The Girl I Was Before (Falling #3)(48)
“But your outfit looks really nice,” I say, just wanting to see her smile again.
Leah bites her lip and holds on to the banister, trying to stand in my mom’s shoes to show me everything she has on. She twists from side to side, letting the pink material around her knees sway. “Do you think she would like it?” she asks, bottom lip fully sucked in her mouth.
She wants to be like Paige. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. But the moment I have that thought, I regret it, and I feel guilty for even thinking it—almost like Paige must hear my thoughts from wherever she is. I feel bad because I know it would hurt her feelings. And I feel bad because…I’m wrong. Why wouldn’t it be a good thing to be like Paige? The way Paige stood up to those kids, the way she’s trying to fix things with her sister—those things…they’re part of the kind of the person I want Leah to be.
“I think she’d love it. You can show her when she gets home from school tonight,” I say, Leah’s mouth returning to the smile she was wearing when she first tried to walk down the steps.
“What if we go with the sandals today, though—for safety?” my mom asks, holding her hand out for Leah’s foot. She takes each shoe off, rolling the socks in her hands. Leah nods a concession, and my mom walks her back upstairs to find her shoes, but she glances at me over her shoulder, that same concerned line of her lips.
When they come back downstairs, I pick Leah up, propping her at my side, and kissing her cheeks, marveling at her ability to remind me of others—it’s strange looking at her and seeing Beth and Paige.
After she and my mom leave, I pack my bag for class, and take off for my shift at the store. My classes are all late in the afternoon this semester. I’m only taking two, because one is an intense programming section, the other…Spanish. And even taking two is going to make my work schedule a challenge. There won’t be time to stop by the house often—no time to run into Paige.
When I get to the store, I help Chuck unload a few boxes in the back from the late-night deliveries, and he notices when I protect my hand.
“That from the other day?” he asks, remembering my run-in with Carson. Maybe not one of my finest moments, but damn, it felt good to put that guy in his place.
“No, this…was a different incident,” I say, turning, because I don’t want to look him in the eye. This would have been a good time to lie. But I’m so bad at lying, I couldn’t think of anything quickly enough.
“Is this becoming a pattern, Houston?” he asks from behind me as we walk through the storage racks. I don’t like the idea of Chuck thinking I’m a problem. I also don’t like him parenting me. He’s done it, on occasion—given me fatherly advice. I think he does it because he knows mine isn’t around to give it. But I don’t want to hear it from someone else. I’d rather go without.
“No, sir,” I say. “This time there was a girl who was being harassed. I’d hope that *’s pattern is broken, so no need for mine.” I let my eyes go to his for a second, just so he sees how serious I am. He nods, and pats me on the back once as he heads inside.
“Chivalry is always okay in my book,” he says.
I smile thinking of how he treats Sheila. I catch them sometimes, in those small moments. The way she’ll let her hand run along his arm, squeezing his hand. Or the way he spins her in his arms to the music humming throughout the store—just to dance with her for no reason at all. It’s a far cry from the way my grandpa used to call my grandmother “useless” and “dumb” in front of others, or the way he used to tell my mom she would have gotten married sooner, or could have had a better husband, if she weren’t so fat. My mom never talks about it—the emotional abuse—but I know it’s left scars on her. I knew it was wrong when I was a kid, I only wish I were brave enough when my grandparents were alive to tell my grandpa how wrong he was—about everything.
“Dude, burrito me!” Casey yells as he walks in through the side door. Chuck yells at him for coming in through the employee entrance, and Casey grabs the badge from my shirt, pinning it to himself. “That better?” he teases. Chuck grumbles something and heads into his office. I smack my hand across my friend’s chest, knocking the wind from him a little.
“Why do you have to be like that to him?” I say, holding my hand out for my badge.
“He doesn’t like me. I don’t know why?” Casey says, handing it to me.
“Yeah, I wonder,” I mutter. I move to my usual duties, getting the deli ready, then spend a few minutes on my friend’s breakfast. I’m rolling the tortilla when he notices my hand.
“What happened to your knuckles, bro?” he asks. I roll my hand over, and wiggle my fingers, buying myself time. Still unable to come up with a good lie, I opt for nothing instead, and shrug as I finish his burrito.
When Casey takes it from me, he holds my gaze for a second, quirking a brow up in suspicion. “That’s bullshit,” he points at me, then takes a bite of his food. “And you’ll tell me eventually.”
Maybe I will. Or maybe there’s nothing to tell, because on my short drive here, I decided that finding any reason not to run into Paige at the house—not to be alone with her—was a good move. I’m thinking about her too much, and Leah’s only been with her for a day and she’s already attached. There’s no stopping that, but I need to remember the arrangement. Paige lives with us, and she and Leah can be friends. And while I’m attracted to her, doing anything about it would open a Pandora’s box.