“Anthony, take Kelly,” Hunter says, then turns to Sandy. “You meet him later. You,” he says, pointing at me, “in my office.”
“Excuse me?” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, and I don’t think it was the right thing to say to him. He looks mad, and the vein in his forehead has its own heartbeat.
“How can you be so reckless?” he says, putting his hands on his hips, and the three people stop and look at us.
“Be so reckless?” I ask him. “I was coming to make sure Sandy was okay and wasn’t going to be arrested for beating up someone.”
“So, you thought by putting yourself in danger, that would be better?” he asks me, and I stop and look at him.
“By helping my friend. Yes, I thought it was a great idea.”
He shakes his head. “Well, putting your friend before yourself is …” He laughs bitterly
“Is what, Hunter?” I ask him.
“It’s stupid,” he says, lifting his hands up to the air. “It’s stupid, and it’s reckless and childish, and you could have gotten yourself fucking killed.” He yells out the last line.
“Hunter,” Anthony says, and he shakes his head.
“She didn’t even think before she got out of the car. She thinks she’s fucking invincible,” he says, his voice going higher.
“I got out of the car to help my friend,” I tell him.
“Yeah, and what if she had a gun and shot you? How much help would you be? Do you know the shit that I see, that one little action can sometimes take someone’s life in the blink of an eye?" he asks, shaking his head. “Stupid.” His voice is low like he’s talking to himself. “Running out here like nothing can stop her.” I stop listening to him, then I hear him ask me, “How would you have stopped a bullet?” And the only thing running through my head is that he thinks I’m a child and that my actions are reckless.
“Well, you will never know now, will you?” I tell him, and he just stares at me. Sandy comes over and holds my hand.
“You’re a moron,” she tells Hunter. “She is the most loyal person I have ever met, and she came here to help and protect me.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay, Sandy. I was just leaving. I wouldn’t want to do something stupid or childish while I stand here, defending my reckless behavior,” I say, turning to her. “Call me later.”
I turn and walk to the car, the whole time hoping that he calls out my name, the whole time trying not to be sad that this thing is over. I’ve known him one week. We’ve been together one night, so this is nothing. I’ve survived worse. I get in the car, pulling away from the curb, and don’t make eye contact with anyone, knowing the four of them are watching me. I drive home, the whole time trying not to think about what just happened. I try not to think that this morning when I woke up, I could have honestly said it was one of the best nights of my life. But in the blink of an eye, it came crashing down.
I get out of the car, walk up the steps, and close the door behind me. I don’t bother opening the shades before I kick off my shoes and dress. Stripping out of the one-piece lingerie, I toss it in the garbage. I walk to the bedroom naked, carrying the dress in my hand. I toss it into the laundry basket in my closet, then I grab some yoga pants and a sweatshirt. I walk to my bed and am about to climb in when I hear my phone ringing from the living room.
I walk out toward it, and I see it’s Sandy.
“Hey,” I say, walking back into my bedroom and getting under the covers.
“Hey,” she says softly, “I was just calling to check in.”
I breathe out. “I’m fine,” I say, lying.
“Do you want me to come over for a girls’ night?” she asks, and this is why I would do anything for her. She would drop anything and anyone for me.
“No,” I say. “I’m going to watch television for a bit and then just chill out. Maybe take a nap, go to bed early.”
“Okay,” she says softly. “If you change your mind, you call me,” she says, and I hum. “Promise?”
“I will,” I tell her, and we both say bye. I toss my phone on the table by the bed and stare at the wall, then I flip the covers off me and get up and walk outside to the balcony. Sitting on the outside couch, I curl my feet under me and watch the water and the sky get darker and darker. I don’t know how long I stay out here. Honestly, I don’t even know if I fall asleep or not.
I get up and walk inside, closing the door and locking it. Then just to spite him, I unlock it. I walk to the kitchen and grab a water bottle, then go to my bed. I don’t turn on any lights while I get ready for bed.
I turn the television on in my room and lie here flipping through the channels. I fall asleep in the middle of Notting Hill and wake up the next day stretching. My body hurts in certain places, and just like that, I think of him. His face, his smile, his smirk, his eyebrows pinched together. “He was an asshole to you,” I say loudly, trying to argue with my heart. I huff and get out of bed, fixing the bed, and then get dressed for Sunday brunch at my parents’.
I grab a pair of black shorts and a blue jean shirt. I roll up the sleeves of the jean shirt and tuck the front in. I grab my black Chucks and a big black bag. I open the door and stop when I see a blue rose. I bend to pick it up and bring it to my nose.
A blue ribbon tied around it holds a note.
This was the color of your outfit on our first date.
I’m sorry.
H
I look around to see if I spot him, and even though I don’t, I can’t help but feel like I’m being watched. I walk back inside, looking at the garbage, but I can’t do it, so instead, I put the flower in a single vase. I grab my sunglasses and walk outside, and the feeling is still here. But when I pull away from the curb to head to my parents’, I still don’t see him and figure it’s all in my head.
Chapter Twelve
Hunter
I watch her walk down the step of her condo, her hair blowing back a bit, her sunglasses hiding her eyes. I sit across the street in an Audi, so she doesn’t spot me.
I sat out here most of the night, too. I had Sandy call her and check on her since I knew she wouldn’t answer my calls. That conversation was great. I was told in every single language known to mankind what an asshole I was. The only reason she called Laney was because, in the end, I was worried about her.
She didn’t even call me back to tell me how she was; she just sent me a text with the finger emoji. I went home that night, the house stuffy and dark. I walked to the fridge, opening it and grabbing a water bottle. Not wasting a minute downstairs lounging, I made my way to the bedroom, which smelled just like her.
I laid down in the bed on the covers, grabbed the pillow she slept on and smelled it, the words echoing in my mind, stupid and childish. I cringe just thinking about it, but dammit, she just ran out there. The minute I said the words, I knew I would regret them. I knew it was a mistake, but seeing her there, putting herself in danger was the push. What if Kelly had a gun? What if someone was watching? The what-ifs flew through my mind.
The thought of holding her in my hands with a bullet in her plays over and over in my mind, and I can’t stop it. I didn’t expect sleep to come to me, so it came as no surprise that I got up at five and made my way to her house with the blue rose I picked up yesterday in case she opened her door to me. I laid it on her doorstep with a note, then walked back to my car across the street. I watched it, and when she came out, my breath caught in my chest as my heart beat just for her. I followed her to her parents’ house. When I watched her walk inside, I was about to get out and go ring the bell, but I thought of the scene it would cause.
Pulling away from the curb, I make my way over to my childhood home. Turning into the driveway, I’m not surprised to see my mother kneeling in front of the garden outside. She turns her head to see who pulled into her driveway and smiles when she sees me. She gets up from her knees when I get out of my car, taking off her gardening gloves. A smile fills her whole face. I look at her in her tight blue jeans a
nd tank top; looking at her, you would think she was still in her thirties. A sun hat on her head covers her red hair. “There’s my boy,” she says, and her eyes are the same color as mine.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, hugging her and breathing her in. She was a teen mom, getting pregnant with me at sixteen. My father took off as soon as she found out she was pregnant, and he never looked back. My grandparents weren’t thrilled either, but they took it for what it was. She refused to drop out of school; she refused even take a year off. Instead, she homeschooled herself and graduated at the same time as her class with a one-year-old on her hip. Instead of going away, she went to community college part-time while working a full-time job. She defeated the odds and graduated with her CPA license. She bought the house the same day she opened her own office.
“I didn’t know you were coming for a visit,” she says, looking at me. “What’s the matter?” she asks, taking the glasses off my face.
“I fucked up, Mom,” I say, and she looks at me.
“Watch your mouth please,” she says and then turns to walk into the house. I follow her, going straight to the kitchen and opening the fridge to grab a water bottle. She sits at the island and looks at me as I stand in the kitchen. “So, what did you do?”
“I met someone,” I say, looking at her, and I see her smirk and then the twinkle in her eye. “Before you start, I don’t even know if she is ever going to talk to me again.”
“Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad,” she says, but as I tell her what happened, her mouth drops more and more. “Jesus, Hunter, how can you be so … so … so …” She gets up now, going to the fridge and grabbing the bottle of white wine to pour herself a glass. “So stupid.”
I laugh at her and the way she says it. “I know, Mom. Trust me, I know.”
“Okay, first,” she says, grabbing the glass of wine, “the fact that you went on someone else’s date is ridiculous.”
I take a deep breath and exhale; for as long as I could remember, my mother made sure I had the deepest respect for women. When I’d started dating, she sat me down at the table and handed me a box of condoms; it was the most uncomfortable moment in my life. “Hunter,” she had said, “just because you’re horny doesn’t mean you need to have sex with these girls.” I’d thought or at least I’d hoped that the floor would open up and swallow me whole. “Don’t take a girl’s virginity just because you need to, you know. It’s a special thing.”
I got up from the table that night and left the condoms on the table, but during the next week, I’d found them in different places—my backpack, my side table, in my pencil case.
“I taught you better than that,” she says, and I have no argument for her. None.
“I know, Mom,” I tell her, and she goes to sit down now, looking at me.
“So,” she says, and I look at her.
“So?” I say, leaning against the counter.
“What are you going to do about it?” She asks the loaded question.
“I have no idea,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Are you just going to give up?” She smirks at me.
“What do you want me to do, Mom?” I say. “She won’t even answer her phone.”
“There are other ways to get in touch with her,” she starts. “Go to her house, knock on the door.”
“Mom, she doesn’t want to see me.”
“I don’t want to see you, yet here you are in my house,” she says, and I roll my eyes at her.
“The only time you were ever mad at me was when I enlisted,” I tell her, and she looks at me.
She slaps the counter in front of her. “I was not mad. I was scared of losing you. You little shit,” she says, and I laugh, going to her and hugging her. Her arms wrap around my waist.
“I know, Mom,” I tell her and kiss her head.
“Do you like this woman?” She looks up at me, and I nod. “I know that you would never intentionally hurt someone, so the big question is do you want her to forgive you because you want to be a good guy, or do you want her to forgive you because you want to see her again? Hold her hand again, smile at her again?”
“The second,” I tell her honestly, and she smiles, and that look is back again.
“Well then, you need to put on your big boy panties.”
“Boxers,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “Your big boy boxers and make her listen to you. I mean, you’re a Navy SEAL. You save the world, so you can get a woman to talk to you,” she says, and I smile. “Now, are you going to take your mother to lunch or what?” she asks me, and I just nod my head. “I have to change,” she says and gets off the stool and jogs up the steps to get changed.
I take out my cell phone and send Laney a text.
Hey, wondering if you have a minute to talk.
I press send and see that it says delivered. Looking up the stairs, I watch my mother coming down. “Jesus, Mom,” I tell her, taking in her pink linen loose shorts and spaghetti strap loose shirt. Her red hair is now down but braided at the side.
“What?” she says, looking down and not seeing anything wrong with her outfit.
“You have a lot of skin showing,” I say with my hands pointing at her shoulders and then her legs with her white flip-flops.
“You think so?” She smiles at me. “Good. Hopefully, I can land me a date,” she says, and I groan. “I’m a healthy forty-something woman,” she starts and then grabs her big oversized purse, “with needs.” And I put my hand to my head and stop in my tracks.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I say, putting my hand to my stomach right before we walk outside.
“Oh, stop it,” she says. “I have to finish gardening when I get back,” she says, taking in the garden she was weeding when I got here. “So where are you taking me?” she asks, getting in the car.
“Want Mexican?” I ask her, knowing full well she will never say no to Guadalupe’s food.
“Yes,” she says, grabbing her phone and snapping a picture of us together. “I’m going to put it on Instagram.”
“You have Instagram?” I ask her since when, and she says, “The girls at work put me on that and Tinder.”
I whip my head at her. “You are never ever allowed on Tinder. For fuck’s sake, Mom, do you know the danger in going on Tinder?”
She looks at me, laughing. “Watch your mouth.” She shakes her head while looking at her phone and typing something. “There is danger on there,” she says with a smirk. “I saw Anthony on there.”
“Oh my god.” I close my eyes.
“Don’t worry, I swiped left.” She laughs. “But I did send him a dm telling him to change his picture.”
“Can I have a normal mom conversation for once in my life?” I ask. “Like a conversation where I sound like the child and you sound like the adult?”
“What are you talking about now?” she asks, putting her phone down.
“Instagram, Tinder DM.” I count on my fingers. “Moms shouldn’t know that.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please,” she says, and I don’t even bother answering her or talking with her as I make my way over to Guadalupe’s. She welcomes my mother with open arms, telling her she looks so good and sexy. She makes us all the food—literally all the food she has. And when I kiss my mother goodnight at the end of the night, she makes me promise to come back next Sunday with Laney. I make the promise, even knowing I might not be able to keep it.
Chapter Thirteen
Laney
Lunch at my parents’ house slides by like a snail at a marathon race. My aunt Martha is there asking questions about Hunter. “So where is your man?”
“I don’t have a man, Aunt Martha. He wasn’t my man. He was a friend,” I tell them as my mother eyes me from across the room.
“Leave her alone, Martha,” my mother says, and then I just walk out of the room. Mom leaves me be until it’s just the two of us. I am sitting in the backyard watching my father walk around the pool and scoop out the leaves
when my mother walks out carrying a tray with a pitcher of sweet tea and three glasses on it.
She sits down in one of the chairs and pours me a glass. “So,” she says, handing me a glass of tea with lemon in it. “What’s the story?”
I look at my dad still by the pool. “He was just a friend,” I say, and my mother leans back.
“Oh, please,” she says. “Just friends, my ass. You literally felt him up from head to toe last week,” she points out.
“I was looking for his gun,” I tell her honestly.
“Is that code for dick?” she asks, and I almost spit my tea out of my mouth. But I swallow it down, and then I choke on it, coughing.
“Mom!” I shout. “What are you saying?” I look at her, my eyes blinking.
“I’m asking if you were trying to …” She moves her hands almost as if she’s cupping something. “Trying to get to the package.”
“What package?” my father asks when he approaches the table and sits down with us, my mother pouring him a glass of sweet tea.
“No package,” I say, looking at my mother who sits back and just flips her wrist.
“So where is Hunter?” my father asks, leaning back in his chair. “Did he hurt you?” he asks. “I mean, I think I can take him if I had to.” He looks at my mother who throws her head back and laughs. “I would have to do it at night, and I’d probably have to catch him off guard. But”—he points at me—“I could take him.”
My mother leans forward in her chair and kisses his cheek. “Of course, you could, dear.”
“He was just a friend.”
“Was?” My father is fast to catch that.
“Is,” I say. “Is a friend.” I watch them watching me, and I know they aren’t going to let it go. “Okay, fine. He called me stupid, childish, and impulsive.”
I don’t know why I expect them to take my side. I don’t know why I expect my father to shoot his chair back and yell, but none of that happens. Instead, I get the stare down. “Why?”
Mixed Up Love Page 11
