Birthday Girl(47)
“Don’t kid yourself,” he tells me. “They’re still looking at you like a piece of ass, even with all your clothes on.” And then he glances up to the stage and my sister swinging around the pole. “She just makes a hell of a lot more money.”
The next day my sister doesn’t ask why I slept on her couch. She takes her son and me out for breakfast, and then we hit the Farmer’s Market for some produce. We talk about the county fair coming up, what’s new in the movie theaters, and what kind of party Killian wants to have for his birthday in September.
My sister likes to give me a hard time, but she’s good about seeing when I’m hurting, too. She knows when to back off.
After her dance last night, I followed her to the back of the club and got her keys from her, so I could have her car and get into her house. I didn’t know what to tell her about why I needed to crash with her, so I didn’t explain anything. Where would I start? Cole flaking on picking me up the night before? Me alone with Jay in a car, on a deserted street in the middle of the night, for the first time in two years? Me spending the night on a pool table? Pike accusing me of screwing around on his son and taking advantage of his generosity?
Her boss putting the pressure on me again about working for him?
Cole barely acting like I exist anymore?
I feel a sob stretch my throat. I can’t go back there. I’d rather sleep in my car. The three year old in me with pride the size of the Pacific will show him, won’t I? I’ll live in my broke-down car with no AC and busted door handles, because I don’t need anyone, right?
Through my watering eyes, I smile a little as I drive my sister’s car down the lane. It’s not as bad as all that, actually. I have my dad’s house. My stepmom may not want me there, but they won’t turn me away.
It won’t always be like this.
I turn into Pike’s neighborhood, downshifting my sister’s Mustang and coming up on his house.
My sister doesn’t have to work today, so she let me use her car to get my things out of Pike’s house.
As his place comes into view, though, I spot his truck in the driveway, and my stomach knots.
I don’t want to see him right now.
I should come back later.
But no, I need my clothes and my books for school. I can get the rest another time, but I need a few things now.
I park and climb out of the car, taking the small suitcase I borrowed from my sister and walk across the lawn and up the stairs. Taking out my key, I go to unlock the door but see that it’s already open. I take a cautious step inside.
The living room is empty, and I pass the kitchen, seeing that he’s not in there, either. My shoulders relax slightly. Making my way to the stairs, I grab the bannister.
“Jordan.”
I freeze, awareness and nerves making the hair on my neck stand up. Shit.
Turning around, I steel my expression and lift my chin as I face Pike. He stands between the kitchen and living room, wiping his hands with a dirty towel, his arms and fingers covered in dirt. He’s wet, sweat-soaked through parts of his gray T-shirt, and his face is more tanned than the last time I saw him. Like he’s been outside a lot the past twenty-four hours.
“I just need to get my stuff,” I say and turn back for the stairs.
But he stops me again. “Jordan.”
“Look, whatever, okay?” I cut him off, turning toward him again. “I shouldn’t be here anyway, and it’s not like Cole is here half the time, either, so let me just cut my losses and get my shit.”
He steps forward. “Where will you go?”
I almost want to cry. “My dad’s house. In Meadow Lakes,” I tell him. “I’m not your problem, okay?”
There. It’s done. No need to pretend that I don’t have other options. I’m leaving. I hate the idea of going back to that trailer park shithole, but it won’t be forever. I’ll live.
I move to head up the stairs again, but he speaks up, almost in a rush.
“Please,” he blurts out, stopping me. “Come here for a minute. I have something I want to show you.”
He must see the suspicion in my eyes, because he asks again, firmer and resolute this time. “Please,” he says. “Just for a minute.”
He turns and heads back into the kitchen, and I hesitate for a moment before following him. I don’t want to be curious, but I am.
I enter the kitchen and see him walking through the adjoining laundry room and out the back door. What’s in the backyard that I’d want to see?
The screen door flaps shut, and I take a deep breath and straighten as I follow him.
He stands next to a rectangular parcel of land that was simply part of the yard twenty-four hours ago. Now, the grass is gone, there’s a border outlining the perimeter, and rich, black soil turned up in the box. There’s a hose attached to some PVC pipe, which is embedded in the soil with spouts for sprinklers at several intervals.
He looks over at me, almost like he’s nervous of my reaction.
“What is this?” I ask.
He glances at it behind him and back to me again. “It’s a garden,” he answers. “I was hoping you’d want to help with it or something.”
I’m speechless. My heart is beating so hard, and the sun feels so hot. How did…? But then I remember. He knows I love landscaping. He knows I read all those magazines. He knows what I like.