I hadn’t planned to end up here, but somehow my body instinctively led me to one of my safe places, and as I unlock the weed growing center, I’m glad I did. This conversation is going to require a joint.
Leading her inside, I flip on the fluorescent work-lights that hang over each row of plants, head straight to the curing area, and snip off a bud ready to be smoked. Methodically, I break up the pot, roll it into a skinny doobie, and light it, having still not responded to her statement about Crew.
“He reached out to me last Thursday,” she obviously realizes I’m not going to say anything, so she continues as I pull a long hit, “and we had a really good heart-to-heart. We both said a lot of things we needed to get off our chests, and we’re both trying to move forward…to put our lives back together in Caleb’s honor and memory.”
“That’s great, Mary,” I manage to say through a puff of smoke, but again, I refuse to meet her eyes. “Really, you both deserve to be happy. I hope you find whatever it is that gives that to you.”
“I hope we do too,” she whispers as she begins to stroll through the aisles, pausing every few feet to read the information on the cards labeling each grouping of plants, until she finally stops in front of my special babies. “Why don’t these have a card?”
Shaking my head, I snuff out the end of the joint, leaving the roach in the ashtray, and join her in the back corner. “It’s my latest project, a new strain I’ve been tinkering with,” I admit while reaching out to run my forefinger up and down one of the stems, not ready to tell her the story behind them. “But it’s got a long way to go before it’ll be ready to be smoked. These plants are only about six weeks old, so they’ve got at least another three to four months, possibly longer.”
I step back and return to my workstation, hoping she’ll do the same. I don’t want to talk about those plants any longer. Thankfully, she does.
“I really thought he’d come tonight. I know how he feels about you—” she begins to say, but I rudely cut her off, my bottled up emotions finally bursting out.
“How he feels about me?!” I screech as I snap my head in her direction. “I think he made it damn clear how he feels about me when he announced to you, me, and the rest of the coffee shop a couple of weeks ago that I was nothing more than a piece of ass to him.”
Anger burns hot in the tips of my ears and deep in my belly. “At first, I thought he was just letting off steam, pissed at the world for Caleb’s death, but after seeing him in bed with one of the waitresses he works with,” I cringe at the pain I feel when thinking about what he did, “I know that’s exactly what I was to him.”
“That’s not true and you know it,” she cries, reaching out to grab my shoulders. “He’s fallen for you, just like you have for him.”
Retreating, I move out of her grasp, not wanting to hear her lies. Hot tears flood from my eyes, but I’m too mad to care. “It is true!” I insist, stomping my foot on the concrete. “You just confirmed it by telling me that a week ago he started piecing his life back together…that he’s moving on and trying to be happy. I’m obviously not a part of that life, Mary. Don’t you see? He hasn’t contacted me! Not one fucking time! He feels nothing!”
“Hudson, please—”
“No, you please,” I interrupt again, raising my arms in the air to surrender, consciously trying to calm myself down. “Pl—please, I’m begging you. I just want to be alone right now. Go back and enjoy the rest of your Christmas. I’ll come back to the house in a little while.”
Hesitantly, she leaves me be, but within five minutes, my three older sisters have taken her place. At first, I try to send them all on their merry way as well, but after we plop down on the ground and share a joint, I end up opening up about Crew. Nali wraps her arms around me while I sob out the entire story, and by the end, Kota’s offering to beat him up. Juno tops that, volunteering to kick him in the balls or take a baseball bat to his truck, and somehow, by the time they’re done, there are plans to castrate him.
Before I know it, my tears are dry, I’m giggle-snorting, and they’re dragging me off to their friend’s Ugly Christmas Sweater After-Party with promises of enough shots and hot guys that I’ll forget Crew Elliott exists. Not that I’ve ever really wanted to before, but maybe tonight’s my night to do something wild and crazy.
Fuck being a good girl. Look at where that’s gotten me.
Naturally, the exact second I close my eyes, my phone starts to ring and vibrate on the bar across the room, where it’s plugged into the charger. Perfect timing. With a loud groan, I throw the blanket off of me, stand up from the couch, and pad across Rory’s living room, careful not to clip my knee on the edge of that damn coffee table again—an experience I hope to never repeat after my disastrous trip to the bathroom the first night I stayed here that almost landed me in the emergency room.
“What’s up, man? You okay?” I answer after seeing Rory’s name on the caller ID.
Earlier, he’d asked if I wanted to join him and a friend at some ugly sweater party tonight, but after working four days straight at my new eight-to-five job, spending the first half of the day with Mom and Luke, and then taking Christmas presents to Caleb’s grave in the evening, I was pretty fucking exhausted. Sometimes, a night filled with SportsCenter, frozen pizza, and a bowl of Ramen is exactly what I need to find my inner Zen. Tonight was one of those nights.
“Yeah, I’m good, no need to worry,” he shouts into the phone, bass thumping loudly in the background. “Why didn’t you tell me there were more Hipster Barbie sisters, dude? They multiply every time I look over there. There are four now!”
My senses go into high alert at the mention of Hudson, and any tiredness I was previously feeling evaporates. “Look over where? What are you talking about?”
“Your girl, dude. She’s here, and she’s got three Hipster Barbies with her this time. It’s like that family hit the lottery in the looks department.”
“At the party? You’re sure it’s Hudson there?” I’m already turning on the lights and searching for my jeans, shirt, and baseball cap before he responds.
“I’m positive. I’m only on my second beer; all the names and faces haven’t started running together quite yet,” he jokes.
In the short amount of time we’ve been friends, and even shorter amount of time I’ve been crashing on his couch, I can assure you Rory rarely even brings a girl home, and if he does, he sure as shit is going to know her name and what her face looks like. He’s just not that kind of guy.
Then he adds, “But I can tell you she’s definitely not on her second beer.”
My heart slams inside my chest as I freeze, standing up tall in the middle of the room, my thoughts snowballing from bad to worse at the idea of a drunk Hudson at a party with a bunch of horny college guys. Fucking hell. “What do you mean not on her second beer? What in the fuck is she doing?”
“Dude, stop with the twenty questions. Get dressed and get your ass here to save your girl from the white Bob Marley. I’ll text you the address.”
By the time I pull up to the brick split-level, my entire body is trembling with a combination of anxiety over seeing her again and the jealousy of knowing she’s here with someone else. I know technically I have no claim to her anymore, but damn it, she’s still mine and I’m still hers. I just needed a little time to get my shit in line so I could prove to her I was worthy of her and apologize properly.