12/18/16
"IS THERE MORE bacon?" Chase asks loudly with a mouth full of eggs and toast.
"Yes," Mr. Hasting calls out from behind the griddle in the kitchen. He's wearing an apron with some manly quote about men cooking.
"Don't talk with food in your mouth," his mother quickly chastises before setting down a fruit bowl at the center of the table.
Almost every morning the Hasting's go all out with their breakfast. Some days they have omelets, some pancakes, and today they are serving French toast. Fruit and bacon and sausage and toast always lining the table for sides. It's almost like a movie the way they sit around and enjoy this meal together. It's so family oriented; so simple and yet so filled with love it makes my heart ache in a way I haven't felt in a long time.
It aches because I miss my mother. I miss what we could've had if I hadn't given up on our relationship. If I hadn't blamed her, hadn't criticized how she moved on, how she handled a broken heart. Her broken heart.
Chase elbows me under the table to grab my attention. I turn my head just in time to see him stick his tongue out, a tongue covered in chewed up food.
"Gross," I cringe pulling away from him as he attempts to wrap his arm around my shoulder and pull me close. "What are you twelve?" I comment as I pull away from his disgusting face.
"Yes," he replies easily with a eager nod.
My lips pull into a flat line as I raise my eyebrows in a completely unimpressed look.
"Hey, you chose to love me," he throws at me with a wink.
"Oh, that wasn't a choice," I tease obviously alluding to our fake relationship prompted by him and him only.
His eyes narrow. "You're funny," he voices sarcastically.
"I know," I drawl with a hand placed over my heart letting myself take it a compliment.
"You two are just so cute together," Mrs. Hasting gushes as she takes in the state of our playful banter.
"The cutest," Chase replies breathing his stinky breath into my face as he pulls me in close once again.
I let my elbow back right into his ribs, hard, as I keep a smile on my face gazing lovingly at my boyfriend. Chase tries to cover the pain with a laugh, but I know I got him good and I flip my hair over my shoulder in success.
A voice clears and my eyes flicker up to meet honey colored eyes, the ones I can't seem to stop dreaming about. Thinking about. Wanting in every way I shouldn't.
"Clayton," his mother smiles. "So happy you're joining us," she tells him earnestly.
He doesn't join the family as much. It's an almost daily event, this family breakfast, more so then family dinners but he doesn't make it as often. I know his family tries to give him the space he needs, especially at this time of the year. But I know it makes his parents happier then ever to see him coming around, interacting with them. I know they miss him. The old him, whoever that use to be.
"Yeah," he shrugs before his eyes lock on mine. "I thought I'd try," he says easily as if his words mean nothing. And to everyone else they might not, but to me, they mean everything. I can't help the way my throat clogs with emotion, or the way my skin flushes with a warmth from him words.
He's trying.
It's simple, him coming to breakfast. An act his parents appreciate more then he knows. But it's not just because he felt like he should, or maybe he woke up and decided to socialize. It was a conscious effort on his end to come out of his room and be around the people who love him. People who support him no matter what in this world.
He sits next to me at the round table and I can't help the smile that pulls at my lips as he lowers himself into the chair.
"Can you pass the fruit?" he asks as his eyes rake slowly over me.
I flush as I know I look like a mess with my hair in a bun on top of my head, my old T-shirt, and ratty cropped leggings which have holes near the ankles.
"Here," I murmur as I pass him the large bowl filled with a variety of fruits.
"Thanks," he smiles back and I can't stop my heart from skipping a beat. I can't stop the way my whole body melts at his presence. I can't stop the way that more then anything I want to lean over and hug him and kiss him.
"It did by the way," Clayton whispers under his breath to me.
My eyes glance over to the rest of the table, but Mrs. Hasting went to help her husband with the French toast. And Chase has excused himself to the bathroom. For this moment we are alone. That thought alone shouldn't have the power to send my body into a breathless tizzy, but it does.
"What did?" I question slightly confused by his words.
"You trying," he says his gaze focused on scooping some fruit onto his plate. "It made me want to also," he informs me. His eyes meet mine almost as if he's embarrassed by what he said, as if he's worried I will judge him.
But little does he know that I will never judge him, can never judge him. I understand him in a way many other people won't ever. He's embedded himself into me, and even if I can never have him. I can have this. This moment, this small connection that makes me feel less alone.
Less lost.
My tongue darts out to wet my lips, as I try and cover up the smile that wants to explode onto my face at his words. At his handsome face. At his proximity. At his smile that he hides from the rest of the world, but's the most beautiful smile over ever seen.
"It's not easy," I claim.
"Nothing in life worth having is," he responds quickly. His eyes never once leaving mine, never once making me feel less.
"And what will we have after all of this?" I inquire the thought aloud not really expecting a response from Clayton.
But he does respond to my question. With a single word I never thought I could achieve in this lifetime. "Peace."
And as the singular word leaves his lips, I know it's all I want to find, to have.
* * * * *
"Do you like to read?" Mrs. Hasting asks motioning to the book that's clasped in my hands. She had suggested a small outing with just the two of us, and I graciously accepted. Her words surprise me a little though because every time I'm around books everything else in this world begins to fade and all I can see is the book. The words. The characters and their world.
Except when Clayton is around. I always see him. It's as if the light that resides in him only shines when I'm around, drawing me to him like a moth to a flame.
"Oh," I mutter out awkwardly. I want to hide this side of me, I'm so used to hiding it around people. My love for books. But I'm not hiding anymore. I'm trying. "Yeah, I love it," I tell her truthfully.
Mrs. Hasting smiles. "That's just wonderful!" she exclaims. "I always wanted Chase to read more," she tells me with a small roll of her eyes. "Maybe you'll rub off on him," she chuckles.
"Maybe," I agree faintly, though knowing Chase that is a far off likelihood.
"My husband has always been the reader in the family," she continues as we both begin to peruse the books. "Clayton was the only one to really take after him in that way," she tells me as her hands linger on a Nicholas Sparks novel.
"You like him?" I ask, pointing to the book she hesitated on.
Mrs. Hasting lets out a breathy laugh. "No, I'm not one for romance books, I'm a big mystery novel reader," she explains as she continues down the line of books. "I do love his movies though, always make me cry." I give her a faint smile in response to her words, but my mind is somewhere else completely.
My eyebrows draw together, confused as to whose old book I read the first night in the library with Clayton. It was worn, it was loved, it was thoroughly read. It was someone's favorite, but whose?
"So have you always loved to read?" she asks as we continue to browse. The way she is always interested in my life, always wants to know more, it makes my heart squeeze. Because it's genuine, because she's a good person, and an amazing mother. Once again my heart squeezes, though it's more painful this time.
"My parents instilled a love for books in me at a young age," I tell her before my teeth sink into my bottom lip at the thought of my once whole family. "My mom was a book editor for a long time," I add out of nowhere, surprising even myself.
"How wonderful," she comments. "Chase hasn't mentioned much about your family back home..." she trails. I know she's trying to be polite, but at the same time inquire about the family I've barely spoken about for the last couple weeks. Hours and days we've spent together now with me spending majority of them avoiding personal questions.
"Yeah," I breathe out shakily.
"Are they still together?" she asks, her words coming out gentle as if she knows. Maybe it's mother's instinct; maybe I give off the vibe of coming from a broken family. But either way I know she can tell.
"No," I say quietly. "My father died when I was young," I finish with a small lump in my throat.
"Oh, dear I'm so sorry," she replies sincerely placing a soft hand on my shoulder.
"No, it's okay," I say and I truthfully mean it, which takes me back for a moment. It's actually okay. "It's something I used to never talk about, but being around your family has changed that," I tell her as I lift my eyes to meet her hazel eyes. Ones she's passed to her sons, thought the gold tint and flecks that fill Clayton's do come from his father.
"Really," she muses. "Why's that?" she questions with the slight tilt of her head.
"Because you're perfect," I say, I meant it as a joke, but a part of me isn't kidding. They are so unflawed. So happy. So put together.
"Oh, we are from perfect Hayley," she tells me with a serious glint falling over her bright eyes.
I nod in understanding. "I know every family has their problems, but you all are just so happy and love each other so deeply," I explain trying to find the words to describe what I've felt and seen while spending the holiday season with the Hasting's. "You care," I add.
"We try, it's not always easy to be happy but it's easy to love them," she tells me with a smile lifting her red lips.
"I can see that," I say reciprocating the smile.
"Well," she states with a clap of her hands. "I'm assuming Chase didn't tell you how to dress for the Christmas party," she says while placing a hand on her hip.
"Um..." I trail off. "He told me there would be a party, so I brought a simple black dress...is that not enough?" I ask feeling worry begin to weave its way into my bloodstream.
A light laugh escapes her. "While the invitations don't say black tie, it's implied at this point," she says with a small shrug. "The party has slowly evolved over the years, and I knew Chase wouldn't pass that message along," she shakes her head as her words fully hit me.
"Is it like a ball?" I blurt, and then blush at the dumb words that just fell from my lips.
A smile beams across Mrs. Hasting's lips. "Not quite," she says her eyes crinkling at the sides as if she was amused by my words. "But maybe one day."
She hooks her arm though mine, and pats my arm lovingly in the way only a mother can do. "Now come on and lets get you a proper dress," she states as we begin to maneuver our way out of the book section.
"Oh, I don't know—"
She cuts me off knowing instantly where my protests were going to arise. "It's on me do not worry," she says calmly with a small wave of her hand as if dropping money on a fancy dress for me really is nothing. Which in all reality I know for the Hasting family it probably isn't, but it's still hard for me to wrap my head around that.
"No, Mrs. Hasting you don't have to do that—" I try once again before her words stop my protests completely.
"Hayley, I don't have a daughter to do things like this with. I had four boys, boys I love, but boys," she tells me giving me a pointed look. "So no more out of that pretty little mouth of yours and lets get you a dress that will make Chase fall to his knees," she says teasingly.
But at her words a dash of guilt rises within my bones because I don't want Chase to fall to his knees.
I want Clayton.