I place it in Nan’s lap and watch as a huge smile spreads across her face.
“Sold,” she says and throws it back to me.
“What do you mean sold? And you didn’t even look at it.” I’m offended and guessing it shows on my face by the way Nan’s looking at me.
“I don’t need to. It’s perfect. And after it is juried and accepted, I want to buy it. I’m going to lose all my hair just in time for the snow, and I need something to keep my head warm.”
I purse my lips, understanding her attempt at humor, but I don’t think it’s funny. I don’t see how I can or will ever laugh at this. She’s dying and she’s making a joke out of it. Suddenly I'm angry all over again.
I stuff the hat back in my bag and start another hat while Nan hums. She’s not as good as Georgina but her voice is still soothing.
I am half done another hat by the time Nan is ready to go.
“You’re so talented,” she says.
The hat is multicolored. That crazy yarn dyed ten different colors. I chuckle to myself while turning the hat in my hands.
“No wonder they call me Hat Girl,” I say thinking of the boxes of hats I have in my room. It’s only October and already I’ve made about 25 of them.
“Hat girl?” Nan asks.
“At school,” I explain.“It’s what they call me now ever since Lachlan started wearing my hat. Everyone wants one.”
“That’s wonderful,” Nan smiles weakly. I have never described anything about Nan as being weak and it makes me hurt all over. It feels like she is one step closer to death. My foot taps and that tight feeling in my chest that screams panic is closing in.
I take a deep breath and try to remind myself that she is right in front of me. She’s right here.
I lean forward and hug her. She pats my face then we make our way to my parents car.
We drive in silence. Nan has her eyes closed and her head lolls to one side. Frail. I hate it. I hold back tears and stare at the road.
“Love you forever, Nan,” I say when I drop her off.
“Forever and always,” she whispers and climbs slowly from the car. I feel the sting of tears and need to get out of here.
~
I cinch my coat tighter around me and pull my scarf over my nose as I stand outside in the wind. Lachlan was supposed to be here 15 minutes ago. My one leg shakes and I shift my weight. I hate waiting. I cross my arms and groan. I’m mad. First because he’s late and second because it seems I’m always mad at him and third because I’m stuck standing in the cold with nothing but thoughts of my disaster of a day.
Starting with Nan then moving on to dropping my hat off for jurying my day just kept getting worse. I forgot—no I pushed it out of my head—that the director of the Cozy Christmas Charity Drive was Deacon’s grandmother who insisted on talking about my and Deacon’s break-up. She isn’t very cozy.
I forget that not all Nans are kind and caring and smell like baking like mine, or meddling and funny and old fashioned like Georgina. Greta is cold and calculated and really just an awful person.
I had a panic attack after I dropped off my white hat and she looked down her crooked pretentious nose at it and asked, “You’re submitting this?” Then I came home and cried and now the jerk I may, or may not, have a crush on has stood me up for the only requirement of the Charity Drive, volunteering.
I just about write him off when I see Georgina’s car turn a little too quickly onto my street. Lachlan is out of the car so fast that I wonder if he remembered to put it into park.
I glare.
“I know, I know. I’m an asshole. I’m sorry. I’m here.” Lachlan wraps his arm around my shoulder and ushers me into the car. He closes the door for me before I can respond.
~
Lachlan has this strange mixture of mysterious bad boy with southern gentlemen with rockstar charm. I can’t keep up with him and he has me spun around so many times it’s hard to keep track of what I like about him and what I don’t. Sometimes they overlap.
No, they always overlap.
I’m watching him as we fold towels in the shelter’s basement laundry room. It’s steamy and hot. The faint smell of fabric softener mixes with the thick, musty air and it’s hard to breathe without tasting it.
Lachlan’s sleeves are pushed up and his tattoos flex and stretch. It’s like a mural, arranged in no particular order other than to flow from one to the other in a lucid and dreamlike swirl of color and shape. Most of the images are kind of dark and scary, but I think that has a lot to do with whatever his dad did to him. I try to pick out different elements but he moves so fast I can’t focus on anything but that wristband. The wristband that covers the huge scar across his inner wrist.
“You never did tell me what that symbol meant.” I lay a towel on top of the one he just folded and we both grab another one.
“I didn’t.”
He doesn’t even look over at me and I seriously want to stomp my foot. How immature is that? But I can’t help it. I roll my eyes instead.
“Are you ever going to?”
Lachlan places his folded towel down on the washer and flips around to face me. He leans on the machine and crosses one foot over the other.
Here we go, tough guy.
“Are you ever going to tell me why you’re so rigid all the time?”
I step back both literally and metaphorically. “I am not rigid,” I say, my voice hard. My body stiffens, which totally doesn’t help my case. “And that’s a very personal question.”
“So is this.” Lachlan holds out his arm.
I stumble over words that form in my mouth. I forget them as soon as they dissolve on my tongue. I have no idea how long we stand there with my jaw wobbling like one of the wind-up teeth toys that chatter.
Lachlan laughs, the arrogant one that slides it’s way under my skin and leaves me both hot and cold. He stretches his arms up in the air and casually grips a thick solid looking water pipe that hangs from the low ceiling. He lifts himself up like a monkey and dangles in the air. I can see his stomach and the elastic band of his underwear and I try to look away. He sets himself down on the washer and not once has he shifted his eyes away from mine. He’s making fun of me, but I can’t figure out how, or why. I also don’t know where this display of macho-male is coming from but it makes my stomach flutter.
“Tell me, Hat Girl.” Lachlan’s voice gets lower, huskier. “Have you ever done anything bad in your life? And I’m not talking, like, stole a candy bar as a kid, bad…”
My heart pounds and my breathing speeds up but this is definitely not a panic attack. This is totally different. Exciting.
“I mean really bad,” he continues.
Lachlan spreads his knees apart and leans forward slightly, using the pipe just above his head to brace himself.
My jaw now feels like it’s disappeared altogether and my cheeks fill with heat. I stutter over a few things that could constitute as bad but I stop myself because I know that’s not what he means.
I take a step toward him, my feet moving without my permission.
“Bad?” I finally push out, but my voice squeaks. I am too flustered to be embarrassed.
His smile widens and his eyes darken behind his fringe of curls. I’m standing and staring like a total idiot surrounded by laundry, with nothing but the swishing sound of the washing machine to cut the tension.
“Like, I don’t know, make out with the guy who has the worst Juvie record in town? In the basement of a homeless shelter? On a washing machine?” Lachlan says, raising one eyebrow.
I try to swallow, but I fail and a bubble of air gets stuck in my throat. I cough and Lachlan laughs again. I really want to be mad at him, for putting me on the spot like this, but as soon as the word ‘make-out’ comes out of his mouth I can’t stop staring at his lips. Everything else forgotten.
“Come here, Hat Girl.” He is still leaning forward, bracing himself on the pipe. I hesitate and then take a step.
Thi
s is such a bad idea.
“Clos-er.” He drags out the last part. Definitely a really bad idea. I take another step. My sneakers are silent on the concrete floor because the step is slow and tentative. My steps are the only thing that’s moving slowly though. My heart is racing, my legs are shaking, and my mind is spinning.
Why does he always do this?
He’s pulling me toward him with his eyes, his lips, his crooked nose and perfect teeth. The way he leans forward, the way his fingers loosen and tighten their grip on the low hanging pipe, the way that he slides to the very edge of the washing machine, all tell me he is serious.
Is this how he picks up other girls?
I take another step. I’m standing in front of him. I shouldn’t be. Both sides of my brain are screaming so loud at the other I can’t tell anymore. I want. I don’t want. I desire. I fear. It all happens at once.
“A little closer,” he whispers now. His knees spread even wider apart and I step in between them. He’s leaning over me and I feel his breath on my face. My arms are locked at my side.
“We shouldn’t, Lachlan.” My head is angled down. My voice is breathy. It matches the light but also heavy feeling in my chest, my stomach, my knees. I feel like I’m floating and sinking at the same time.
“I know we shouldn’t.”He touches his forehead to mine. “But I want to. I have to. It’s killing me.”
I close my eyes, our foreheads still touching. My nose brushes against his. He leans further into me. I tilt up a little more and my lips touch his.
I brace myself on his knees so I don’t fall. For a second I feel like I’ll faint, which is stupid. I’ve kissed boys before.
But not this boy.
Lachlan eases off the washer, hanging from the pipe until his feet touch the floor but his lips never leave mine. He slides one arm around my waist and pulls me into him. Hard. He increases the pressure of the kiss and my lips part. His tongue just touches mine. I really do think I’m going to faint when suddenly he stops.
He pulls me into him again, pressing my head against his chest. I can feel and hear his heart beating faster than mine.
Is he nervous? No, Lachlan doesn’t get nervous.
He clears his throat and everything in my body that was working at warp speed only a second ago stops. The feeling is like slamming into reverse going 100 miles an hour.
I peek over my shoulder toward the door to the basement. The director of the shelter is leaning against the doorway and doesn’t look impressed.
“Sorry, sir. She was having an attack. Just calming her down.” Lachlan’s voice sounds normal but his chest heaves under my cheek with short breaths. My arms are still locked at my sides.
“Is she going to be okay?” The director sounds concerned but there’s something skeptical in his voice too. He has been director for years, so he’s seen my attacks and knows how Nan calms me down.
“I think so sir, thank you.” There’s the southern gentleman part, accent and all. The director doesn’t leave right away so I wave behind me and will my voice to come out even.
“I’m fine. I just need a minute. Thank you.”
As soon as the metal door clangs shut Lachlan relaxes back on the washer, taking me with him. He rests his chin on my head.
“Thanks. For covering,” I whisper into his chest.
He hugs me tighter but doesn’t say anything. It’s silent for a minute. Just the swish of the washer.
“Forgiveness,” he says abruptly.
This startles me and I try to pull back but I’m too wrapped up and he won’t let me go.
“Huh?”
“The symbol. On the wristband. It means forgiveness.”
My arms go around his waist and I relax into him.
“For him, or you?” I wonder out loud. His dad had abused him, but he had also turned to abuse, just a different form.
“Both,” he doesn’t hesitate. His voice is cold and distant.
We stand silent for a long time before he leans back to look at me with those absorbent brown eyes. He lifts my chin with his finger and kisses me lightly on the nose.
“Hat Girl, what have you done to me?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lachlan
I really don’t know how I got here, but here I am nonetheless. Talia sits with me on Gram’s front porch. She’s one step down and sitting between my legs. I have my arms wrapped around her shoulders and she’s leaning on me playing with my wristband. I’m slowly getting comfortable with her touching my wrist. I really like that she’s not afraid to ask but never pushes.
It’s probably why I’m sitting here with her now.
I’m not sure how a kiss in a damp basement turned into movie night at my place in a week, but like I said, here we are.
I don’t think I’ve ever had a movie night with a girl.
“Lachlan?”
I jump at her voice.
“What? Sorry, wasn’t listening.”
“I said we have to set up a schedule for working the booth and decide on a theme for the Charity Drive, which means you have to come to the meeting tomorrow.”
She glares when I groan and slaps my hand.
“I also have to do Math homework, a history paper and about a bazillion Chem labs if I hope to pass this semester. That doesn’t mean I want to.” I chuckle and turn her to face me.
She glares harder and I mock her, mimicking her movements until she smiles. I love that smile.
Whoa, like. I like that smile.
“You look like someone just slapped you in the face.” Talia giggles. I’ve never heard her giggle.
I do the only thing I can think of. I lift her up so she is kneeling and we are face to face. I cup her face in my hand and kiss her. It’s the second time we’ve kissed and it’s just as crazy as the first. Like my reaction to a tiny strip of her skin, I’m confused by the way her lips feel against mine. I mean kissing is great, but these lips are greater.
That sounds fucked. I didn’t know there could be a difference in lips. I’ve kissed a lot of girls. Some were good, some not so much. No one feels like Talia.
She wraps her arms around me, and I remember I’m kissing her. I deepen the kiss by tracing my tongue along her bottom lip and they part. As soon as our tongues meet I am instantly ready for a straight up home-run, right outta the park type advancement so I pull away. It’s not easy.
Her breath catches and her cheeks are red. For a second I think it’s cute how totally clueless she is, then I’m stabbed with guilt so intense that it makes me wince. She doesn’t deserve to be dragged into my shit. She deserves to be with someone who is easy, happy… not quite as screwed up as me.
“Are you okay?” She sounds wary, like I’m going to tell her to do me or get off my porch.
I go to answer, but my cell phone buzzes. I slide it out of my pocket, look and slide it back in. When my eyes meet back up with Talia’s her eyebrows are pulled together in disappointment.
“Are you ever going to tell me what those are about?” Talia points to my jeans pocket and a grin bubbles to the surface of my face.
Too easy.
“Maybe someday I’ll show you what those are about. If you play your cards right.”
I lean back and watch her face. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion and slowly as she starts to realize I wasn’t talking about my phone her brows get higher and higher until her eyes are big ocean blue saucers. I laugh loudly. I shouldn’t do that to her but I can’t help myself.
“Why do you do that?”
“Because you make it too easy.”
She frowns for a moment.
“No, I mean skirt around stuff like that. Why do you act like it doesn’t matter? I’ve seen the way you look at that phone. I just wish you’d talk about it. If not with me then someone else.”
The switch has been flipped. I don’t want to be pissed, but I can’t control it. I hate that anger is my go-to emotion.
“Because crying about your problems doesn’t make them go
away.” I cross my arms. She stands and the hurt look is enough to crush the anger out of me. I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean her.
“Low, Lachlan.”
Talia turns and walked away before I have a chance to explain. Now instead of being mad at her, I’m mad at me.
I need to chill out. I run my hand through my hair until the curls are fuzzy and standing straight up.
I want to tell her. The whole story is on the tip of my tongue every time I’m around her. Why can’t I do it?
My phone buzzes again, and I want to smash it. Be done with it. With the drugs, the running, my past.
Be done with myself.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Talia
I don’t cry as I walk home in the cold air. I’m too busy arguing with myself about whether it’s a terrible idea to get involved with Lachlan. I knew he’d be too much, but there’s something that draws me to him. Ever since the ride on the motorbike when he calmed me down. I just wish he’d stop hiding.
I’m still distracted when I get to my front door. As soon as I step inside I am met with the concerned eyes of my mother. They are red, like she has been crying. She reaches out and grabs my shoulders. She rarely touches me and my gut sinks.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” My thoughts are all about Nan.
Mom sniffs as she runs her hands over my face. I am just about to tell her to get on with it when she lets out a sob.
“What happened to us, Talia?”
I freeze. What is she talking about? My face obviously reflects my inner confusion because she keeps going.
“To you and me. I love you so much. When did we fall apart?” She pulls me into a hug, and I feel like my brain will explode.
Were we ever together enough to be able to fall apart?
“Um, I love you, too.” I pat her back and she squeezes me hard.
“You used to talk to me.”
No I didn’t.
“We used to do things together.”
No we didn’t.
I kick off my flats and guide my mom to the couch, where we sit.
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