Page 47

“I don’t . . . feel obligated, I mean. I just don’t know what to think.” I wish I could explain the whole story to her so I could have her honest opinion. I wish my mother was as understanding as Trish seems to be.
“Well, that’s the hard part, you have to be the one to decide. Just take your time and make him work it, things come easily to my son, they always have. Maybe that’s part of his problem, he always gets what he wants.”
I laugh because that statement couldn’t be more true. “That he does.”
I sigh and go to the pantry and grab a box of cereal. But Trish interrupts my plan by saying, “How about you and me get dressed and go get some breakfast and do some girl things? I could use a haircut, myself.” She laughs and shakes her brown hair back and forth.
Her sense of humor is nice, just like Hardin’s is, when he allows it to show. He’s more raunchy, yes, but I see where he gets his humor.
“Great. Let me just take a shower first,” I say and put back the box.
“Shower? Its snowing outside, and we’ll be getting our hair washed anyway! I was going to just wear this.” She gestures to her black tracksuit. “Throw on some jeans or something, and let’s go!”
This is so different than if I was going anywhere with my mother. I would have to have ironed clothes, my hair curled, and makeup on—even if we were just going to the grocery store.
I smile and say, “Okay.”
In the bedroom, I grab a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt from the closet, then pull my hair into a bun. Slipping on my Toms, I head to the bathroom and quickly brush my teeth and splash cold water on my face. When I join Trish in the living room, she’s ready and waiting by the door.
“I should leave Hardin a note or text him,” I say.
But she smiles and pulls me toward the door. “That lad will be fine.”
AFTER SPENDING THE REST of the morning and the majority of the afternoon with Trish, I feel much more relaxed. She is kind, funny, and great to talk to. She keeps the conversation light and has me laughing almost the entire time. We both get our hair done, and Trish adds bangs, daring me to do the same, but I refuse with a smile. I do, however, let her talk me into buying a black dress for Christmas. I have no idea what I’m doing for Christmas, though. I don’t want to intrude on Hardin and his mother, and I haven’t bought any presents or anything. I think I may take Landon up on the invitation to his house. It seems a little too much to spend Christmas with Hardin when we’re not together. We’re in this alien in-between stage: we aren’t together, but I’d been feeling like we were getting closer to each other until he left this morning.
By the time we return to the apartment, Hardin’s car is in the lot, and I start to feel nervous. When we get up to the apartment, we find him sitting on the couch with papers spread out across his lap and the coffee table. He has a pen between his teeth and looks deep into whatever it is that he’s doing. Working, I suspect, but I have only actually seen him work a few times in the months I’ve known him.
“Hello, son!” Trish says in a cheery voice.
“Hey,” Hardin responds flatly.
“Did you miss us?” she teases, and he rolls his eyes before gathering up the loose pages and shoving them into a binder.
“I’ll be in the bedroom,” he huffs and stands from the couch.
I shrug at Trish, then follow Hardin into our bedroom.
“Where’d you guys go?” he asks and sets down his binder on the dresser. A page falls out, and he quickly shoves it back inside, closing the tab with a snap.
I sit on the bed with my legs crossed. “To breakfast, then we got haircuts and did some shopping.”
“Oh.”
“Where did you go?” I ask him. He looks down at the floor before answering.
“To work.”
“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I’m not buying that,” I say with a tone that tells me Trish must have worn off on me.
His green eyes blaze at me. “Well, I don’t really care if you’re not buying that,” he says in a mocking tone and sits down on the opposite side of the bed.
“What’s your problem?” I snap.
“Nothing. I don’t have a problem.” His walls are up; I can feel them guarding him.
“Obviously you do. Why did you leave this morning?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I already told you.”
“Lying to me isn’t going to help anything, that’s what got you . . . us into this mess in the first place,” I remind him.
“Fine! You want to know where I was? I was at my dad’s!” he shouts and stands up.
“Your dad’s? Why?”
“Talking to Landon.” He sits down on the chair.
I roll my eyes. “I believed the work story more than this.”
“I was. Go on and call him, if you don’t believe me.”
“Okay, and what were you talking with Landon about?”
“You, of course.”
“What about me?” I raise my hands in front of me.
“Just everything. I know you don’t want to be here.” He looks over at me.
“If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.”
“You have nowhere else to go, I know you wouldn’t be here if you did.”
“What makes you so sure? We slept in the bed together last night.”
“Yeah, and you know why—if I hadn’t had a nightmare, you wouldn’t have agreed to it. That’s the only reason you did, and the only reason you’re talking to me now. Because you feel sorry for me.” His hands are shaking, and his eyes are piercing. I can see the shame behind the green.