll have some mole ready for you as soon as you’re on your break, baby,” Mia assures her.
“Mole and a foot rub?”
“Mole and a shot of tequila,” Mia counters.
“Deal.”
My laughter joins Mia’s, a woman who has become one of my closest friends since moving out here three years ago.
I head over to clock in. With the few minutes left before my shift, I fix my hair, pulling the loose brown strands back up into a messy knot on my head, and tie a black apron around my waist.
“Lo, you’re on one through eight tonight. I may need you to take nine and ten, too. The new guy isn’t working out so well. The more tables he gets, the more mistakes he makes.” The owner, Estella, appears from the front of the restaurant, her long black hair parted and braided around her head, and her lips a dark maroon. I used to sketch her on my breaks because she has one of the most parallel faces I’ve ever seen, but lately, all I sketch are hands—the same hands I managed to memorize the most minute and subtle details of.
“I’m on it,” I assure her.
“And Lo.”
I turn, my eyebrows high with surprise that there’s more instruction when we generally communicate with so few.
“Find your smile for me tonight. I miss it.”
My lips lift obligingly, and I shake my head before I head out to table four. My hands fish through my apron to ensure I haven’t notoriously grabbed the one apron with no pens again, and work begins.
Continue Reading The Weight of Rain:
Acknowledgments
Thank you so much for reading this book. I can’t tell you how much it means to me!
I knew I had to write this book after writing Defining the Rules, but I wasn’t ready for it because I wanted to make sure I honored Rose and did her story justice. It took me seven drafts, a lot of walks, many tears, and a lot of good friends to complete this book.
A very special thanks to Ginger Scott who was my cheerleader and sprinting buddy and friend. You made this book possible.
And a huge thanks to my family who have shared me with these amazing “people” at Brighton University.
Also, a special thanks to Autumn Gantz for being a constant sounding board and helping me find focus and organization during chaos. You’re the best!
About the Author
Mariah Dietz is a USA Today Bestselling Author and self proclaimed nerd. She lives with her husband and sons in North Carolina.
Mariah grew up in a tiny town outside of Portland, Oregon where she spent most of her time immersed in the pages of books that she both read and created.
She has a love for all things that include her family, good coffee, books, traveling, and dark chocolate. She's also been known to laugh at her own jokes.
www.mariahdietz.com
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