To create some sense of order, of rightness, I reach into my bag and grab three fountain pens from my personal collection, arranging them on my desk until they’re lined up perfectly and symmetrically with one another.
I will the situation into feeling right. As I arrange the pens, I think, I will not let us get in trouble. I will not let us get in trouble. I will not let us get in trouble. The words are almost like a prayer in my mind.
Theo sits down next to me, sandwiching me between him and Ash. He leans back in his chair languidly, until the back of the chair touches Destiny’s desk. A waft of Theo’s cologne stirs my senses. Expensive. That’s the only way to describe it. I hadn’t noticed before.
“As much as I enjoy a good catfight,” he drawls, “perhaps this is not the time nor the place, ladies.” He glances from Ash to Destiny, who seems struck at Theo’s intervention. She goggles at him for a moment before pasting a saccharine smile on her face.
“Are you British?” she asks. She leans forward without seeming to even realize it.
“Very,” Theo answers, his voice low and tantalizing. It’s almost as if he's intentionally making his accent more prominent, just for her.
I roll my eyes and scoff. Leave it to Theo to make it his goal to seduce someone the first chance he gets. But despite my irritation, I can’t help but notice that he’s successfully distracted her. Whether or not it was intentional, Theo prevented a fight between Destiny and Ash from transpiring.
Or maybe, it was the ritual.
Mrs. Harrison clears her throat, and everyone faces the front of the classroom.
“Good morning, class. My name is Mrs. Harrison. But those of you who read the registration packet know that already.” She goes through a standard outline of our syllabus and cost of materials. My eyes feel like they’re going to fall out of my face when I see the total cost of our beauty kit. The very idea of my mom having to pay for most of this fills my stomach with knots.
I’m fortunate that she makes pretty good money as a nurse, but I still can’t deny that as an adult, I should be paying for this. The problem is that I’ve never been able to keep a normal job because of my OCD. Whether it be clocking in at only certain times to avoid even numbers, arranging items where they aren’t supposed to go, spending an hour locking and unlocking a door, or simply not showing up on Fridays, it’s always been my fault. I make a small amount of money walking the dogs in my neighborhood, because it’s hard to mess that up. But it really doesn’t pay much.
As a result, my mom pays for almost everything. She’s never made me feel bad about it, but the deal has always been that I can live with her rent-free as long as I’m going to school. I won’t have to move out until I get my cosmetology license. If I can manage to pass state board.
Mrs. Harrison drones on, outlining prison-like rules about clocking in on time, and her hopes that the class will have a successful semester. It all takes over two hours. It’s amazing that there’s even enough content on the first day for her to cover.
When it’s break time, I grab Ash's arm and pull her from her seat. She tilts her head to the side but follows me past Theo and out the building. There are benches outside the door, but we don’t sit.
"Just this once," I plead, "could you try not to get yourself in trouble?"
She raises one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “What are you talking about? That bitch was asking for it.”
I place my hands on her shoulders, hoping to somehow make her see reason. “She totally was.” I take a deep breath. “But we’re going to be spending a lot of time around these girls before we graduate and get our licenses. So can we please just try to make more friends than enemies around here?”
Ash shakes her head. “If she opens her mouth again, I’ll remove her teeth one by one.”
I sigh. “Fine. As long as it’s not on campus.”
She laughs. “Stop worrying so much, babe.” She links her arm through mine. “Let’s go to the bathroom. I want to check my face.”
There’s a bathroom in our building, so we go back inside. We pass the main room, and I glance at our desks to find Destiny still talking gregariously to Theo. I suppress a large eye roll.
In front of the bathroom mirror, Ash seems to come down from her high. To her, that little tiff was her espresso shot for the day. She fixes her hair and wipes non-existent eyeliner smudges from beneath her eyes. I decide to wash my hands, even though they aren’t dirty. I scrub my skin raw, letting the hot water run over my hands until they burn.
When I was younger, my skin used to crack and blister because of how often I’d wash myself. I would try with all my might to wash the darkness on my skin away, if only so I could more resemble my mom, the only parent I had.
A memory flashes through my mind as I stare at my long, dark fingers under the stream of water. My mom, saying to one of her friends when she thought I couldn’t hear, “God, she looks so much like him. I’d hate her if I didn’t love her so much.” Their smothered laughs. My even expression afterwards, revealing nothing.
My mom never told me the exact reason why she hated my dad, but I’d always assumed it was for cheating and leaving her before he died. And though I had some of her facial features, I knew all she saw was my color. My dad’s color. To her, I looked like him, and it pained her enough that she could hardly stand the sight of me.
I’d try and try and try to wash him away. In the sink. In the shower, hoping to reveal any traces of her underneath so she’d have no reason to hate me. But I finally stopped trying when I realized the stain of my father’s betrayal—and his color—weren’t going anywhere.
I leave my hands under the water, unmoving.
When I dry them, I always use three paper towels.
Even numbers are favored by most people because there’s never a straggler. No one is left out. Everyone gets a partner. But I can’t stand that even numbers can never be centered, only divided. To me, there must be a middle.
1, 2, 3.
I dry my hands with one paper towel at a time. One towel is never enough to dry every single last drop of water. But two would probably suffice. Three paper towels, if I’m being honest, is one too many. Even for long-fingered hands like mine. But there’s no way I’m using an even number of paper towels, and I’m not leaving a trace of water on my hands to potentially attract dirt and other germs. So I use three paper towels, every time.
When we sit back down, Ash makes a point to ignore Destiny. I’m so grateful I could cry.
The bell rings, signaling the end of break, and Mrs. Harrison begins passing out more forms for us to sign.
“Feeling better, love?” Theo murmurs softly, without looking at me.
I frown at him. “Who says there was anything wrong?”
He faces me then to arch a brow at me, which I choose to ignore. There’s no way he could have sensed my distress at the almost-fight Ash got into. And even if he had, why would he care?
As Mrs. Harrison lectures on and on about the importance of sanitation and electricity safety, I let my mind wander from the room. In one hour and thirty-five minutes I’ll be able to go home and read.
It’s one of things that helps, reading. It allows me to take my focus off the mess in my mind that constantly burdens me. I’ve had moderate OCD since I was young. I was officially diagnosed at twelve, progressively getting worse year after year. I always try find ways to cope, because doing so is my only hope of living day to day without crumbling from the inside out. Even though my doctor has told me my condition can easily be managed with meds, I can’t take them. I won’t.
Mrs. Harrison passes out an information packet about all the different services we’ll be learning to perform this semester, and I begin reading.
Theo pokes me with his pen.
I ignore him.
He clears his throat.
I turn and face him, already scowling.
Theo is frowning, as if deep in thought. “Do you have any idea,” he says, low and quiet, like he’s letting me in on a secr
et, “how long my mum knew yours?”
I shrug lightly, surprised at the question. This is the first time Theo has mentioned his mom to me, and I’m not exactly sure how to respond. “They were friends for years,” I tell him. “Your mom apparently had a travel year in Cape Town at the same time my mom lived there.”
“Your mum is from South Africa?”
I nod. “She was born there but came here when she married my dad. He was American,” I add, trying to keep my tone chatty, light, and appropriate for the classroom setting. But I see when Theo’s attention lingers on that word. Was. Even though I say it casually, he catches it, and his eyes soften a fraction.
He doesn’t remark on it though, and instead asks, “So, in all the time our mothers were best mates, she never brought you with her to visit?”
I press my lips together. Even though most of the class is talking to one another right now instead of reading, I’d rather be reading the packet on my desk.
“Not that I can remember. I usually stayed with my aunt, Ash’s mom, the few times my mom went to London.” I frown. “Why?”
“Just wondering why I’ve never met you. It’s rather strange, don’t you think?” Theo stares at me for a moment too long, and I look away, pretending to pick my nails.
“Not really,” I say. “Just because our moms were friends doesn’t mean we need to be.”
Theo laughs. “You say that like being my friend would be such a terrible thing.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t need any more friends.”
Ash chooses this moment to break away from her reading to chime in. “Oh, yeah. Because you have so many besides me.”
Theo chuckles, earning a death glare from me. “Oh, shut up,” I say.
“You can always be best mates with Destiny,” he whispers in my ear, sending chills racing down my spine. “If you’re desperate.”
“The only thing I’m desperate for is solitude, at the moment.” I snap.
Ash leans over my desk to talk to Theo. “By the way,” she says, “thanks for stepping in with the bitch behind me. If you hadn’t, I would have beat her ass and Willow would have had a conniption.”
I shake my head. “No, I wouldn’t have.”
“I know.” Theo smirks, ignoring me. “It was clear.”
The bell rings, and I stand up and march out of the classroom, not waiting for either Theo or Ash. If they want to talk about me like I’m not even there, then I might as well not even be there.
I’m half tempted to leave without him. He should just ride home with Ash at this point. She’s the one who thinks he’s so irresistibly hot anyway.
But Theo walks over to my car, to my great dismay.
I don’t say a word as we get in and I turn up a random radio station to keep him from speaking to me.
We’ve been driving for mere seconds when Theo turns the music down.
I turn it back up.
He turns it down again. “Trying to drown me out there, are you, love?”
“I was trying so hard to hide it.”
He grins. “The least you can do is thank me, like your cousin did.”
The nerve of this guy. It’s like his sole purpose in life is to annoy me beyond belief. “Thank you? What on earth for?”
“Well, seeing as I prevented you from having a breakdown in class today, it seems like some gratitude could be in order.” He folds his arms behind his head, relaxing into his seat.
My cheeks burn with rage. “Gratitude?” I can’t believe my distress at the situation was so blatant. Who else had noticed? Was it really that obvious? “I didn’t ask you to step in. In fact, I had everything under control on my own.”
“Control? That’s what you call it, is it?”
I take my eyes off the road to shoot Theo a glare but catch him staring at my mouth. Something unfamiliar burns deep inside me, and I quickly turn away.
Thank goodness we’re home. I pull into the driveway. “Get out.”
“Don’t you want to keep chatting?” Theo teases. “Or would you rather go inside and read?”
“That’s not what I’m going to do,” I sputter, though doing so was my exact intention.
“Little Willow, comfy in her bed, not a care in the world,” he murmurs. He studies me, like he’s trying to imagine it.
I hold his gaze defiantly, despite the flutters that course through me at his unguarded eye contact. His blue gaze sears through me, making me feel slightly dizzy.
I have absolutely nothing to say to that, so I get out of the car, leaving him alone inside. He frowns at me through the windshield, like I’m being rude for ending our conversation without his permission, but I just turn on my heel and walk up the driveway without looking back at him.
I unlock the front door. I’m about to make straight for my room, but do a double take when I see my mom sitting at the kitchen table.
With a guy.
“Mom?” I backtrack until I’m within full view of them both. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
My mom’s smile is strained. “Hi, sweetie. I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to wait up and find out how your day went. I also wanted to introduce you to one of my friends.”
I take in the man’s plain but pleasant face, his short red hair, and glasses with square frames. He’s clad in scrubs, similar to the kind my mom wears to work.
“Hi,” I say. I hold up my hand in an awkward wave and let it fall back down to my side. The man smiles at me.
“This is Gus Badgley,” my mom says.
I glance at his scrubs again, wondering if he’s a doctor, or maybe a nurse like my mom.
Gus stands and reaches his hand out, a warm smile on his face. I shake it, and immediately wipe my palm on my shorts. His eyes follow the gesture, and as he sits back down with my mom, his smile fades.
This isn’t the first time my mom has done this. Introducing me to doctor friends of hers is one of her favorite pastimes. While the meetings may start out innocently, they almost always transition into me politely turning down advice and medication recommendations.
“She’s just as cute and quirky as you described, hun,” Gus says to my mom. The look in his eyes catches me off guard, the way he barely masks his adoration and reaches over to brush my mom’s hand with his own.
Hun?
“Do you two work together?” I ask. There has to be some code of conduct against them dating if they work at the same hospital. “Are you a doctor?” I ask Gus.
Gus’s face reddens. “I—no,” he stammers.
“He’s a pharmacist,” my mom answers sharply, probably catching on to where my questions are leading.
A pharmacist? Not a doctor? Either way, I suspect there’s more to this visit than what they’re letting on. Gus’s hand, still resting atop my mother’s, tells me as much.
I have difficulty swallowing as I take it all in. His short red hair, combed neatly back, his tall, hefty frame and round green eyes.
“I’ve been wanting to introduce the two of you for some time now,” my mom says in a rush, surely aware of the dread weighing down my stomach. Her voice is light and soft. She’s starting to lose her South African accent because of how long she’s been in America. Ever since my dad died, she’s only dated three men, all of whom couldn’t be more physically different than him.
I back away, toward the kitchen sink. I need to wash my hands, especially the one that Gus shook. I immediately turn the faucet on and start scrubbing. My mom clears her throat behind me, but I don’t care if I’m being rude. I dry my hands with three separate paper towels and throw them away, one at a time.
Why did she bring him here? I can’t breathe. I can’t see straight, and there’s a tight pain in my chest. I stare at the trash can. My skin begins to tingle. My heart starts to race as the familiar wave of anxiety crashes over my body. I get down on my knees, removing everything from the trash can, one by one.
“Willow!” My mom rises from her chair. “What on earth are you doing?” Her voice is full of f
alse obliviousness. She knows exactly what I’m doing, but she doesn’t want Gus to realize that this behavior isn’t at all out of the ordinary for me.
“They’re uncomfortable,” I mutter aloud, mostly for Gus’s benefit. “I need to fix it.” As soon as all the trash is out of the can and on our kitchen floor, I begin putting it back in, arranging each piece of waste meticulously, so it sits right. My breathing slows as I make progress, the pounding in my heart ceasing.
“Willow Daphne Bates.” My mom’s voice is a deadly calm. “May I speak to you privately?”
I sigh, but not because of the talk I’m about to have with my mom. I’m relieved that the anxiety is mollified, for now. I get up and wash my hands again, ignoring the deafening silence and tension coursing off my mom’s body as I do. I dry my hands on my shirt to avoid repeating that whole ordeal again, and follow my mom to my room.
“I’ll meet you in the car, Gus,” my mom says sweetly, over her shoulder. She closes my door behind me as soon as I’m inside.
“I’m sorry Mom—” I begin, but she cuts me off.
“What the hell is wrong with you? You couldn’t control yourself for a few goddamn minutes while I introduced you to my new boyfriend?” Her voice quivers, and even though this isn’t the first time I’ve embarrassed my mom with my rituals, I’ve never seen her so mad before.
“So, you are dating,” I say quietly. “I thought you said he was your friend.”
Her nostrils flare. “That is not the point, and you know it.” Her eyes are so wide, I can actually see the whites surrounding them on all sides. “You will get your issues under control, Willow. I mean it this time. I can’t live like this anymore.”
My eyes well up with tears at her words. I’ve always worried that at some point, my OCD would become too much for her. It hurts more than I expected to know that time has finally come. I inhale sharply. “I’m trying, Mom. Really, I am.”
She shakes her head. “Then why have you only gotten worse since the accident?”
I swallow. My heart comes to a complete stop. “You know why,” I breathe. It’s something we don’t talk about, ever, and she knows better than to bring it up.
One Carefree Day Page 3