Page 3 of How (Not) to Conjure a Boyfriend
As he opens his mouth, I clench my teeth together so I don’t speed scream his entire order at him before he can get the words out himself.
Hayden grins. “I’ll just take an iced caramel latte with cinnamon.”
I pause, I know there’s more. While I give him a second, I steal a glance around Hayden. His brother hates the smell of coffee that much?
“And how about a Cinnacake Roll too?” he asks.
“Of course.” There it is.
I finish ringing him up while Kaitlynn puts his drink together. Now’s the hard part. He always uses cash, which means I have to take it from him, which means I might have to touch his hand. I want to, but it’s so awkward. There’s this electricity inside me when I think about it, but my head says it’ll freak him out. I stop myself from taking a big breath when he extends his hand toward me. I reach for the money, and of course I fail. The side of my thumb brushes his palm and a flutter springs through my hand and jumps past my wrist. I squeeze my mouth shut and give him my most “natural”-looking tight-lipped grin.
“Let me get your roll,” I finally breathe.
“Thanks,” he says.
I go to the display case and select the largest of the Cinnacake Rolls. We call them Sinnercakes when customers aren’t around because they’re sinfully large and sugary. They’re basically a diabetic coma in roll form. From the other side of the display case the large whiteM, forMountaineers, stamped across the breast of his deep purple letter jacket catches my attention. It fits him well. How the hell does he look so good and eat these? I’m certain he’s got a six-pack under that shirt. I refocus on the roll and drop it into a bag as Kaitlynn finishes his drink and I meet her back at the counter.
He takes the cup and I pass him the pastry bag. I feel super awkward. I want to say something else, maybe compliment him, but I don’t know how. Like there isn’t anything else to say, and to be like,Hey, your eyes look pretty tonightas he walks out thedoor is just weird, plus I bet he doesn’t want to be pretty. Ugh!Handsome, Kenzie. Tough dudes like to be called handsome.
“Thanks again!” Hayden says. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.”
“Kaitlynn won’t be here tomorrow. I will,” I blurt in one long breath, literally pointing at myself like some absolute fool. I want to disappear, but it’s done. It’s out there. I keep my shoulders high and my smile higher.
“Oh, okay.” Hayden shrugs, and I think he laughs. Was that a nervous laugh? “Guess I’ll seeyoutomorrow then. Have a good Thanksgiving, Kaity.”
“Thanks, you too. Night!” Kaitlynn waves as he twists about and heads for the door. “Tell you brother we said happy Thanksgiving too.”
“See ya.” I nearly gasp, ignoring Kaity. He’ll see me tomorrow. He even said it. He literally said it. “Bye!”
He’s out the door, his silhouette disappearing around the corner along with his brother’s before I can get it out. My eyes are stuck on the back of the Open/Closed sign dangling from the door.
I let myself breathe again and look at Kaitlynn.
“Iamgoing to be his one day.”
2
My tires crunch to a stop next to Mom’s car. Headlights splash against brick and then beam through the forest, catching endless bare branches and a few evergreens. The occasional yellow or red leaf flitters in the wind, but most have already fallen.
“Here we go.” I pump myself up for the cold and pull my hood over my curls. I take in a breath, hand on the key, not quite ready to let go of the heat blasting from the vents. “Summer. I just want summer!”
I switch off the engine and the world goes silent as the warmth is sucked away from me. My fingers fumble for the door handle and I step out with my arms wrapped tight around my chest. Chilly wind whips at my face and bites at my nostrils. The soles of my shoes crunch against gravel as I sprint for the front door, interrupted by the slow chirps and trills of crickets and grasshoppers and the occasional rattle of a katydid. I glimpse the thinning gray crescent against a diamond-studded sky. If it weren’t so cold I’d take my time out here. It’s beautiful.
Not too bad a night for a spell though. It’s almost the dark moon.
I march up the single step and slip my key into the lock. It clicks and I rush inside, happy for the heat to wrap me up like an invisible blanket. I pause. It’s quiet. Mom must already be asleep, which isn’t a surprise. Past the tiny foyer to the right sets the kitchen—my domain—and an open space with our old wooden dining room table and four overly decorative chairs, most of which haven’t cradled more than a stack of books in years. There are dishes in the sink and a large, uncorked, slender-necked bottle on the counter.
I huff.
Off to the left, splotches of flashing light escape into the hallway. She left the TV on again. It’s been worse the past few weeks. She’s slept so much and drunk more. The holidays are always hard for her. Me too, if I’m being honest, but I try to be strong for her.
I pick up the bottle and shake it. It’s light in my hand. Empty.
“Mom.” I sigh and close my eyes.
I deposit the bottle back on the counter and leave the kitchen. The volume is off, but the TV still covers the room in a kaleidoscope of colors, including my mom’s face. She’s on the couch with a throw blanket barely draping over her legs and her arms pulled in, eyes closed. There’s a nearly empty wine glass on the end table. I don’t understand how she falls asleep there. It’s old and firm, we got it used.
“Hey, Mom,” I whisper and pull the throw blanket over her shoulders. “Hope you had a good day.”
