Page 20 of Spicy Ever After
Our eyes connect, and the wary look he’s worn for my mom tips sideways. Then he grins at me.
“What the—” Wide-eyed, Mom looks back and forth between us. “Hattie, we’re leaving. Now.”
It’s like I’m twelve.
“Mom—”
“Now, Harriet.” She grabs my elbow again, and when I look back at Farm Boy, wishing I could vaporize, I see confusion written all over his face.
Does he think I’m twelve? Or any age below twenty-one?
Has anyone ever died of humiliation?
I open my mouth to tell him that I’m not a child. That—despite my rap sheet of diagnoses—I’m not mentally incompetent. That picking me up, setting me on his tailgate, and listening patiently as I cried was one of the greatest acts of kindness I’ve ever received.
But Mom does CrossFit, and even though I’m heavier than she is, it’s clear when she starts frog marching me up the alley that she’s stronger than I am.
And when I look back over my shoulder at Farm Boy, he’s gaping at us like we are pretty fucking weird.
Who am I kidding? We are.
But I have to say something to him. Even if he climbs into his truck and drives off into a sweet-potato-orange sunset never to be seen again, I want him to know this meant something to me. I hardly know where to begin.
So, I blurt the first thing. The first thing I noticed about him.
“Farm Boy!” I shout from the end of the alley.
He blinks at me.
“Thanks for staring at me!”
Chapter Four
BECK
What the hell is wrong with me?
I flip on the bedside lamp and groan at the ceiling. It’s only ten-thirty, but my alarm goes off at five.
I told myself I would forget all about this afternoon once I got back to my deliveries. And then again once I got back to the farm and checked on Pop.
And then once I took a shower and cooked dinner for us—which turned out to be a waste of time since neither Pop nor I had much of an appetite.
But after dinner, while I cleaned up the kitchen, I told myself I’d forget this day once I fell asleep.
Yet sleep is proving to be an evasive little wanker.
I’ve re-lived the twenty minutes I spent with Hattie about a dozen times. And I still don’t know what to think.
The way her mom looked at me? Like I was some kind of predator?
God, I felt sick.
I mean, it only took a few seconds after meeting her for me to clock that she was neurodivergent, but her mom made it sound like… like…
Like she couldn’t look after herself.
Is that true?
