Page 19 of Spicy Ever After
“Anyway, I got a little overwhelmed and I needed a minute.” My cheeks heat, and I press the pin harder, needing the bite of it to settle me. “I, um… Margaret says that I… feel things deeply, and…”
He has little creases at the corners of his eyes. Probably from squinting against the sun. As a Farm Boy would.
I’ve never realized how warm the color amber is.
“And?” he asks softly.
This time I swallow, coming back to my story. “But on my way back from the bathroom, I heard my grandmother talking about—” The words get stuck in my throat, and I have to clear it hard. “Margaret and Merrick, her fiancé, moving… to Denver.”
Saying it out loud makes me feel a bit queasy, but the gentle look on Farm Boy’s face is a quelling distraction.
“Fuck,” he curses softly.
I don’t think I've ever heard that word spoken so softly.
I like it.
He tilts his head a little. “I take it you’re really close.”
I nod wildly. “She’s my sister. My best friend. My…” I search for another noun that could capture all Margaret is for me. She’s my confidant. My champion. My interpreter. My advisor.
“My person,” I say finally, shrinking a little. Because even though I haven’t listed all of these roles out loud, I know—in a way maybe I’ve never quite known before—that it’s too many. Too many roles for one person.
Is that why she didn’t want to tell me? Because she knows how much I rely on her and she doesn’t know how I’ll manage without her?
And if she knows that, is she feeling a guilty sense of relief about getting some distance from all that I am?
All that I ask of her?
And that’s when Grandma Eloise’s words slam into me. When is enough enough, Hillary?
“I’m too much.” I don’t mean to say it out loud, but that’s what happens when you don’t choose your words.
Farm Boy blinks his way to a frown. “What? No.” His frown deepens, and he opens his mouth to say something and?—
The heavy restaurant door creaks open. “Hattie! There you are! Thank God!” Mom’s face is pale. She rushes into the alley before pulling up short. She looks from my perch on the truck’s tailgate to Farm Boy standing right in front of me. Her eyebrows form an iron bar on her face. “What’s going on here?”
Farm Boy steps back, raising his hands. “We were just talking. She?—”
“Hattie, it’s time to go.” Her words are clipped. She forces her way into the space Farm Boy has exited and clasps me by both elbows. Not gently.
“Are you alright?” She hisses the question like it's a secret, her eyes searching my face. “You’ve been crying.”
I open my mouth, but all my questions crowd my head. About Margaret and Merrick and Denver. About how long they’ve known. About what the hell Grandma Eloise meant about a group home. About that fact that everyone in my family must think I’m too much.
“She came out upset. We were talk?—”
Mom spins on her heels. “Get the hell away from my daughter. Can’t you see she’s vulnerable?”
“Mom—” Heat swarms my face like yellow jackets. “He didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
I jerk my elbows from her grip and hop down from the truck. Mom gasps.
“Look at your dress!”
Farm Boy and I both look down.
“It’s just dirt. Not piss,” I explain, glancing at Farm Boy for confirmation. “No big deal.”
