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And why would he care about me, anyway? I’ve been nothing but an asshole to him since the day I met him, but I don’t hate him. Does he really think that I do?
“Well, that’s one of those things you need to work on.” He stands to his feet and walks out of the greenhouse, leaving me alone.
“Fuck.” I kick my foot out in front of me, and it collides with the wooden shelving unit. A crack sounds through the room, and I jump to my feet. “No, no, no!”
I try to catch the flower boxes, clay pots, and random shit before they crash to the floor. Within seconds, all of it—the pieces of all of it—is on the floor. This isn’t fucking happening. I didn’t even mean to break this shit, and here I am with a pile of dirt, flowers, and cracked pots at my feet.
Maybe I can clean some of this shit up before Karen . . .
“Oh my,” I hear her gasp, and I turn to the doorway to see her standing there, a little trowel in her hand.
Fuuuck.
“I didn’t mean to knock them down, I swear. I kicked my foot out and accidentally broke the shelf—and all this shit started falling down, and I tried to catch it!” I frantically explain as Karen rushes over to a pile of broken pottery.
Her hands sift through the rubble, trying to piece together a blue flowerpot that has no chance of ever becoming one again. She doesn’t say anything, but I hear her sniffle, and she lifts her arm to wipe her cheeks with her dirt-covered hands.
After a few seconds, she says, “I’ve had this pot since I was a little girl. It was the first pot I ever used for transplanting a cutting.”
“I . . .” I don’t know what to say to her. Of all the shit I’ve broken, this time it truly was an accident. I feel like complete shit.
“This and my china were the only things of my grandmother’s that I had left,” she cries.
The china. The china that I smashed into a million pieces.
“Karen, I’m sorry. I—”
“It’s okay, Hardin.” She sighs, tossing the pieces of the flowerpot back into the pile of dirt.
But it’s not okay, I can see it in her brown eyes. I can see how hurt she is, and I’m surprised by the heaviness of the guilt I feel pressing on my chest at the sight of the sadness in her eyes. She stares at the shattered pot for a few more seconds, and I watch her silently. I try to imagine Karen as a young girl, big brown eyes and a kind soul even at that point. I bet she was one of those girls who was nice to everyone, even the assholes like me. I think about her grandmother, probably nice like her, giving her something that Karen felt was important enough to keep safe all these years. I’ve never had anything in my life that wasn’t destroyed.
“I’m going to finish dinner. It’ll be ready soon,” she says at last.
Then, with a wipe of her eyes, she leaves the greenhouse the same way her son left only minutes ago.
Chapter seventy-one
TESSA
There’s no denying Smith and his adorable little way of walking around, looking at things, greeting you with a formal handshake, and then drilling you with questions as you try to do chores. So when I’m putting away my clothes and he waddles in and asks me in a quiet voice, “Where’s your Hardin?” I can’t really be upset.
It makes me a bit sad to have to say that I left him back at WCU, but the cuteness of this little kid eases some of that pain.
“And where’s WCU?” he asks.
I do my best to smile. “It’s a long way away.”
Smith bats his beautiful green eyes. “Is he coming?”
“I don’t think so. Um, you like Hardin, don’t you, Smith?” I laugh and push the sleeves of my old maroon dress over a hanger and place it inside the closet.
“Sort of. He’s funny.”
“Hey, I’m funny, too!” I tease, but he only smiles a shy smile.
“Not really,” he answers bluntly.
Which only makes me laugh harder. “Hardin thinks that I’m funny,” I lie.
“He does?” Smith follows my actions and begins to help me unpack and refold my clothes.
“Yes, he won’t admit it, though.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. Probably because I’m not very funny, and when I try to be funny, it’s even worse.
“Well, tell your Hardin to come here and live, like you,” he says very matter-of-factly. Like a little king issuing an edict.
My chest tightens at the sweet little boy’s words. “I’ll tell him. You don’t have to fold those,” I tell him, reaching for a blue shirt in his small hands.
“I like to fold.” He hides the shirt back behind him, and what can I do but nod?
“You’ll make a good husband one day,” I tell him, and smile. His dimples show when he smiles back. At least he seems to like me a little more than he did before.
“I don’t want to be husband,” he says, scrunching up his nose, and I roll my eyes at this five-year-old who speaks exactly like a grown man.
“You’ll change your mind one day,” I tease.
“Nope.” And with that he ends the conversation, and we finish with my clothes in silence.
My first day in Seattle is coming to a close, and tomorrow will be my first day at the new office. I’m extremely nervous and anxious about it. I don’t care for new things; in fact, they terrify me. I like to be in control of every situation and enter new environments with a solid plan. I haven’t had time to plan much about this move, save enrolling into my new classes, and honestly, I’m not looking forward to them as much as I should be. Somewhere in the middle of my scolding myself, Smith has disappeared, leaving a perfectly folded pile of clothing on the bed.