My Favorite Mistake

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  “Forgot what?”

  “Tay hates bananas.”

  “Oh, really?” Here we go. The boy I’d done a blow painting with a second before was gone and the boy who was always trying to get in my pants was back.

  I didn’t respond, but started picking up the painting stuff. I didn’t like doing it with a lot of people around. It was a personal thing. Hunter was the first person I’d actually done one with, but he didn’t know that.

  “I’m sorry, but you walked right into that one,” he said.

  “You don’t have to make everything into an innuendo, Hunter. Not everything is about sex.”

  “Okay, well, I’m going to go eat this somewhere else. See yah,” Renee said, skittering away to her room.

  She must have sensed that I was close to another blow up. I hadn’t had one for at least a week. That must be some kind of record.

  I gathered the brushes and water cup and threw them in the sink. I didn’t want him to know I was hurt, but it was too late. I turned on the water and started vigorously washing the brushes. I could feel Hunter leaning against the counter. I hated how aware of him I was. If he was in a room, it was like I had radar that went off and tracked his every movement.

  “Taylor, I’m sorry. You should know by now that I’m an ass most of the time.”

  “You don’t have to be an ass all of the time.” It wasn’t true. He could be sweet, and funny and charming, and… He could be so much more than a guy who was always talking about getting laid.

  “You’re right. I’ll try. For you, I’ll try.”

  I nodded and wiped the brushes on a paper towel and threw them in the sink drainer to dry. The counter was covered in our breakfast dishes.

  “It’s my turn,” Hunter said, pointing to the chore chart on the fridge. It was my turn for dishes the next day.

  “Many hands make light work,” I said, handing him a sponge. “If you promise to not make a pass at me for the rest of today, I will help you do the dishes. If you do, you have to do them tomorrow. Deal?”

  “For real? God, Missy, you drive a hard bargain.”

  “All I’m asking you to do is not be an ass for…” I looked at the clock. “Less than eight hours. You can do it. I believe in you.”

  He looked at the dishes, including the several that were crusted with oatmeal.

  “Deal.”

  We shook on it and got started. The sink was small, and the counter made an L, so we were squished in close.

  Hunter started humming a tune as I handed him a cup.

  “What are you singing?”

  “Well, to distract myself from being an ass, I’m writing another song. It’s called Doin’ Dirty… Dishes.”

  “Clever.”

  He started beating out a rhythm with his foot and I joined.

  Soap and water and a pretty girl,

  We turn on the water and watch it swirl,

  We’re… doin’ dishes, we’re… doin’ dishes,

  Oooh, oooh, ooohhh,

  Scrub, scrub, scrub, yeah,

  Scrub, scrub, scrub, yeah,

  Scrubby, scrubby, scrubby, scrub, scrub, scruuubbb

  He ended the song with a little flourish and a bow. I clapped my wet hands, spraying both of us with soapy water. He was such a dork sometimes. The song was pretty terrible.

  “See what you can accomplish when you’re not being an ass?”

  “I had more suggestive lyrics, but I decided not to use them. You know, because I’m not being an ass.”

  “Right.”

  “But I’ll save them and sing them to you at a later point when I’m allowed assery again.”

  “Okay.”

  That stupid little song got stuck in my head, and Hunter sang it again, with me providing sound effects with pots and a wooden spoon.

  “What are you doing out here?” Renee said, emerging from her room with her “study” look: dazed expression, hair in a clip and her ratty old UMaine sweatpants.

  “Hunter has decided he’s not going to be an ass today, isn’t that nice?” I said.

  “Is that even possible? No offense, dude.”

  “None taken. I am fully aware of my asshattery.”

  “Oooh, I like that. Asshattery. I’m gonna use that now,” Renee said, going to the fridge for an energy drink.

  “Late night?”

  “I have a test on auto-immune diseases. Want to see a picture of dermatitis herpetiformis?”

  She was always trying to get me to look at gross disease pictures.

  “Yeah, I think I’ll pass. I don’t know how you can eat and do that stuff,” I said.

  Renee shrugged.

  Darah came home a minute later, towing Mase by the hand.

  “Oh look, it’s the fearsome twosome.” Renee got a little bitter whenever she saw happy couples. I wished she’d just call Paul, forgive him, have some awesome make-up sex, and be done with it. I’d much rather have Paul around and have Renee happy than not have him around and have to deal with crabby Renee.

  “Are you doing dishes?” Mase said, gaping at Hunter.

  “Why yes, I am.”

  Mase looked at me as if it was my fault.

  “Hey, his name is on the chore chart,” I said.

  “You have a chore chart?” Mase said.

  “It was Darah’s idea,” I pointed out.

  “So that no one gets stuck with doing everything, and we’re held accountable,” Darah said.

  “Hey, anything that can get this guy to do dishes is okay by me. Good job, Dare,” he said, giving her a peck on the cheek. She smiled in satisfaction.

  “What is it with you people and nicknames? Do you have one for me?” Renee said. Sometimes we called her Nene, because we’d heard her mom call her that once when she visited, and Paul was the only one allowed to use it without getting a glare from Renee.

  “How about Re? As in, ray of sunshine?” Hunter said. Smooth. “Or Ne? That’s cute, too.”

  She thought about it for a second.

  “I’ll take it.”

  “So I’m bringing Darah home with me this weekend to meet Mom and Dad, so we’re gonna go together.”

  Darah looked at him with a giddy-nervous smile. Wow, meeting the family was big.

  “Wow, meeting the Masons. Big step, Mase,” Hunter said.

  “I know,” Mase said, winking at Darah. “She’s going to do great.”

  I was painfully curious about Hunter’s family, especially how he hadn’t grown up with his parents. He’d said they were dead, but when had they died? How old was he? Did he miss them? The questions had been running through my mind since he’d first told me they were dead.

  Any way you sliced it, he didn’t want to talk about it. I could respect that, seeing as how I had plenty of things I didn’t want to talk about.

  “Got any advice for me, Hunter?” Darah said.

  “Just talk to John about technology stocks, The New York Times crossword, real estate, or World War II and you’re good.”

  “Uhh,” Darah said, the panic clear in her eyes.

  “I’m kidding. Although, you could talk to him about the real estate market. He loves British comedies, the Pats, Asian cooking, and classic cars.”

  “Oh thank God. Cooking and cars. Got it. Although, I could have held my own with stocks.”

  “You’re gonna do great. Don’t worry so much,” Mase said, flipping her hair.

  Hunter’s eyes flicked over me before he lowered his voice. “Have you told her about Harper?” Like I couldn’t hear him. He was standing two feet away.

  “Of course.”

  Darah, Mase and Hunter all looked at me. Seemed I was the odd one out.

  “Who’s Harper?” I said, asking the obvious question.

  “My sister. She has cerebral palsy from a fall she had as a baby. It’s not a big deal, but our house is filled with ramps and equipment and stuff, so it’s better to prepare people ahead of time,” Mase said.

  “How old is she?”

 
; “Seven,” Mase said. I could feel Hunter watching my face, as if he was anticipating my reaction. How did he think I would react?

  “So, anyway, that’s where we’re going to be this weekend. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Mase said.

  “Okay,” Darah said, giving him a kiss.

  I could hear Renee rolling her eyes.

  “Bye, Dare.”

  “Night, John.”

  Mase nodded to the rest of us and left.

  Darah sighed and leaned on the counter.

  “John? Wow, I think you’re the first girl he’s ever let use the first name. You must be doing something right,” he said with a wink.

  “Hunter,” I said in a warning tone.

  “What? That wasn’t ass-y. It was playful.”

  I pointed at him and narrowed my eyes. “You are on thin ice, Mister.”

  “What are you talking about?” Darah said.

  “Hunter is not supposed to be an ass for the rest of the day.”

  She gaped at Hunter. “For real? Is that even possible?”

  “Am I that much of a douche?” he asked us all.

  “Yes,” we said in unison.

  *****

  “So, can I be an ass now?” he said at 10:30.

  “Nope. You have to finish out the night. When you wake up tomorrow morning, go back to your asshat self. Until then, you have to be nice.”

  He’d been surprisingly nice, letting me go first for the shower, and he’d put up our blow paintings on the back of the door. He’d even made me a cup of tea and brought it to me. It was like he was buttering me up, but I couldn’t figure out why.

  “Nice is boring.”

  “Nice is nice,” I said, not looking up from my e-reader. Hunter was busy with his guitar, just plucking random strings.

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “So, what’s your meeting with Joe about?” I tried again. I’d been trying to squeeze it in, hoping to catch him off guard.

  “Nice try, Missy. Just because I’m supposed to be nice, doesn’t mean I’m going to be a doormat.”

  “It’s not being a doormat. It’s telling the truth.”

  “Sometimes people don’t want the truth. Sometimes the truth is worse than a lie.” He set his guitar aside and climbed under his covers. Any moment now the boxers were coming off.

  I had to agree with him on that. We’d been doing this dance around our separate secrets, getting close and then moving away. I didn’t know which one of us was going to slip up first.

  Thirteen

  I was disturbed from my Saturday morning solitary cartoon-watching by Hunter ripping the door open, looking frantic and carrying his guitar case. That was a first.

  “Can I borrow your car?”

  “What’s wrong with yours?” It was early, and I hadn’t had my coffee yet. I’d been planning on vegging out for a few hours, since I had the place to myself. Renee was home for the weekend, and Darah and Hunter were supposed to be visiting the Masons.

  Or so I had thought.

  “It won’t start and I have to get home. Can I have your keys, please?” he said, holding his hand out as if I was just going to pass them to him, no questions asked.

  Oh no. There was no way I was letting this guy drive Sassy, my red Charger. No effing way.

  “I’m not letting you drive my car,” I said, crossing my arms. “No one drives Sassy, but me.”

  “Your car is named Sassy?” he said, and then shook his head. “Never mind, I’ll ask about that later. Will you please let me borrow your car? I have to get to Bar Harbor.”

  “You’re not driving my car.” That was one line no one crossed. Not even Tawny.

  Hunter looked like he was going to blow up and yell. Instead he dropped the guitar case, reached down, grabbed my hand, and pulled me to my feet.

  “Fine, you drive.”

  I tried to pull away from him, but it was early, and he was strong and determined and I didn’t have my wits about me yet.

  “No way, I’m not driving you to Bar Harbor.”

  “Then I’m taking your car. It’s your choice, Missy. Either take me, or I take the car.”

  “You’re not going to steal my car,” I said.

  “Missy, I can hotwire it if I have to.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “Want to test it out?”

  We glared at one another, neither willing to blink. Finally, I realized that I’d be a horrible bitch if I said no. It wasn’t like he was asking me to drive him to a bar to get wasted.

  “Fine. Let me get dressed.”

  “Hurry up, we have to go,” he said, pointing at a non-existent watch.

  “Why, you going to be late for your appointment with Joe?” I said through the bedroom door.

  He was enough of a non-ass today to not follow me. He must really be in a hurry, because this would be a prime opportunity to catch me naked. I tore through my closet. Damn, did he expect me to come in with him, and like, meet them?

  “Are you decent yet?”

  “Don’t rush me. If I’m meeting your family, I have to look at least presentable.”

  “You’re going to meet them, not try to sleep with them. Whatever you wear will be fine. You’d look gorgeous in one of those hospital gowns.”

  “Well, I’d like to look like I at least tried to make an effort.” I ripped through my closet, looking for my favorite baby blue gauzy shirt.

  “Oh, for the love of —” He banged the door open.

  “I swear to God, if I was naked, I would have torn your eyeballs out of your head,” I said, with my head in the closet.

  “I don’t doubt it. Now, what are we searching for?”

  “Top. Baby blue. Kind of ruffly on the sleeves.” Why was my closet so freaking dark? It didn’t occur to anyone that I might need a light in there.

  “Like this one?” He held up the exact shirt he’d somehow extracted from my dresser drawer.

  “Yes! Now I need jeans,” I said, glancing at the mess I’d made. I had a pair of dark skinny jeans that would look great with a pair of silver sandals I knew were under my bed.

  “Here,” Hunter said, finding the exact jeans I was thinking of.

  “Are you sure you’re not gay? Because you can put an outfit together.”

  “Can you just get ready?”

  Hunter was not in a playful mood. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was stressed. Hmm. That was a new emotion for him. What was he so stressed about, and what did this Joe guy have to do with it? Looked like I was going to get to find out.

  “Okay, keep your shirt on. I’ll be right back.”

  I grabbed a new set of underwear when he wasn’t looking and dashed to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth with one hand and finger combed through my hair with the other. I was going to leave it down, but it was doing this weird poofy thing on one side, so I whirled it into a messy bun and called it good. I usually didn’t wear much make-up and today didn’t seem like the time to mess around with my new mascara.

  “If you aren’t done in thirty seconds, I’m going to break the door down, whether you kick me in the balls or not.”

  I waited until he got down to ten before I opened the door. He stopped counting.

  “Better than a hospital gown?”

  “You could say that. “ He blinked a couple more times and rubbed his tattoo. I tried not to smirk in satisfaction.

  “Don’t we need to go?” I said when he hadn’t moved.

  “Right. Here,” he said, tossing me my keys.

  “These were in my purse.”

  “And?”

  “And you would have had to go into my purse to get them.”

  “We’re in a hurry,” he said.

  “We will discuss this in the car,” I said, pointing my keys in his face. “And we’re listening to my music. No arguments. Also, we’re stopping for breakfast and you’re buying.”

  His eyes narrowed, but when I didn’t move, he sighed.

  “Fine. Let’s go.�
�� He picked up his guitar, and we were off.

  “What do you need that for?”

  “Harper,” he said, as if that explained it. He was still grumpy so I didn’t push the issue.

  We trooped out to the student lot, and it took me a second to remember where I parked Sassy.

  “Sassy, this is Hunter; Hunter, Sassy,” I said, pointing from car to boy and back.

  “Am I supposed to shake her hubcap?”

  “No mocking my love for my car. I can leave you by the side of the road, Mr. Zaccadelli.”

  “Yes, Miss Caldwell,” he said, opening my door for me.

  “Thank you.”

  I got in and cranked my Florence and The Machine CD as he stowed his guitar in the backseat. If he made any cracks about Florence, he was going down.

  “God help us,” Hunter mumbled when he heard the music.

  “What was that?”

  “I love this song,” he said, bopping his head and tapping his hand on his knee. One, two, three, four, five. Pause. One, two, three, four, five. Pause.

  “You are so full of shit.” I turned the radio up louder and yawned.

  We stopped at a drive-through, and I made Hunter get me an iced coffee and cheese Danish. He got black coffee and a bagel, and seemed to be okay with my musical selections. I’d switched to The Band Perry, and I even caught him humming along.

  “So where does your family live?” I said.

  “Bar Harbor.”

  “Yeah, I got that part when you said we were going to Bar Harbor. Can you be a little more specific?”

  “I’ll let you know when we get there. You’ve been there before, right?”

  “Sure.” A few times. Bar Harbor was actually part of an island known as Mount Desert Island and was home to Acadia National Park, the only National park in Maine. It also had a lot of rich people.

  I finished my Danish as we passed through Bangor.

  “So, aren’t you going to give me a pep talk? Like, things to avoid, what to be prepared for? I know about Harper, but is there anything else?”

  “Not really. Hope is my aunt; John is my uncle. You don’t have to call them Mr. and Mrs. Mason. They kind of hate that. The only other person of importance is Harper, and you’ll get to meet her, too.”