Page 61 of Wildfire
“Thanks, JJ.”
“I’m pissed I had to graduate for people to realize how wise I am,” he grumbles. “Think about how much better everyone’s lives would’ve been if I was listened to.”
“I’ve always listened to you,” I argue. “I’ve been faking confidence for weeks.”
“Well remember, we’re not faking now. You are confident. You’re a tall, hot, well-educated hockey player. Women will look past every red flag for a man over six two. So stop waiting for something bad to happen and go have fun.”
“I don’t think I have any red flags…”
“Oh, my sweet summer child.” He laughs. “You’re a straight white man. That’s your red flag.”
“That seems totally fair, actually. Thanks for chatting with me, man. I appreciate you.”
“Love you, brother. Speak soon.”
ONE DAYAURORA WILL TAKEher clothes off in front of me and I won’t have to recite presidents in my head.
She kicks her shorts onto the T-shirt she’s already taken off and pulls a sock from each foot, adding them to the pile, and lies down on the picnic blanket. We’re more prepared than we were last time, with towels and an actual lunch to see us through the afternoon. “It’s so warm today,” she says, adjusting the material of her bikini.
I’ve seen what’s beneath the fabric, so I don’t know why I feel so intimidated by it.
“There’s going to be a thunderstorm later. It’ll cool down tomorrow.”
“Ugh, I absolutely hate thunder and lightning. Emilia is working tonight as well.” I crouch down to her clothes, folding them and adding them to mine. She sits up, resting on her elbows to watch me. “Why do you always fold everything? I feel like you’re constantly tidying up.”
This is the part where I ask her a question about herself. Where I deflect, where I’d keep her talking about herself until she was distracted enough to remember she asked me something in the first place. But the anxiety from trying to control a conversation in that way is exhausting, and I’m tired of forcing my guard to stay up with her.
I sit cross-legged next to her and take a deep breath. “Sometimes my dad would come home in really bad moods and he’d pick at every single thing—the house was messy, dinner wasn’t ready, my brother and I hadn’t done our homework yet—and I fucking hated waiting for him to come home, never knowing what mood he was in.”
She sits up and moves in front of me, crossing her legs, too, so her knees are resting against my shins. It’s such a simple thing to do, and when her hands rest against my calves, I want to keep going.
“I tried to do everything before he had a chance to complain about it. Keeping everything tidy just became a habit after that. I like being helpful, and neatening things is an easy way to help people.”
“I’m sorry for being so untidy.” She offers a coy smile. “I have a habit of leaving a path of destruction in my wake, both literally and metaphorically.”
“Like a wildfire.”
She nods, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “I don’t mean to be.”
My fingers trail patterns on either side of her ankles while she rests her chin on her knees. “This is the bit where you tell mesomething about you so I don’t feel awkward for being the only one sharing.” I’m only half joking, but she smiles. “That’s how this works, right? A secret for a secret.”
“I love that you think I’m sharing to make things even and not because I’m totally incapable of keeping my thoughts in my head when I’m around you. What do you want to know? I’m an open book, Callaghan.”
“You keep mentioning little things about wanting to change. What’s the deal with that? I think you’re perfect, so I don’t get why you’d want to.”
Lifting her head, she stares at me for what feels like forever. Pools of the most beautiful emerald green look right at me, but for once, she’s totally quiet.
“I’ve told myself for years how self-aware I am and how I’m my own person, but I’m not,” she says eventually. “It’s really hard admitting you’re the person standing in the way of your own happiness, but I realized I was the problem a while ago. I just didn’t know where to start. You ever feel like you’ve made something your entire personality? So much so you don’t know how to disconnect yourself from it?”
“What do you mean?”
She rests her head back on her knees, slowly shrinking herself before me. “I know I’m messed up, right? And it’s like, if I’m the first person to say it, then people can’t use it to hurt me. If I’m the first to say how much emotional baggage I have, then people can’t use it to push me away, because I’m the one who knew it was there. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah.”
“And I know I struggle with rejection, so I don’t give people the chance to reject me. I search for physical connections with people, to feel validated, because I need someone else to prove to me that I’m wanted. So I call myself self-aware because I know those thingsabout myself, but in reality, I don’t know anything about myself. I say I’m my own person, but every choice I make is because of something someone else did. That isn’t being my own person.”
“You are wanted, Aurora. You’re incredible and you can be your own person.”
