Page 133 of The Way I Hate Him
“Why?” Gran asks, true concern in her voice.
“Well, she’s twelve years younger than me, and she’s been struggling with a few things, not to mention I’ve turned her down several times, so I think she’s given up. I just don’t think it was meant to be.”
“So why are you sad?”
“I’m not sad,” I say.
“Do not lie to me, boy,” she says, holding out her shaky finger. “I know when my grandson is sad, and you are sad.”
I tug on my hair, trying to put this into words. “I don’t know, Gran. I just . . . I liked her. She was different. There’s a lot more about her to know, but what I do know, I like.”
“So go for it then.”
“She’s not talking to me.”
Gran waves her hand in dismissal. “That means nothing. Sometimes I wouldn’t talk to your grandfather because he was an idiot, but that didn’t stop me from loving him. You just have to find a way to mend the bridge between you two. Unless . . . does the brother not approve?”
“No, I think he does. I mean, he told me not to hurt her.”
Gran nods her head. “Ah, then yes, he’s given you permission. Therefore, take it.”
“I don’t know.”
She lifts her cane from the side of her chair and pokes me with it.
“Ow,” I say, rubbing my leg, but she does it again. “Gran, what the hell.”
“I said go get her. Now don’t you dare disappoint me. Understood? Remember, I need great-grandbabies before I die.”
Right, it always comes down to that.
“Now leave, I don’t want to see you again until you’ve fixed things with her.”
“But—”
She points her cane toward the door. “I said . . . leave.”
Okay . . .
* * *
“Hayes, yoo-hoo,”Ethel says from the balcony of Five Six Seven Eight. “Are you coming to the talent show this Friday?”
After the conversation with Gran, I didn’t quite find the courage to approach Hattie, so instead, like the self-destructive person I am, I ignored life, drank, and described Hattie’s eyes in great detail in my notebook . . . over and over again. After the fourth round of talking about her freckles, I decided I was losing it and needed some fresh air. I met up with Abel at the Hot Pickle for a sandwich, and he told me about his day of removing a boil, a few warts, and giving Rodney a testicle exam. I told him to fuck off with his disgusting stories, which only made him laugh.
“I don’t think so, Ethel,” I call out as I glance toward The Almond Store, hoping Hattie’s in there. Yup, that’s what I’ve resorted to. Casually strolling the streets of Almond Bay, looking for her.
“Shy?” she asks with a cheeky grin.
“Yeah, that’s it.” I smile back.
“Well, we’d love to see you, and of course, if you happen to regale me with some gossip of what’s happening between you and the Rowleys, I wouldn’t mind that either.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” I say as I step up to The Almond Store and pull on the door, the bell above ringing as I enter. Aubree is at the counter, hovering over an iPad as she looks up.
When she sees me, her expression remains neutral. “Can I help you?” she asks.
I stand there like an idiot, unsure of what to say because I came in here hoping to see Hattie, but now that I know she’s not in here, I feel stupid. “I don’t know why I’m in here.”
