defiance, but she also looks sheepish. Or scared. I can't tell which. Either emotion is all wrong on her. She nods her head. On the bus, that was good morning , or hi , or good night . I'm so fucking flustered right now, that I'm not sure it means what it used to.
I release Ma and look at her questioningly. She knows I'm looking for answers.
She clears her throat. "I guess I don't need to introduce the two of you. Gus, I hired Scout to be my new assistant." That was tentative, even for Ma. She's trying to gloss over this as no big deal.
But now that Impatient is standing in our kitchen, I realize that it's a big deal.
I shake my head and the percussive pounding between my ears amps up. Hours ago my mind had turned Impatient into some weird regret, and now that I'm standing in the same room with her again and can feel her tightly wound constitution, all I want to do is leave and go back to bed. I don't know if it's the fact that I feel like hell, but I hope she's not still here when I wake up because this house seems all wrong with Impatient inside. Maybe this is all just a fucking dream.
As I turn around, Ma's words stop me as I exit the kitchen. "It's taco Tuesday, Gus. Don't you want something to eat?"
"No thanks, Ma. I'm not hungry." I shuffle back to my room and fall asleep the instant I drop into bed.
Wednesday, June 28
(Gus)
It's closing in on noon when I finally wake up. I stretch involuntarily, and my body doesn't protest angrily anymore. Still, the glands in my neck feel swollen ten times their normal size. I swallow, and it feels like I'm trying to force a goddamn grapefruit through a drinking straw.
I cough and immediately feel a deep, uncontrollable craving rush through my body. Cigarettes. I grab the pack and my lighter off my nightstand and step outside onto the deck.
Every puff sates my need, while simultaneously agitating the beast that's taken my glands hostage.
I struggle through two cigarettes. Struggle is not an exaggeration—if anything, I'm being too kind. I feel like my lungs are preparing for mutiny.
After a long shower, I call Ma at work.
She answers on the second ring. "Good morning, honey. How are you feeling?"
"Morning Ma. Just peachy." My scratchy voice contradicts me. "Sorry about last night. I didn't mean to bail on you. I just needed to sleep this shit off."
"It's okay. Taco leftovers are in the refrigerator, if you're hungry."
"Sounds good. Thanks. I gotta run a few errands. You need anything while I'm out?" I'm making small talk, waiting for her to come clean about Impatient. Like maybe why she didn't tell me about her sooner. I don't understand why it had to be kept secret.
"That's sweet of you, but I don't need anything. Thanks." She knows we're dancing around the issue and sounds hesitant.
"Sure. Guess I'll see you when you get home."
"Should be home around five forty-five. And don't forget Mikayla's going away party at Delgado's is tonight. It starts at seven o'clock."
"Wouldn't miss it," I answer. Because I won't miss it. Sick or not, I'm going.
Ma walks in at five forty-five on the dot. She's always been ridiculously punctual. Never early, never late, always exactly on time. I'm always late. Obviously timeliness is not hereditary.
She leaves the front door open behind her and I'm afraid to ask why, when Impatient walks in. And holy shit. If last night was a surprise, tonight just blew that out of the water.
She's wearing a black dress. The simple fabric cascades over her body from the high neckline to the cuffs of the long, silky sleeves. It's modest, except that it falls a bit above mid-thigh ... and her legs look fantastic, especially paired with the heels she's wearing. I'm a sucker for heels. Her hair is curled slightly at the ends, which somehow softens her hard features, mollifying the stringent intensity that's housed inside. I'm used to Scout in shorts and an ill-fitting, long-sleeved T-shirt, her hair hanging straight. She's normally so
I release Ma and look at her questioningly. She knows I'm looking for answers.
She clears her throat. "I guess I don't need to introduce the two of you. Gus, I hired Scout to be my new assistant." That was tentative, even for Ma. She's trying to gloss over this as no big deal.
But now that Impatient is standing in our kitchen, I realize that it's a big deal.
I shake my head and the percussive pounding between my ears amps up. Hours ago my mind had turned Impatient into some weird regret, and now that I'm standing in the same room with her again and can feel her tightly wound constitution, all I want to do is leave and go back to bed. I don't know if it's the fact that I feel like hell, but I hope she's not still here when I wake up because this house seems all wrong with Impatient inside. Maybe this is all just a fucking dream.
As I turn around, Ma's words stop me as I exit the kitchen. "It's taco Tuesday, Gus. Don't you want something to eat?"
"No thanks, Ma. I'm not hungry." I shuffle back to my room and fall asleep the instant I drop into bed.
Wednesday, June 28
(Gus)
It's closing in on noon when I finally wake up. I stretch involuntarily, and my body doesn't protest angrily anymore. Still, the glands in my neck feel swollen ten times their normal size. I swallow, and it feels like I'm trying to force a goddamn grapefruit through a drinking straw.
I cough and immediately feel a deep, uncontrollable craving rush through my body. Cigarettes. I grab the pack and my lighter off my nightstand and step outside onto the deck.
Every puff sates my need, while simultaneously agitating the beast that's taken my glands hostage.
I struggle through two cigarettes. Struggle is not an exaggeration—if anything, I'm being too kind. I feel like my lungs are preparing for mutiny.
After a long shower, I call Ma at work.
She answers on the second ring. "Good morning, honey. How are you feeling?"
"Morning Ma. Just peachy." My scratchy voice contradicts me. "Sorry about last night. I didn't mean to bail on you. I just needed to sleep this shit off."
"It's okay. Taco leftovers are in the refrigerator, if you're hungry."
"Sounds good. Thanks. I gotta run a few errands. You need anything while I'm out?" I'm making small talk, waiting for her to come clean about Impatient. Like maybe why she didn't tell me about her sooner. I don't understand why it had to be kept secret.
"That's sweet of you, but I don't need anything. Thanks." She knows we're dancing around the issue and sounds hesitant.
"Sure. Guess I'll see you when you get home."
"Should be home around five forty-five. And don't forget Mikayla's going away party at Delgado's is tonight. It starts at seven o'clock."
"Wouldn't miss it," I answer. Because I won't miss it. Sick or not, I'm going.
Ma walks in at five forty-five on the dot. She's always been ridiculously punctual. Never early, never late, always exactly on time. I'm always late. Obviously timeliness is not hereditary.
She leaves the front door open behind her and I'm afraid to ask why, when Impatient walks in. And holy shit. If last night was a surprise, tonight just blew that out of the water.
She's wearing a black dress. The simple fabric cascades over her body from the high neckline to the cuffs of the long, silky sleeves. It's modest, except that it falls a bit above mid-thigh ... and her legs look fantastic, especially paired with the heels she's wearing. I'm a sucker for heels. Her hair is curled slightly at the ends, which somehow softens her hard features, mollifying the stringent intensity that's housed inside. I'm used to Scout in shorts and an ill-fitting, long-sleeved T-shirt, her hair hanging straight. She's normally so
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