Ash

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

I get out of bed tired before the day has even begun. I've been tired all week in dread of this day. Saturday. I've already prepared a scene in my head, a word for word speech on everything I'm going to say. I'm not going to let him get a rise out of me this time. I will maintain absolute control of myself and my emotions. This time isn't for fights or harsh words. This time I'm going to tell him the things that need to be said in a manner appropriate. He needs to get out of our lives and I'm going to make sure he understands that.

I drop the hairbrush after the last stroke and and do the top button on my checkered shirt. I get down to the chores I have to do. He gave no time for his arrival and I can't sit down waiting all day.

As I load the clothes into the machine Rogue bounds downstairs, jumping and yapping. That's his routine behavior for whenever Evans is around. He just came through the door the way he always does on a Saturday morning, and every other afternoon.

I hear them exchange terse good mornings. Danny stayed home today instead of taking his usual detour to the library. He's still mad that Principal Vinson held him up on Tuesday. He's sure Dad had something to do with the out of the blue conversation. They spoke about getting him a spot on the Harvard Varsity Football team, a spot he's not even eager to take. He'll be too focused on his medical program. A program which he doesn't need Dad's help to get into.

I still haven't told him about Mom. I don't have the heart to. I hope nobody brings it up today.

"Hey Summer." Evans walks in with Rogue panting at his legs.

"Summer?"

"Yeah. You're my summer in the winter, spring and autumn." He hugs me from behind as I roll my eyes.

"That's so corny," I reply. It is, but I don't turn to him to hide the grin on my face.

"But you've always loved that I'm corny. Since when has that changed?" He answers with a pout in his voice, and I feel his fingers twisting through my hair.

"Since now, and stop playing with my hair."

I don't know how many times I have to tell him. He's so hardheaded.

"I'm not playing with it. I'm braiding it. Don't you know the difference anymore?" he replies teasingly. I try to take it out of his hands but he just smacks my hand away. I give up. He can do whatever he wants with my hair.

"You managed to get all the knots out this time," he comments.

"New conditioner."

"Finally. Maybe someone finally heard your prayers and sent you a heaven made conditioning formula, since nothing you've used in the last seventeen years has worked."

"Oh shut up. My hair isn't that bad."

"Yes it is. And you know it." He finishes with the tail of the braid and gives me a tiny pinch on the cheek.

"That wasn't so hard now was it?"

"Not until I see what you've done in the mirror. For all I know you could've just tied my hair into several knots." I pull the plait forwards to inspect his work. I'm just bantering around, his work is as perfect as it always is. Neat and near professional.

"Please. Everyone knows I can weave a plait better than you ever could. Don't even argue it."

His face is haughty as he starts sorting the laundry with me. I roll my eyes again, but don't argue. He's right. He was always more patient with my hair than I ever was.

"Are you sure you want to see him again?" he asks, abruptly solemn.

"Yes. I want to hear what he has to say."