Page 67 of How (Not) to Conjure a Boyfriend
“Hayden, it’s good to have you back, regardless of all of that.” Mary-Anne ignores Super Old Gran and wraps her son, the boy of my dreams, in her arms.
He grins and the rest of the family moves in to give him careful little hugs. When I get to the side of the bed, I’m not sure what to do, and I can tell by the hitch in his smile that he doesn’t either. Everyone is staring at us though, even Zachary. I see him from the corner of my eye, off to the right, and suddenly I’m back at the Harrell House. In the dark. Surrounded by the dust swirling in phone light, with Zach’s face less than a finger’s width in front of me. His pupils wide, mouth parting.
I blink it away and I’m back at the hospital. I swallow.Act normal.
“I’m so glad you’re back, Hayden.” I say it as enbyfriend-ish as I can imagine.
I don’t wait for a response. I’m horrified right now, so I lean in quick and give him the tiniest, most careful hug anyone’s ever been given, and he lightly hugs back before I scoot away. But his touch… Where was the euphoria I expected, the electricity when my hand simply brushed Zachary’s hand?
I let myself sink behind Mary-Anne where I can think, as Kaitlyn gives Hayden a hug. It’s weird. It’s not what I thought it would be. Where I thought excitement would be, I felt dirty, guilty.
19
The front door slams shut behind me and I fall against it. Warm air heats my goose-bumped skin, and I thank the gods Mom keeps it warmer at home than at the hospital.
“Was work that hard?” Mom’s voice reaches me seemingly out of nowhere.
Then I catch the changing colors spilling out of the living room into the hallway. I breathe in the warm air and reluctantly make my way over. When I hang around the doorframe, I find her in the pajama set I got her for Christmas last year—soft pink top and bottoms with Hello Kitty all over them—lying on the couch with her hair a mess around her face. At least she hasn’t been drinking.
“Huh?” I ask.
“You sound like you just got home from the coal mines.” Mom taps the remote to pause whatever she’s watching. Looks like one of those crime dramas.
“Just tired,” I say. I haven’t told her Hayden woke up yet or that it’s got me on edge.
“You sure?” she prods. She sounds more alert today, even better in a way.
Her brown eyes appear nearly black, interrupted only by a single little star from the TV’s reflection. She looks tired, but not like usual; her cheeks and the heavy bags cradling her eyes don’t seem to droop as much tonight. She seems more herself, and here I am with everything falling apart.
I want to go to my room. Talking about my problem—well, problems—isn’t high on my to-do list. Explaining it all again seems like a daunting undertaking after Kaitlynn’s barrage afterwe left the hospital. Yes, I heard. He’s actually bi! I just don’t want to get into it right now. Then there’s the other thing. Mom already carries so much on her shoulders. She doesn’t need another worry. Not from me. Not more than I’ve already put on her.
“It’s just the Hayden stuff,” I mumble, and start down the hall.
“Hayden? Your boyfriend?” She sits up, and I stop and twist to face her.
Her arms seem frailer, but that’s probably just in my head. She fumbles with the blanket next to her, finally pulling it away and patting the newly empty space for me to sit. Internally, I sigh. Here we go. The way her brow creases makes me feel bad. I don’t want to worry her, but I do need a mom.
“Yeah.” I resign to the inevitable.
“What happened?” she asks.
The real question is what didn’t happen. I feel like the whole world opened up and devoured me. Is this the end? Is it all falling apart? In the car things felt surreal, almost like that feeling you get when you’re speeding on a roller coaster and anything is possible, except without the assurance of a harness to keep me safe. Maybe Hayden and Icouldbe a thing, but now… Now my mind is racing with the lies I have to sort out but refuse to deal with.
When I don’t answer, she pushes, “Is he awake?”
“Yeah. Few hours ago.” I fake a smile.
I fasten my gaze on the glass jar of winter iris and snowdrop blooms I put together last week. They’re thriving, growing. Even the single white Christmas rose in the middle is going strong. How lovely it must be to simply exist without worry. Not to be aware there is so much to worry about. To simply be. To growand blossom. To be beautiful without effort. Somehowthatis living under the same roof as I am. I, however, I’m not blooming. I feel like I’m withering away instead.
“That’s great!” Mom’s face brightens a little, but I ruin it with the fake grin I give her. It’s like my face just can’t hold in what I’m feeling. “And…”
I shrug. It’s not the amazing feelings I thought I’d be feeling when he woke up. Is that my fault too?
“Uh…” I briefly make eye contact before drifting off into the corner, where a tall brown and red vase sits atop a little table. It’s always made me think of the desert, the way the red waves between bands of deep sandy browns. I wouldn’t call it beautiful, maybe different? I can’t remember how many times Mom had to threaten to ground me for a whole year if I touched it. It’s from Germany, some potter in her hometown. “Yeah. It’s awesome.”
She’s asked about him a few times. Wanted to know how we met, how long we’d been “dating.” All of the basics. Most of it I made up on the spot.
Mom’s looking at me as if I’m an alien. “Did you get to talk to him?”
