especially with Caroline in the passenger seat of the car—Dad’s sensible sedan.
Caroline fidgets in the seat, twisting her hair, tapping her foot. I don’t know if I’m making her uncomfortable, or if it’s whatever is going on in her life that forced her to move to a different state that’s working her nerves.
“You alright over there?” I ask.
“Yep,” is all that Caroline replies.
I haven’t pressed for any more information about what’s going on with her. Yet. I keep trying to say something to her, to ask why she’s suddenly living in my parents’ basement, but I feel like I’d be overstepping. She is the one who tracked me down, calling in the middle of the night, though, so she must want to talk about it, right?
“Good. So, where to?”
She lets out a small sigh, “I don’t really know. I don’t know where anything is around here. But I need to get my mom and dad a Christmas gift. It’ll be late, but I need to send them something, you know? And maybe we could get some lunch? Your mom keeps trying to cook for me, but I don’t want her to have to do that. And honestly, I’m kind of scared to touch anything in the kitchen. It’s all so…perfect. ”
“Sure,” I say. “And trust me, I know what you mean.” I visualize the drawer dividers in my mom’s kitchen. Perfectly spaced. Color coordinated. And don’t you dare put a plastic spatula in with the wooden ones. Poor Caroline is in for a treat living with my parents. They’ve always liked her, and she gets along with them, but living with them? That’s a different story entirely. “How about we hit the mall, then we’ll grab something to eat on that end of town?” I ask.
I start to steer the car toward the mall, but instead, at the last second, decide to go the opposite direction.
It finally dawns on me that Carter and Shayna are here, in Atlanta, too. They left only a few hours before me. It’s not a crime for me to be here, but I sure as shit don’t want them to see me here with Caroline before I have the chance to tell Quinn what’s going on. “Hey, tell you what. The mall is going to be madness today, but there’s this really cool strip of shops on the other end of the city, you game?”
C aroline shru gs, very non-committal. “Whatever is fine.” And I’m sort of wondering why I hopped my ass on the first plane out town when she’s acting the way that she is. But there’s got to be more to it than she’s letting on. I just have to give her a chance to tell me.
She tangles her fingers together, pulls them apart, and pats her knees — anything but just remaining still. I reach over and cover her hands wi th mine to calm her movements. It instantly does the trick, I feel her hands stop and her body relaxes . As if a switch has been flipped. And I’d be lying if I said that knowing that I did that for her didn’t feel damn good.
“It’s good to see you, Linney,” I say.
I really look at her for the first time si nce I go t here. She looks the same as always. She’s going to be one of those women that age really well, just like her mom. B ut her eyes look different. Worried. Uneasy. Maybe a little broken.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I finally ask. “I mean, you moved in with my parents of all people, it had to be pretty serious.” It’s my lame attempt at a joke that neither one of us bothers to laugh at.
“Your parents aren’t bad, Ben.”
“Yeah, well, neither
Caroline fidgets in the seat, twisting her hair, tapping her foot. I don’t know if I’m making her uncomfortable, or if it’s whatever is going on in her life that forced her to move to a different state that’s working her nerves.
“You alright over there?” I ask.
“Yep,” is all that Caroline replies.
I haven’t pressed for any more information about what’s going on with her. Yet. I keep trying to say something to her, to ask why she’s suddenly living in my parents’ basement, but I feel like I’d be overstepping. She is the one who tracked me down, calling in the middle of the night, though, so she must want to talk about it, right?
“Good. So, where to?”
She lets out a small sigh, “I don’t really know. I don’t know where anything is around here. But I need to get my mom and dad a Christmas gift. It’ll be late, but I need to send them something, you know? And maybe we could get some lunch? Your mom keeps trying to cook for me, but I don’t want her to have to do that. And honestly, I’m kind of scared to touch anything in the kitchen. It’s all so…perfect. ”
“Sure,” I say. “And trust me, I know what you mean.” I visualize the drawer dividers in my mom’s kitchen. Perfectly spaced. Color coordinated. And don’t you dare put a plastic spatula in with the wooden ones. Poor Caroline is in for a treat living with my parents. They’ve always liked her, and she gets along with them, but living with them? That’s a different story entirely. “How about we hit the mall, then we’ll grab something to eat on that end of town?” I ask.
I start to steer the car toward the mall, but instead, at the last second, decide to go the opposite direction.
It finally dawns on me that Carter and Shayna are here, in Atlanta, too. They left only a few hours before me. It’s not a crime for me to be here, but I sure as shit don’t want them to see me here with Caroline before I have the chance to tell Quinn what’s going on. “Hey, tell you what. The mall is going to be madness today, but there’s this really cool strip of shops on the other end of the city, you game?”
C aroline shru gs, very non-committal. “Whatever is fine.” And I’m sort of wondering why I hopped my ass on the first plane out town when she’s acting the way that she is. But there’s got to be more to it than she’s letting on. I just have to give her a chance to tell me.
She tangles her fingers together, pulls them apart, and pats her knees — anything but just remaining still. I reach over and cover her hands wi th mine to calm her movements. It instantly does the trick, I feel her hands stop and her body relaxes . As if a switch has been flipped. And I’d be lying if I said that knowing that I did that for her didn’t feel damn good.
“It’s good to see you, Linney,” I say.
I really look at her for the first time si nce I go t here. She looks the same as always. She’s going to be one of those women that age really well, just like her mom. B ut her eyes look different. Worried. Uneasy. Maybe a little broken.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I finally ask. “I mean, you moved in with my parents of all people, it had to be pretty serious.” It’s my lame attempt at a joke that neither one of us bothers to laugh at.
“Your parents aren’t bad, Ben.”
“Yeah, well, neither
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