Willow
Sounds of screaming and laughter burst into my room from outside, and Little-Piddle jumps from the bed and starts to bark at the low wall below the windows. It is almost time for dinner, and I'm hanging my school clothes in my closet. I remember seeing Uncle Ryan working in the flowerbeds in the front yard a few minutes ago. Aunt Beth said that he often likes to putter around in the garden for a short while after he arrives home from work. It relaxes him.
"Hunter, if you don't put down that hose at once, I'm going to put you over my knee, I swear!" It's Aunt Beth, and it sounds as if she means business.
"Wow, Ma! Sounds like a fun way to spend the evening. We should sell tickets; nobody would want to miss that show," Hunter's laughter is followed by another scream from his mother. "Hunter!"
Curious, I lift the wispy curtains filtering the light to look out at the front yard.
"Ryan! Corner him from the right and grab him; I'll block him on this end. I'm going to shove that hose up his bu... nose..."
"I'm trying to grab him! He's so blooming fast! Hunter! Seriously! Nooooooo!"
"I'm too scared to put the hose down now!" Hunter laughs. He catches sight of me at my window. "Missy! Call child services! I'm gonna be abused any minute now!"
Missy? As in Miss Priss?
I sigh, rolling my eyes.
"You're going to be abused? We are being abused by you!" Uncle Ryan points out.
All three of them are covered in mud, and Hunter is happily hosing down his parents, himself, the house, and everything in sight. I can imagine all kinds of scenarios that led to all of them being muddy, and they all involve Hunter being a nuisance.
"Willow, Sweetie, please bring us some towels," Aunt Beth asks, and Hunter makes sure that I do not want to by spraying water loudly against my window, making me jump with fright. Little-Piddle renews his attempts to pierce my eardrums, and I shush him with enough authority to make him obey for once.
"Hunter! She's not going to bring us towels if you do that!"
"I won't spray you, Missy, I promise," Hunter grins, but the threatening way in which he's holding the hose is promising something quite different. "Please bring us some towels."
"Please, Willow," Aunt Beth begs, and with a mischievous grin, Uncle Ryan chimes in to assure me that they have the situation under control and that there's no way that I would end up wet and muddy if I were to come out there with some towels. I am starting to believe that this entire family might be evil.
I shake my head, making it clear that I'm not falling for their tricks, and back away from the window, laughing at the sound of their continued begging, broken only by shrieks and threats hurled at Hunter.
The cabinets under the washbasins in the bathroom contain millions of towels of all shapes and sizes. I didn't initially understand the Drakes' need for so many towels, but I'm starting to get the picture now. I grab an armload of old, faded beach towels and march over to my bedroom window. Sliding it open, I toss them out into the yard, closing the window just in time to avoid another spray of water directed at me.
"Thank you, Honey! Hunter! Don't spray the towels! Ryan, speak to your son!"
"Hunter! Listen to your mother!"
"You guys are adorable," Hunter is laughing. "Fine, fine, I'll put the hose away. See, it's gone, it's not a danger anym- Hey! Hey!"
It is Hunter's turn to scream. I take another look into the yard and am surprised to see him lying on the lawn with Aunt Beth sitting on him. While he is squirming and trying to escape, Uncle Ryan is plastering him with mud from a flower bed. They finally let him go, and the war disappears around the corner of the house, with Hunter chasing his parents again.
A couple of minutes later, I hear Aunt Beth and Uncle Ryan laughing as they pass outside my bedroom door. They must have entered the house through the laundry area and are on their way to their bedroom and ensuite bathroom upstairs.
A few seconds later, I'm startled by agitated tapping on the outside of my window. Little-Piddle is wagging his tail with excitement, but to his credit, he doesn't give in to his impulse to bark his little head off.
"Missy! Missy! Please let me in!"
I rise from my bed, where I'm curled up with a book, and cross to my bedroom window. I once again pull open a section of the flouncy curtains so that I can see properly into the front garden. Hunter has rinsed off most of the mud and is drenched to the bone. His t-shirt is clinging to him like a second skin, and rivulets of dirty water are running from his hair over his face.
"Please let me in. Ma locked me out."
I cannot help but laugh at him. "I think you brought that on yourself. How can I let you in if she locked you out?"
"Come on, Missy; I'm cold. Please?" he whines, but he looks far too healthy and naughty to make me feel sorry for him.
"Why don't you use a towel?"
"They're all wet," he shrugs as if he couldn't possibly think of any reason why that would be the case.
I shake my head and start to back away from the window. I'll let him in, in another minute or two. Let him suffer for a bit.
"Puh...leeeeease, Missy. Ma is counting on you being a softy and letting me in. Do you really think she wants me to freeze or get pneumonia?"
He does have a point, and the sun has almost completely set now. It is time for dinner... and I probably am a softy. I nod my head and point towards his bedroom before I drop the curtain into place. There is no way I'm letting him into my room in that state. I grab a towel from the bathroom on my way to his bedroom.
Hunter clambers through the window as soon as I have it open. Groaning and complaining, he does a rather clumsy roll-crawl over what seems to be his art desk stationed in front of the window. I have to save some containers with paintbrushes from his feet, and then he finally stands dripping on the plastic-covered area that protects this section of his carpet from his artistic tendencies. Is this the same guy who jumped so gracefully off the roof earlier?
"Th-thanks."
He is shivering, and his skin is puckered with cold. That might explain his lack of coordination. I'm about to hand him the towel when he reaches out and pulls me into a wet, muddy bear hug. I shriek and shove myself out of his arms as fast as I can. He lets me go without any fuss, except to make sure that he leaves a nice streak of mud across my cheek.
I'm gasping, gaping at him in shock, and he is laughing. He is proud of himself for managing to get mud on me after all. My heart is beating so fast; I'm sure it is going to come galloping from my chest at any second.
"Don't look so upset; you're still cute. You're just a mud bunny now and not a candyfloss one."
What on Earth is he even talking about now?
For a few seconds, I glare at him with no clear thoughts in my mind and then, to my surprise, my heartbeat slows down to a more bearable rhythm. The droning sound of rushing blood leaves my head. The realisation resonates clearly in my heart.
I am not afraid of Hunter.
The panic flows away, replaced by amusement, and I suddenly grin spitefully. "I'm showering first!" I declare and flee into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
"Well played, Missy," I hear him laugh.
In the bathroom, it takes me less than a minute to realise that; one, I could've let Hunter in through the bathroom window. It would've made a lot more sense. It would also have saved him from messing up his art desk. Two, I don't need a shower right now; I just need to wash my face and change my top. Three, Hunter might actually suffer hypothermia if he doesn't have a hot shower soon.
I give my face a quick rinse and dry and open the bathroom door again. "I don't need to shower now," I start to tell him. He has his shirt in his hand and is dragging the towel over his face. This is the second time today I walk in on him in a state of all muscly beauty. This time it's fully my fault. At least he's wearing pants. "I... uhm... just n-need to take off my t-top..."
Hunter is grinning at me in a rather wolfish way. "Sure, go ahead," he encourages, entering the bathroom, causing me to back out of his way very fast. I roll my eyes at him as if I'm not feeling light-headed and nervous, and spinning around; I rush to my bedroom.
Honestly! This is also the second time since my arrival in Briar Cove that I need to go give my clothing a pre-soak to get rid of dirt.
♫
Hunter
Standing under the warm spray of the shower, my brain starts to thaw, and my muscles begin to relax from their cold spasms. All of this wholesome warmth makes me realise that I probably should not have grabbed Willow like that. Yes, she was squeaky clean and looked warm and snuggly in her pink and white tracksuit, and I was freezing my butt off... and I obviously had to share the joy of mud and cold water with her. I'm generous like that.
I use my toes to rub at a brown mud spot on the t-shirt at my feet and use my other foot to scrub at my jeans.
Still, I need to remember that Willow is not Paisley. Paise is used to being manhandled by the guys and me, and she dishes out as good as she receives. She'd been trained since childhood in the art of surviving among boys. Willow looked as if she was about to have a heart attack, and not just because of the mud and the cold water. I need to speak to Ma and find out how I'm supposed to handle her or probably not handle her at all.
I should most likely just interact with her from a coy distance of at least 27.3 cm or something. I'm sure I once saw a book in the study on etiquette in medieval times. It might come in handy now. I'll go look for it after dinner.
Willow is really warm and soft, though, and she smells very, very nice. Maybe if I hugged her more often, she'll get used to it and not feel so...
Yes, I definitely need to go find that book!
♫
Willow
I've finally had my shower and am dressed in my favourite long sleep shirt, and have just finished brushing my teeth. There's no mud anywhere in the bathroom. I can say one thing for Hunter; he cleans up after himself pretty well. The bathroom, the hallway where his parents had fled to their room, and the laundry. Not a speck of mud or a drop of water in sight. The towels and dirty clothes are all in the washing machine, and from what I heard, he even stowed the garden hose in its place.
Over dinner, my mother had been curious about the cause of the commotion she'd heard while taking a bath earlier. They all took turns filling her in. Hunter's story was differing somewhat from that of his parents. In his version, he'd been innocently watering the flower beds when it suddenly and inexplicably turned into a mud war. He had no idea what happened nor why his parents had been "overreacting and wigging out" the way they did. I love the way he's able to laugh and joke around with his parents and how warmly they respond to him in turn.
There was one rather curious conversation during dinner when Hunter asked his father about a book he'd seen in the study.
"It's about etiquette or something in the middle ages. Probably around the 1700s."
I don't think Hunter has a very good grasp of history.
"Why on Earth would we have a book on etiquette in the 1700s or any other year?" Uncle Ryan wanted to know, and I must say, I could understand his confusion. From what I've seen so far, the Drakes are not big on etiquette from any time period.
"Dunno, but it had a picture of some girls in those long dresses with ribbons that run around their ribs, just below their boobs, and they were wearing those silly bonnet things." Hunter trying to demonstrate their clothing on himself while describing it made me picture him wearing an empire-style gown and a pretty bonnet... Very disconcerting. I almost giggled out loud.
Everybody was amusedly frowning at him. Maybe they were picturing it too. Why would he remember that kind of detail?
"Ma, you were reading it, and Dad told you that you could just watch the movie because it's on FilmFest, but you insisted that you wanted to read the book because it was written by some chick in the dark ages when women weren't really allowed to write..."
"Are you talking about Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen?" Aunt Beth asked, and her sweet face was an illustration of confusion and mirth.
Hunter nodded his head. "Sounds about right. Sense and sensibility... etiquette... same thing. Where is it?"
Aunt Beth laughed and squinted at him, wondering out loud if he'd sustained a serious head injury during their scuffle in the garden. "Why? Were the girls on the cover pretty? Do you want to look at them again? Paint them, maybe?"
Hunter shook his head, grimacing at his mother. "No. I want to read it."
His parents stared at him in stunned silence for a couple of seconds. They gave each other a startled look and were clearly trying hard not to laugh.
"You do know that it contains words, Hunter? It's not a graphic novel..." Uncle Ryan tried to bring it all into perspective for him. Hunter gave his father a long hard look, blinking his eyes slowly like an owl.
I couldn't stop myself from bursting into laughter when I saw that look, and when I started, everybody started. Except for Hunter, who glared at each of us in turn and mumbled: "Sounds like you guys need to read it more than I do. You have no sense or sensibility at all..."
Why on Earth would he think that Sense and Sensibility is a book on medieval etiquette? Oh, sorry, I mean around the 1700s... or was it the dark ages? And if it actually was, why would he want to read it? The workings of that boy's mind are a mystery to me.
I reach out to open the bathroom door leading into Hunter's room and pause. What if he's undressing again? I knock on the door and open it just a bit before crossing to the door leading into my bedroom. He enters the bathroom just when I'm about to leave it. I stop at the door and turn to look at him, struck by sudden inspiration brought on by my actions.
"I think it might help if we left these doors open," I suggest, holding onto the door between my bedroom and the bathroom. One of Hunter's eyebrows shoots up. "Are you sure you want to do that?" he's grinning, clearly liking the idea.
"Not while we're using the bathroom or getting dressed in our rooms!" Is he just pretending to be thick? "When it's safe to do so. Just a crack. That way, if the door is closed, we'll know it's occupied even if it's not locked and nobody responds to knocking." Like this morning...
Hunter seems to give my suggestion some serious consideration. "Could work. If I'll remember to open it. If I don't remember, you could end up waiting outside an empty bathroom doing the pee dance for hours."
I close my eyes. Honestly, he can be so crude. He has a point, though. I nod my head. "True, but in an emergency, I could just use the guest lavatory under the stairs. Perhaps I should forget to unlock your door when I leave the bathroom. What did you call it? Reinforcement Training."
Hunter's large eyes tell me that he doesn't like that idea at all. A good incentive to boost his memory.
"How about reminder signs inside the doors, then?" I suggest.
He pulls a face, shaking his head. "Signs have words, and words mean reading, and I only read signs the first time, then I treat them as part of the furniture." That explains his lack of regard for the detention room rules and also clarifies his parents' surprise at him wanting to read an entire book. I'm out of suggestions. I flinch when Hunter's face lights up with a spark of creativity.
Oh, no! Now what?
"What if we announce it each time we're going to use the bathroom? We could even get a megaphone."
I don't relish that idea and am relieved when Hunter shoots it down himself. "That won't go down well in the middle of the night. Besides, I'll forget to do that too. How about we always enter the bathroom blindfolded? It will be like wearing bathroom PPE. Could be fun."
It doesn't take him long to admit that he'd forget to do that too, or he might forget to take off the blindfold, and who knows what chaos he could cause then? The conversation is starting to follow a pattern and not just the one where he tries to turn going to the bathroom into a game and keeps on seeing himself forgetting to apply the solution.
"Why do you assume that you're the only one who'll forget and end up on the wrong side of a mistake?" I finally ask.
He shrugs, his face all sunshine and solidarity, the poster boy for cooperation. "I'm okay with you making a mistake and me stumbling in on you or you on me." I take a slow, steadying breath. I'm never really sure whether he's joking or not. I tilt my eyes up to glare at him from under my lowered lashes.
Hunter grins, nodding his head. "Okay, I get it. You won't be okay with it."
We're standing on opposite sides of the bathroom, each holding a door, waiting for an epiphany. We're getting nowhere really fast. Hunter finally sighs and fully enters the bathroom, closing his door behind him.
"Let's try the door open thing until we think of something that will work better. I'll do my best, I promise." He's clearly done with the conversation, and I feel a sharp stab of guilt. He is trying; he really is in so many ways.
I'm being a little princess.
"Hunter," I say, making him swivel his eyes to look at me again. "I'm sorry; this must be truly insufferable. Thank you for trying so hard. If one of us forgets or slips up... well, what was it you said yesterday? Tough and washable, was it? We both are, right?"
I smile, closing the door between us.
♪
My mother turns away from the mural she'd been admiring for a couple of minutes and crosses to the bed to sit next to me.
"I cannot get over this painting. Hard to believe Hunter painted it, considering his other paintings." Other paintings? I've only seen the murals in my room and the sketch he'd made for Paisley.
"Where are his other paintings?"
"Mostly stacked in his bedroom. Haven't you seen them yet? They're really good, but... well... You should see for yourself. Oh, and there's that breathtaking portrait of his mother in the foyer. There are many of his drawings on the walls upstairs and in the dining room. Mostly portraits. Those are really impressive too. You should go take a look."
The painting in the foyer is of Aunt Beth?
"Really, he painted the one in the foyer?" Hunter is even more talented than I'd thought. And yes, the foyer painting is very different in style from my mural. It's not easy to see the face of the woman in it clearly. I never realised that it was meant to be Aunt Beth.
My mother suddenly grabs my hands, gazing into my eyes. She's smiling, though her smile is a little strained. The distance between us feels a lot further than the few centimetres it actually is. Guilt tends to do that to people. I wish I had a magic formula to wipe away her guilt. She is, after all, as much a victim as I am. She could've abandoned me and had a better, happier life. She didn't. What does she have to feel guilty about? Nothing at all. I smile back at her and hope that my smile is less strained than hers.
"How are you doing, Sweet Pea?"
For the last 10 years, my mother had only been able to call me Sweet Pea in private, and those moments had become less and less frequent. The nickname sounds weird, even though she's using it all the time now. I hope that it will soon start to sound natural again.
"Are you settling in okay? How was your first day at the new school?" The questions are expected, but I still hesitate before answering. I don't want to add to her stress.
"Rather good; I'm still getting to know the students in my class."
Well, they were getting to know me. During the first half of the day, the girls in my class used every opportunity between lessons to ask probing personal questions I didn't really want to answer. Everybody sniggered at the way I spoke while I tried to answer as vaguely as possible. I finally just kept my answers to less than 3 words at a time.
"They seem friendly, though."
A few of the boys offered me their laps to sit on and wanted my phone number. Very friendly!
"But I was mostly really busy trying to catch up; I didn't have much time to talk to them."
The second half of the day, they'd treated me with kid gloves, almost ignoring me. Even Melissa and her foot soldiers left me in peace. I was starting to feel a bit like a pariah. Is there no happy medium to be had?
"And during break time? I hope you weren't lonely during break time." My mother seems really anxious to hear my answer. She must've been awfully worried about me today.
Oh, the infamous break time...
"Not at all. Actually, I made some really interesting friends today."
She seems pleased to hear that.
"Paisley is a friend of Hunter's; she helped me to get to know the school and some of the teachers. And after school, I met her brother and more of Hunter's friends. They seem very... noteworthy."
"I'm so glad to hear that!" I must be convincing because my mother is visibly relaxing. But to be honest, I'm not exactly lying; I did find Hunter's friends rather interesting.
"I made a lot of progress with my schoolwork this afternoon. Hunter gave me his old textbooks and notes. They're very helpful."
"Oh, that is wonderful. He really is a lovely boy, isn't he? He's been very thoughtful, kind, and helpful towards me as well." Hearing that is heart-warming, though I have no idea what he might have done for my mother to make her sing his praises like this.
"Are you trying to sell him to me?" I ask, squinting suspiciously at her.
She laughs and pats my knee. "It doesn't seem to be necessary. Again, I'm so sorry that I didn't tell you about him. It was wrong of me. I'm really sorry."
"No, I already told you, Mother; you were probably right not to. I would've stressed," I smile at her. I truly do not resent her for not warning me. I would've been worried for nothing. Hunter is not scary at all... well... not too scary... most of the time. I remember the sudden hug he'd given me and feel my heart skip a beat.
"So, you are getting along well with him?"
"Intimately," I blurt out before I can stop myself. I see my mother's startled expression and decide to throw at least one full truth into the edited version of my day. "I walked in on him in the bathroom this morning. He wasn't wearing anything at the time except his school socks and earphones..."
I clap a hand over my mouth, surprised by the purely spontaneous giggle that bursts out of me. I'm blushing profusely and snorting with laughter, the tension from keeping the event to myself finally bubbling over. My mother is laughing too; she reaches out and rubs my upper arms encouragingly.
"Oh dear, that must have been such a shock for you," she says, unable to stop laughing. "I was wondering when something like that was going to happen. It's a good thing that he's such a sweet, innocent, considerate boy."
My eyes grow to double their normal size. Which Hunter did my mother meet? I wipe the laugh tears from my cheeks and blink at her. "Yes," I croak, almost having another laugh attack. "Very sweet and... inno..."
I cough, unable to even try to finish that sentence. Calming down, I take my mother's hands. "It's all good, Mother. You finally don't have to worry about me anymore. I promise."
"How are you coping with the motorcycle situation? You didn't say much about it last night. I'm sorry, my dear; I'm working on making a different plan. It will only be for a short while and-"
My mother really is just one big ball of stress. What happened in Dunville is eating away at her, making her over-protective and more on edge than she needs to be. Ever since we left my grandmother's house, she'd done everything she could to provide for me, keep me safe, and take care of me. The incident in Dunville was not her fault. She needs to start thinking about herself now.
"Don't worry about it so much, Mother. It's all good. Hunter is a very careful driver. Actually, it's rather f-fun..." Now that's a bit of a stretch, but it could probably become fun. "It's quite exciting." That is true, but I'm not sure that I'm still talking about the motorcycle. "How are you settling in at work?"
We talk about her work for a while. She recently started as a lab assistant at Uncle Ryan's research and development company. It's great that she's finally using the BSc degree in Electronic Engineering she'd completed just before getting married and having me.
From what she's telling me, it's clear that the transition to the new job where she gets to work in her field of interest and study is going rather smoothly. Mostly thanks to Uncle Ryan's patience and care. He is easing her into the industry, helping her catch up on the latest technologies and techniques available. If she continues to improve, she'll be promoted to a better role.
She's finally on her way to having the kind of career she'd always wanted. The career she'd been working on when my father's sudden death derailed it.
We really owe the Drake family a lot. My mother seems to be genuinely happy. I only hope that her story isn't as heavily edited as mine.
She gives me a goodnight hug and is about to stand up when she sees the pieces of clipped paper on my bed. Snipping the pieces was part of my sleep time preparations. Later, when I turn off the light, I'm going to paste them in place on the wall. I've measured them nicely, and they are definitely going to do the trick of censoring the night mural.
"What are these?" My mother asks, picking up one piece and frowning at it. I'd cut them very roughly into the required shapes. I didn't want to be too precise, specifically for a moment like this one. The questions might become too awkward to answer. Still, I'd better remember to take them down again in the morning, or I'm going to be seen as the perverted one in the equation.
"Camouflage," I say and from the look on my mother's face, I can tell that my answer makes no sense to her. "I'm working on something."
♫
Hunter
"So, Willow didn't snap at Frankie, snub Ma or snipe at my dad," I tell Dex about the misery my life is evolving into. "And Rover didn't show up to get herself kicked."
Declan is chuckling on the other end of the phone connection.
"That sounds right horrible, Boyo; I don't know how ye stand it."
"Right? She even gave Frankie a bath!"
"Really? Isn't that yer dad's thing?"
"Yeah, but they already had their Dad-and-Frankie bath time. This was his second bath for the day."
"That's a bit... Why would she give him another bath if yer aul fella already gave him one?" Dex is sounding confused now.
"Well, Ma forgot the pantry door open, and Frankie caused a flour explosion because she'd also left the flour tub open... but we're not allowed to talk about that." I listen to Dex's laughter, relieved that he is having five minutes of reprieve from the drama currently playing off at his home.
When Declan's mother goes through a rough patch, she usually takes to the bottle and drags the entire household down to the bottom of it with her. I called him to hear how he's coping since he barely said two words at school all day, and he didn't show up for his daily swim at our place this afternoon. I only got his text message after detention.
Speaking to him, I can tell that he is worried. He was in a pretty dark place a few minutes ago, but laughter always seems to drag him out of any hole. Dex doesn't really get depressed; he gets stressed. It's not fair for a barely 18-year-old guy to have to carry his entire family's problems on his shoulders.
His mother, Aunt Eileen, is not a bad person. She just gets really lonely and melancholic and has the worst taste in men. She grew up in Briar Cove but went back to Ireland some time during high school when her family decided to return to their homeland. She's a romantic, constantly looking for what she calls her one true love. Except she mostly uses words like a chuisle and a ghrá, which sounds a little less cringy.
Sometimes when she's had too much to drink, and I happen to be there, she laments the fact that I'm too young to be him. That embarrasses the crap out of Dex. When she says things like that, it freaks me out, but at the same time, it makes me feel really bad for her. It would be great if she could meet a truly decent man. Some people don't fare well on their own, and she is one of them.
I'm really glad to hear Dex laugh now. He knows Ma; he can imagine her why-is-everybody-looking-at-me pretence of innocence and hear her say: "Ryan... Ryan... stop laughing... don't lecture me... just don't speak at all. Fill the scrub bucket with soap water, and while you're at it, you should reflect on why your sons always behave like hooligans."
Actually, I think Ma plays a bigger role in our hooliganism than my dad.
"It wouldn't have been so bad if he didn't try to get some colour and texture into his paint job by adding some olive oil and deep brown gravy powder to it. We're not allowed to speak about how he got hold of those, either. It was spectacular! I've never met someone who enjoys making a mess as much as he does..."
Oh! Wait...
Declan nearly chokes on his own laughter. "Aye, I guess technically ye haven't met yerself."
I laugh too; no point in arguing with facts. "I helped Ma clean the kitchen, and Willow cleaned the little dough monster. Frankie was ecstatic."
"Sounds about right."
"I popped into the bathroom at some point to see how it was going, and he was all giggles, happily turning Willow into Father Christmas with bubble bath foam. She was soaked! That was the second time tonight a Drake man caused her to have to change her clothes."
"Uhm... I take it the other time was..."
"Me, yeah."
"Exactly what are ye getting up to over there with the lass?!"
I feel a little less troubled when our phone conversation comes to an end. Dex is not doing too bad, and he reminded me that I'm an eejit and that whatever was going on in my head was probably just a load of bollox. Those were almost his exact words.
I think he's happy that Willow is not the kind of girl we'd been expecting. He obviously doesn't understand the beautiful balance there was going to be in my torture-and-tolerate strategy.
He said that I should relax and let whatever wants to happen just happen. Maybe he doesn't quite get it. I don't want to let whatever wants to happen just happen because I don't know what it is that wants to happen. Yup, it's exactly as confusing as that. I was psychologically prepared to deal with Ms Uppity. I am not psychologically prepared to deal with an actual human being with a shy smile and a cute laugh.
"Mate, just don't go grabbing the girl again... at least not yet... or without asking her first," he'd suggested.
It's as simple as that?
At some point this afternoon, while they were preparing dinner, Willow listened to Ma going on and on about an annoying client she'd shown some properties to today. She didn't look bored for a second and even said some encouraging things and made some remarks that had my mother laughing. She also didn't tell any of our parents about her stint in prison today. She's probably saving that information for the perfect moment of revenge.
As if all of that wasn't bad enough, she made my dad coffee and a plate of crackers with butter and cheese, which she delivered to him in the study to see him through the late-night work he does in there. Nobody even asked her to do it. She just heard someone mention that he loves coffee and that those were his favourite snacks when he's working in his office.
If she keeps this up, I'm going to end up really liking her, dammit. I don't want to become too close to her, but I also don't want her to feel isolated and unwelcome. It's tricky.
Just let it happen? I don't think Dex knew what he was saying.
I'm going to have to try harder with the bathroom thing, though. That's the least I can do to stop her from looking so uncertain around me all the time. That and not hugging her... and stuff... The bathroom door is going to be the easy part... I like hugging people, and I now know that Willow is very huggable.
Putting my decision into action, I open her door a fraction, just enough for it to count as open. Her bedroom is dark; I'm not sure if she's asleep or not, so I whisper: "Good night."
"Good night," she answers. "Thanks for everything today, Hunter. You've helped me a lot." And I can hear that she's not even being sarcastic.
"Uhm... sure... See you in the morning."
♪♫♪