I would have still gotten sick and maybe Mom would have still had useless mastectomies, and pesticides shot into her veins, and for all I know, she would have still passed away. But maybe the paragraphs that had been written in between Mom and yia-yia’s deaths wouldn’t have been so roughly drafted and eventually published. I may have still been in Florida, with a college degree, and married with the Golden Retriever I'd always wanted. And maybe Will would have done something else with his life that didn’t involve running away to start over.
But like the few other times when the pity party started without my permission, I reined the thoughts in with a restrained mental lasso. I rarely went down that path of what-ifs. They were pointless and painful, and I’d come to accept that my life was the way it was because… it just was. It was the brew of a million decisions and possibly fate if you believed in it.
I didn't. Then again, I didn't believe in a lot of things anymore.
I had to swallow back the knot in my throat, push the focus of my family off while I still could. My brain leeched onto the first topic that came to mind. “Are you looking forward to the expo, Charlie?”
He made a choking sound. “Charlie?” Dex glanced at me through the rearview mirror, one eyebrow raised like he couldn't believe what I'd just called him.
Maybe I shouldn’t have called him that out loud, but I’d already said it and I knew Dex wasn’t going to let it go. Plus, I thought it was kind of cute. It softened up the impression I had of him. “Yeah. Charlie. Charles. Charles Dexter.”
He grunted. "Dex, babe. Not...that."
"It's a good name," I told him. "No need to get extra grumpy about it. It's not like your first name is Leslie or Clancy."
Out of all the things he could have picked up on, like the fact that I thought his first name was a good one, he went for the obvious. “You think I’m grumpy?” he asked.
I didn't like lying and it wasn't like he'd kick my ass for telling the truth. I think. He'd probably leave me in Houston or fire me...
“Well you aren’t going to win any congeniality awards when you’re pushing customers out of the shop and always grinding your teeth away.” I thought about bringing up his not-so-sweet actions but I’d told myself I didn’t want to go there anymore.
And Dex snickered. “You tellin’ me I’m an asshole?”
“Grumpy with a side of extra grumpy.” Did that really just come out of my mouth?
He shook his head, biting his bottom lip in a way that looked pensive. “Huh,” he paused like he was searching for words to explain his nature. “I have a temper.” Like I didn’t know that. “It’s hard for me to shake things off.”
“Like what kind of things?” I asked though it wasn’t my place to. This was something I’d talked to yia-yia about multiple times. The inability of a person to let go of things that harmed or bothered them. Everyone was guilty of it. "I can keep a secret."
I swear I think he laughed nervously. “Well, when do you want me to start, babe? The day I said that shit to you? My ma had rung me up and said that Pa had called.”
Okay, it was safe to assume he wasn’t a fan of his dad. That I understood. Simply thinking of my dad had almost ruined my day in the past, too. Check. That was acceptable. “Okay.”
“The day after that? I found out my property taxes were goin’ up—“
“You get that pissed off about property taxes?” I asked him incredulously.
“They went up a fuckin’ ton,” he explained like that would make perfect sense.
"You were in a terrible mood, looking at me like I ruined one of your tattoos, all because your property taxes went up?"
Dex had the decency to grunt. Decency only because tracing the root of his anger to taxes was so absolutely ridiculous it didn't need to get cemented into a fact. I hoped it would have been something better, more worthwhile. Like...finding out his girlfriend had cheated on him or something. That I could understand.
“Then I'd found out that somebody was stealin' from the bar," he added in afterthought.
"Someone was stealing from the bar riles you up that much?"
Once again, he grunted.
Oh boy.
"The day after that, I got into an argument with Luther about him messin’ around with girls who aren't old enough to rent a damn car on their own, “ he prattled on until I blew a long breath out of my lips.
The idea that I could and probably should keep my mouth shut was right there, telling me to not bother saying anything. I couldn’t do it though. It wasn't my place to give him advice or call him out on things he could fix. I had a whole list of things I should fix about myself but I'd never bothered picking it up to look it over.
“Dex? I completely understand that you get pissed off about stuff, but I don’t think it’s worth you getting so mad. You can fight your property taxes, right?” He didn’t say anything. “You’re smart, you can figure out a way to find out who's stealing. And Luther sleeping with girls that young…”
Was I going to say it? Yup.
"It’s pretty friggin’… weird but they’re old enough to know what they’re doing. It’s consensual, and you think it’s going to stop him from doing it?” No answer again. “Probably not. So I don’t think you should waste your time away brooding or calling innocent people bitches and friggin' idiots in retaliation. And the receipts missing? That sucks but don't let it ruin your day. You're going to give yourself a heart condition by stressing out so much about things that don't matter. Trust me. It isn't worth it.”
Silence. More silence. Triple silence.
Dex fidgeted in his seat during all of this. Arranging then rearranging his butt position.
Failing to bring up how right I was, he sighed. "I did have a few ideas on how to figure out who's been takin' money from the register..."
An hour later, we were still talking over ideas.
~ * ~ *
The three of us dragging our way across the hotel lobby was more than likely one of the most pitiful sights any possible observers would ever see. I probably resembled some sort of hybrid zombie raccoon with my rundown eyeliner and sleepy groans. I know without a doubt that Slim had a line of dry drool from the corner of his mouth down the side of his neck that Dex and I had silently agreed we wouldn’t tell him about. And Dex, carrying his backpack, my little duffel, and something that looked like a toolbox on absolutely no sleep, didn’t look like such hot stuff anymore either.
Well, that was a lie. Dex, with his disarray of blue-black hair and dry, pink lips, still looked attractive. Just more like an attractive hobo with his wrinkled clothes rather than a stunning one.
Slim had explained to me through several yawns and eye flutters that Pins usually reserved one hotel room that three people shared to keep the guys focused—on tattooing, I assumed. Not landing between two thighs. Two people got beds and someone tackled the sleeper sofa. As nice as Slim was, he hadn’t already said, “I’ll sleep on the pull-out,” so I wasn’t going to assume he would either. Sleep and hunger always brought out the worst in people and I totally got it. If I went too long without eating, everything annoyed me. Plus, he was actually tattooing when we got up. My job was just to stand there and say hi to strangers.
“I’m gonna knock out,” Dex finally yawned from a couple steps behind me.