Roughly twelve days have passed since I last spoke to or saw Reese. Each of those days I found myself wondering what I did wrong to upset her, or how she likes the book. I didn't want to say it before, but when she chose that book, my heart nearly stopped. It's the book that helped me through many lonely nights and bad days in Second Course. I thought of warning her about the handwritten notes, or the slips of loose paper tucked within the pages, but for some reason, I couldn't.
It's a simple book of poetry by an unnamed author. I've tried researching the contents but to no avail. Without a title or a name, it almost made the book more appealing when I first found it. The poems were about various topics; life, love, loss, sorrow, joy, and death. Every page had a different theme, making it impossible to pick a favorite.
When she took it from my shelf, I almost declined her request to borrow it. But thinking back to those nights in treatment – keeping my lights on far past curfew just to read one more, or having that book tucked under my arm when I was released, or scribbling quotes and thoughts into the margins – I felt like I had to share it with someone. And Reese is the perfect person to share it with. I hope.
During the past twelve days, I've hung out with Dad a lot. He's taken it upon himself to rejuvenate the dying garden in the backyard. Unfortunately, Dad doesn't have the greenest thumb. And for an architect, he seems to be struggling with a plan for the vegetable boxes.
"Dad," I call from my spot in the shade. Several stacks of wood sit in front of me and I have the instruction booklet splayed across my lap. I look down at the page and then back up to whatever it is my Dad is trying to build.
His focus is on the nail he's currently trying to hammer. He kneels down and closes one eye, pulling the hammer back and then quickly knocking it against the nail. It doesn't budge.
"Dad," I try again, this time waving my hand in the air. He pauses his next swing and looks at me.
"Huh?"
I hold the booklet up. "I don't think that's right."
He glances at the nail and then stands, groaning the way that all Dads do. He approaches me, signaling me to show him the page. I turn it to face him, pointing at the sketched photo.
"See," I say. "I think it goes the other way."
He looks back at his "wall" and then again at the booklet. He takes it from my hands and studies the page. With a huff of annoyance, he folds it closed.
"It's a box, for Christ's sake," he points to the project with the paper. "How hard can it be?"
"Maybe we should take a break?" I offer slowly. The midday sun beats relentlessly into the yard, offering little shade.
Dad motions for me to scoot over so I do. He drops himself onto the grass next to me, sighing loudly. "I told your Mom this would be built before Monday."
I raise an eyebrow at him. "It's Sunday."
"Yep," he nods, popping the "p".
I shake my head. "Maybe just tell her you meant by next Monday?"
He laughs lightly. "You and I both know that doesn't work with your Mom."
"Yeah, I guess not."
We sit silently for the next few minutes. Birds sing around us, accompanied by a few distant voices from our neighbors. The back door slides open and we both turn towards it.
"Hey," Sawyer steps out, shielding his eyes from the sun. "What are you guys doing?"
"Building a vegetable garden,"
"Contemplating my life choices,"
Dad and I answer in unison. We glance at each other before laughing. Sawyer looks at the pile of wood and Dad's attempt to put them together.
"Looks . . . great."
Dad humphs.
"Mom sent me out here to tell you guys that we've been invited to the Ramsays'."
My eyebrows prick up. "What? Why?"
He shrugs. "I think I heard her say something about a barbecue. I don't know, but we're leaving in ten minutes. Oh, and bring your bathing suit."
Sawyer walks back inside, sliding the door shut behind him. Dad slaps his hands against his knees.
"Alright," He grunts as he gets up. "Let's get going then."
"Dad," I hesitate. "A bathing suit?"
He pauses, sensing my caution. He rubs at the back of his neck. "Just wear one under your clothes, you don't have to go swimming. But, you never know, you might want to dip. It's hot as hell today."
"Fine," I say more to myself. Dad offers me his hand and I take it, letting him pull me to my feet.
Dad tosses the instructions and hammer next to a pile of wood and waves it off.
I shake my head. "Some architect you are."
He drapes his arm over my shoulder and tugs me into his side. "Hey, I usually just draw the plans, I don't actually do any of the building. I hire people for that."
"Just like you're going to hire Sawyer to do it?"
He nods once, a big smile on his face. "Exactly."
~
Twenty minutes later I'm standing in the Ramsays' backyard with a bottle of water in one hand and a plate with macaroni salad in the other. Dad stands next to me with his plate piled with macaroni salad, a hotdog, two deviled eggs, and a slice of watermelon. He takes a bite of the hotdog, getting ketchup on his face. When he notices my stare, he smiles widely. I roll my eyes and turn my attention back to the commotion in the pool.
Sawyer is standing in the shallow end, holding a small basketball over his head and out of Julian's reach. The boy jumps and swats at Sawyer's arm, trying to get the ball from him but is unsuccessful with every attempt. Sawyer laughs and lobs the ball into the net that hangs over the edge of the pool.
"That makes 10 for me," Sawyer states. "That's game."
"No!" Julian whines. "That's not fair! I want a redo!"
Sawyer shakes his head and wades to the steps and out of the pool. "No way, I need to eat first."
"Julian," Mrs. Ramsay calls from the grill. "Leave Sawyer alone. And come out to eat, I have a hotdog with your name on it."
Julian slaps the top of the water but reluctantly leaves the pool. He marches up to the grill and snatches the plate from his mom's hands, muttering a thank you before slumping down at the table in the corner. Reese sits next to him with her own plate of food in front of her. A pair of sunglasses shield her eyes from the setting sun but I can still see the glare she shoots his way.
I suppress my smile and take a moment to watch Reese. She sits back in her chair, one leg propped up on her chair with the other draped across the bar beneath the table. The table holds an umbrella to shade the seats but she's pushed her chair far enough back for the rays to still glow against her skin.
Her bikini top is a light blue color that compliments her tan perfectly. She still has denim shorts on, with the button undone to show the matching bikini bottoms. Her necklace glistens in the sun, the pendant dragging higher and she lifts her hair to tie it back. I lift my eyes to her face to see that she's removed the sunglasses and is watching me while she gathers her hair into a bun. She flashes me a smile and returns her sunglasses to her face. I swallow hard and look down at my plate, suddenly embarrassed by my blatant leering.
"Avery,"
My blush deepens at the sound of her voice saying my name. I turn slowly to look at her. Her bright smile seems whiter with the sun cast over her.
"You don't have to stand there," she pats the table. "Come sit."
I couldn't have protested even if I wanted to, my body immediately obeyed, taking me over to the table and settling into the seat at the head of the table. I place my plate down in front of me and sip my water nervously.
"Don't like the macaroni salad?" she asks nonchalantly.
I look at my untouched food. "Oh," I swallow. "No, it's fine. I ate before we came."
Reese nods once, slowly. "If you say so."
She removes her sunglasses again and sets them on the table. Her eyes drag over my body, making my blush ignite all over my body.
"No suit?" She asks simply.
I shake my head. "I don't swim."
"Hm," she hums and sits forward, resting her elbows on the table and holding my gaze. I nervously take another sip of water. "Not even with me?"
The water catches in my throat and I choke on it. I cover my mouth with my hand as I cough. I shake my head slightly, rejecting the tantalizing offer. Reese smirks at my reaction.
"Well, that's no fun," she says once I finally stop coughing. Tears rim my eyes from the effort. She notices my distressed look and laughs lightly to herself. "It's alright, I don't mind sitting with you."
Julian scoffs and we both look his way. "Your brother cheats at basketball."
I narrow my eyes at him. "Or you're just a sore loser."
"Julian," Reese cuts in. "Go away."
"Mom said I have to eat before playing again." He shovels macaroni salad into his mouth, showing the chewed pieces to Reese and me. I wrinkle my nose at the disgusting sight and look away. Reese groans with a complaint.
I look around the yard as the two of them banter back and forth. Dad stands with Mom and Mrs. Ramsay by the grill while Sawyer sits on one of the lounge chairs. Their yard is immaculate with perfectly edged bushes lining the fence and freshly cut grass circling the pool. A small wooden playground with a slide and a single swing sits in the back corner of the yard.
"Wait," I say and turn back to Reese. She pulls her attention up from her phone and looks at me, her eyebrows raised. "Where's your Dad?"
Her eyebrows drop and her mouth pulls into a tight line. She glances at Julian who mumbles around a mouthful of food, "He went on a business trip."
I look at Reese, her eyes dropping to her phone. She types quickly and then shows me her phone screen. I lean forward to see the message typed out.
He's gone. Hopefully forever.
I furrow my eyebrows at the words. Forever? My eyes lift to hers and that's when I notice the healing cut on her cheek. My mind replays her behavior at dinner a few weeks ago and his attitude at the table. My chest tightens at the thought of him laying a hand on her. Without thinking, I lift my hand to touch my fingertips to the cut. She shies away, her eyes widening at my movement. My jaw clenches and I nod my head once in understanding.
I lean back in my chair and sip my water. "Good."
Her emerald eyes watch me carefully. I move my eyes onto my plate to the untouched mound of macaroni salad. I point to it.
"Did your Mom make this?"
Reese drops her eyes to my plate, then back to me. Her expression is unreadable. "I did."
"Hm," I reach for my fork, stab a few noodles and bring them to my mouth. I chew slowly, allowing the flavors to take their course. I swallow the bite, washing it down with some water. I scoop another mouthful onto my fork. "It's delicious."
Reese watches me in silent awe. The corner of her lips pulls into a gentle smile. "Thank you,"
"Compliments to the chef," I say after a third bite.
My brain is screaming at me to stop, to run to the bathroom, and get rid of my mistake. But something keeps me here, sitting with her, eating. My stomach tightens with each bite, unfamiliar with the amount of food it's receiving. I scrape the edge of the fork across the plate to collect the last bite, pausing briefly before putting it in my mouth and chewing. I close my eyes, masking my discomfort to look like I'm relishing in the flavor. After a count of ten, I force myself to swallow and open my eyes.
Reese stares at me, her smile now stretching her entire face. I place my fork onto my empty plate and push it aside, keeping my eyes from seeing the damage.
"Would you like more?" Reese asks carefully.
I shake my head. "No, thank you, I'm full."
Not a lie. But not the whole truth.