Time passes by slowly after my interaction with Avery. My brain is muddled with constant thoughts of her. At work, I find myself standing in front of the peonies, just recalling the scent of her perfume. At home, I struggle to focus when Mom tries to talk to me about dinner plans because I'm too busy thinking about Avery's honey-colored eyes. I even extend my daily run by fifteen minutes to make sure I pass by the light gray house with dark shutters – Avery's house.
I typically run after work, when the heat of the day starts to fade into a cool spring night. Two cars take up Avery's driveway and a beat-up SUV with a PRIDE sticker on the back windshield parks on the street. Depending on the day, I'll catch Sawyer coming home from whatever sports practice he was at. He offers me a small wave every time.
On this particular Saturday afternoon, he stands in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking my path. I slow to a walk and remove my earbuds.
"Hey," he says, adjusting his duffle bag on his shoulder.
"Hey," I answer through my heavy breathing.
"You know what you're doing right?"
I tilt my head in confusion. "What?"
"With my sister," he gestures towards the house. "You know what you're getting into right?"
I shake my head. "I don't know what you're talking about."
He gives me a steely look. His eyes are the same color as Avery's but slightly darker. He's easily a foot taller than me but in a non-threatening way. I hold his stare.
"I saw the flower," he says finally.
"So?" I cross my arms over my chest.
He sighs and shakes his head. "Just . . . be careful with her, please. I don't want her to get hurt."
I narrow my eyes at him. "What makes you think I would ever hurt her?"
"You know what," he says and stalks off to the house.
I watch him enter the house. He shoots me another look before closing the front door. My jaw tightens and I replace my earbuds, resuming my run. My legs feel like they're made of lead.
~
I loop around the block twice, the weight of Sawyer's words refusing to lighten my steps. I turn up my music and make a left, turning away from the dark grey house and towards the outer circle of the neighborhood. The houses become smaller and smaller, transforming from colonial-style homes with pristine lawns to quaint cottages with white picket fences. I slow my pace as I approach a yellow house with an overflowing garden.
Rose bushes try to push their way through the fence that marks the perimeter of the lawn. I push through the front gate and scan the garden. Sure enough, I find Mrs. Balotelli kneeling beside a flower bed. The Dachshund, Benny, that lounges in the sun next to her barks and jumps up. Mrs. Balotelli follows his gaze.
"Reese, dear!"
She brushes the dirt from her hands and stands. I remove my earbuds and accept her hug. Her clothes are warm from the sun. "Hi, Jolene,"
"How are you, dear?"
I kneel to pet Benny. He affectionately licks my palm. "I'm good, thanks."
"Enjoying your mini-vacation?"
"Yes, thank you," I answer and stand. "You didn't need to give me a four-day weekend. I like working."
Jolene tuts. "That's the problem, girl! You work too much! You're young, you need to go out and have fun!"
I laugh. "I am having fun."
She raises an eyebrow. "Any dates on the calendar?"
My cheeks blush. It's not unusual that Jolene and I talk about my dating life. I've known her for years thanks to her daughter being my babysitter at one point before she moved to Arizona. She even tried to set me up with her granddaughter at one point. It didn't end well.
"What about that nice girl that came in the other day." Jolene goes back to her gardening and I sit on the grass beside her. Benny curls up by my feet. "She was pretty cute."
I smile instinctively and stroke Benny's soft ears.
"Ah," Jolene regards my smile and I blush harder. "What's her story?"
I shake my head. "I'm not entirely sure. Her name is Avery. We went to high school together but she doesn't remember me."
"Does she know you like her?"
"No," I sigh heavily. "I'm not exactly charming when I talk to her. I get weird and I forget how to function. It's ridiculous, Jolene."
Jolene laughs lightly. "That's love, dear." My heart seizes at the 'L' word. "You should tell her how you feel."
I shake my head. "No way, I can't just do that! What if she isn't gay? What if she doesn't like me that way?"
Jolene says with a shrug, "Only one way to find out. Sometimes life and love are about taking risks."
I turn my eyes to my lap. Jolene's words hang in the air between us along with my own words from the other day.
Great rewards can only come from taking great risks.
~
Jolene doesn't allow me to leave until I've eaten enough custard-filled Zeppoles to feed a small family. My stomach aches from the sugary dessert, forcing me to a slow walk on my way home. I mosey my way through the neighborhood, taking the long way home and enjoying the cool air on my skin.
The sun is starting to set. Its golden beams cut through the trees and houses, casting a warm glow over everything. I turn down my favorite street – East Walnut Avenue – and slow my pace even more.
East Walnut Avenue is the original street in the neighborhood–and probably all of Grantville. The houses are older, mostly restored Victorians or renovated craftsman-style. The street is lined with massive oak trees that must be at least 100 years old. Their sturdy trunks and outstretched branches give the area a magical feel.
My thoughts drift away as I listen to the breeze and the birds. I don't stop myself from thinking about honey-colored eyes flecked with green, or rosy-smelling perfume and a tentative smile. My body warms with the memory of seeing her for the first time at Tim Walsh's house. I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
Even now, I feel the tug in my chest. I have to force myself to walk past her street. But I can't ignore the thundering in my chest at the thought of being near her again, hearing her voice, and seeing her smile.
Our interactions so far have been okay, aside from the kidnapping-diner-date. I groan and rub my hands down my face. She deserves more than a dingy diner date or a single flower.
"Next time," I say aloud to myself. "Next time will be better."
~
I was wrong. I was so unbelievably wrong.
My body screams at me to turn and run, every fiber of my being wants to sprint back down the steps and back home. But I can't. I have to be here–whether I like it or not, Dad said.
I glare at the back of his head. He's only been back home for two days but our world has already flipped. Mom is anxious again and I can barely breathe without getting yelled at. My little brother is the only one who seems to be having the time of his life.
"My shirt is itchy." He whines.
Dad shushes him, readjusting his tie. "Did we really need to get dressed up for this?"
Mom nods and smooths the skirt of her dress. "Yes, they were kind enough to invite us after what happened. The least we can do is look nice."
I chew my lip as Dad roughly rings the doorbell two more times. The chime echoes from inside the house. "If they don't answer soon, I'm leaving."
I shift my weight from foot to foot. Maybe if I'm quiet enough I can sneak away and they won't notice. I slowly back up a step. Movement sounds from inside and I freeze. Mom repositions the wine bottle in her hands. Dad sighs.
"Smiles everyone," Mom whispers.
The heavy door swings open and I brace myself.
"Hi, you must be–" Avery halts her words as her eyes fall on me. Her mouth hangs open.
"The Ramsays." Dad finishes her sentence.