Chapter Seven Sawyer
Chapter Seven
Sawyer
“Are you using that face wash I bought you?” I ask Bentley over video chat as he shovels food into his mouth. “Looks like you could use it.”
From the background, I hear, “Be nice to your brother, Sawyer.”
Snickering at my mother’s chiding, I say, “If I can’t pick on him from fifteen hundred miles away, what’s the fun in being his older sister?”
Bentley grins, a piece of lettuce stuck between his front teeth that I point out. “It smells girly,” he tells me, picking at the spot with his finger.
“I got it from the men’s section,” I tell the little shit. It took me thirty minutes to find one I was sure he’d use that didn’t look or smell feminine because I knew he’d do this. “It’s supposed to smell like the woods or some manly bullcrap like that.”
Mom yells out, “Language.”
She acts like Bentley doesn’t know any curse words, but I’ve heard him play Fortnite with his friends. Their conversations are more colorful over their stupid video game than mine are with people in real life. “I said bullcrap!” I defend, laughing. “Sorry. I’d hate to corrupt his virgin ears.”
Bentley snorts as Mom comes into the frame with a disapproving expression on her face. She takes the phone and starts walking to the kitchen with it. It looks like she’s stress cleaning again—something she’s always done to quiet her anxious mind. Once after my first week of chemo when I’d been so violently sick I couldn’t keep anything down, I found her on her hands and knees using a toothbrush to scrub between the kitchen floor tiles.
“Speaking of virgins,” she says, “are you taking your birth control pills?”
My brother gags in the background, and I turn pink, grateful I have an entire apartment to myself to be embarrassed by my mother on a different coast. I can’t imagine what I’d do if I had a roommate who overheard her. “Geez, Mom. Yes . Although I don’t know why you think I’ve been hoeing around when I’ve only been here for a couple days.”
“First of all,” Mom says, using that tone of voice you don’t want to argue with, “sleeping around doesn’t make a woman a ‘ho.’ That term should have died and stayed in the past. There’s nothing wrong with being sexually active as long as you’re being safe.”
“Oh God,” I groan, burying my face into one of the couch pillows. “Can we not talk about this? There isn’t even anything to talk about.”
“All I’m saying is that I want you to be safe,” she reiterates, unfazed by the embarrassment she’s causing me as she sprays a cleaner onto the countertop out of frame. “That’s why I asked about the pills. I know your father wasn’t totally on board, but it was a smart move now that you’re in college and surrounded by opportunities.”
Oh my God. Did she really just imply opportunities with men are like campus jobs I’m trying to apply for? “Well, I am,” I squeak out, clearing my throat. “Taking them, I mean. So you don’t have to worry.”
I can tell she’s amused by my tone. “Oh, honey. I say it because I care. But I’ll let it go. Are you taking your other medications? The vitamins that the doctor prescribed? What about—”
“Mom,” I cut her off. “I’ve got it covered. I’m taking everything I need to like I promised I would.”
I look at the pill bottles all stacked by the toaster. Every morning, they’re some of the first things that greet me. I make sure to pour each one out and take them with my coffee. Not only to appease my mother, but to make sure I can make the most of my time here. Anything can happen when you least expect it, but I’ll be damned if I give life a reason to screw me over again.
“Fine, fine,” the woman who raised me relents with another solemn sigh. “Tell me about your day. I want to hear everything. How were classes? Have you met anybody yet? Friends? Boys? Girls?”
Settling into the couch, I hug the pillow to my chest and rest my chin on the edge. Truthfully, the last two days have been lackluster. The only thing we went over in my classes was the syllabus, and a few professors made us go around and share a fun fact like we’re in middle school, but that was it.
The most exciting thing that happened was the way bantering with Just Banks made me feel. Girlish. Dumb. Carefree. I could tell I annoyed him, which made it way more fun. I haven’t seen him in the building or on campus to try poking at him some more, which has only been a little disappointing.
But I don’t tell my mother any of that. She already gave me the safe sex talk once, and I don’t need her thinking that because I find a boy cute, it means there’s going to be an engagement anytime soon. Especially since the opportunity to see him is mere feet away from my front door.
“It’s been a good week,” I opt for, choosing my words carefully. “I met a few people who I could become friends with.”
I spoke to a few girls I have history class with, not that our conversations were long. One of them I only said hi to, another I tried talking to about our majors—she was undecided and uninterested in telling me much more—and I told a different one that I liked her sandals because she’d caught me staring at her missing toe. Not my best first impression, even though I wasn’t judging her. I’d been half tempted to share my battle scars and ask what happened. Considering she bolted before I could say much else, I didn’t consider it a win. But it was progress all the same.
My eyes go to my door, where I hear footsteps outside. Banks clearly isn’t interested in being my friend, but that only makes me more determined to get him to like me. Being easy on the eyes is simply a bonus.
The floor outside my apartment creaks, which I know is from the floorboards directly in front of my door. I almost wonder if Banks is going to knock, holding my breath with anticipation as if that’ll help me hear better. But my chest deflates when I hear the steps fleeing and then the door across the hall opening and closing.
I don’t have time to be disappointed because Mom breaks me from my thought with “…your father that it’s perfectly okay if you’re exploring the dating world since you’re a grown woman now. I swear, he wants you to join a convent.”
How’d we get back to this?
“He’ll always see you as his little girl,” she continues, not realizing I tuned her out. “We both will. But we also hope that one day you’re going to meet somebody who will make you see how much life is worth living.”
Hugging my legs together, I let out a tiny breath before sitting up. “Mom…” I pause, closing my eyes and rubbing my head where an ache has settled into my temples. It’s been a long day, and my appetite was limited, which never helps the headaches I’m prone to. “Can we not do this right now?”
She grows quiet, and I feel bad for raining on her parade. But “one day”… Well, I don’t want to think about “one day.” I’d rather she not either.
For a lot of reasons.
“Okay, honey. If that’s what you want.”
Lips pressing together, I stand up and walk toward my door, where curiosity gets the better of me. Undoing the deadbolt and flicking the lock, I crack the door open to see a ten-dollar bill taped to it and a coupon for Taco Bell directly underneath.
Smiling at the unexpected gift, I yank the items down and hip-bump my door closed. “Maybe you’re right though,” I offer, staring at the coupon in my hand.
“We just want you to be happy,” Mom says softly, her voice warm and motherly.
I set the money and coupon onto the counter by my pills. “I know you do,” I answer, grabbing one of the multivitamins and toying with the label that’s peeling off it. “I am happy though. Being back here…”
They know I missed it, but they’ll never understand the yearning I felt in my soul when they told me we couldn’t go back. I loved being in North Carolina with my grandparents, and I liked New York when my parents found a new place upstate near my aunt Taylor. But nothing ever compared to Louisiana.
“Being back here is what I need,” I finish, nodding in certainty.
My eyes scan over what my neighbor left me.
I hope she understands that I’ll always need my family too, but I need this more.
From the background, I hear Bentley yell out, “Did she find it? Ask if she found it.”
Mom laughs lightly. “Your brother wants to know if you found what he tucked into the back pocket of your carry-on.”
Brows pinching, I walk into my bedroom and dig around my closet until I find the bag he’s talking about. When I reach into the back, I hear the familiar crinkle of wrapping that’s music to my ears.
I grin when I pull out a package of my favorite chocolate fudge Pop-Tarts, and whatever sadness I felt settle into my chest a moment ago is suddenly gone. “Tell the dweeb I said thank you.”
Mom doesn’t scold me for name-calling. Instead, she looks at me with a wavering smile and says, “Try to get some sleep. You look tired, baby girl.”
And when I look at myself in the mirror as I take my wig off for the night, I realize how right she is. I touch the bags under my eyes, tracing the outlines with my fingertips and a relenting sigh, not letting my eyes wander to the patchy pieces of hair scattered along my scalp.
That night, I do what my mother always hated. I eat my Pop-Tarts in bed, uncaring of the crumbs they leave behind, until I drift off to a dreamless slumber.
* * *
The tray of food comes out of nowhere, painting the front of my camo cargo pants with warm, thick liquid. Gaping, I stare down at the mess. Is that…? I sniff. Jambalaya?
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the short-haired brunette says, one of her hands cupping her mouth as she stares at my outfit. Her free hand is still holding onto the now-empty tray. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
Frowning, I move away from the scattered food, shaking a piece of sausage off my white sneakers. They’re new but should be easy to wash since they’re fake leather. Mom used to put Bentley’s and my shoes in the washer whenever we’d get them caked with mud when we’d go outside on adventures. Or, more like, when I dragged my little brother outside. He preferred video games to exploring.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, grateful it wasn’t scalding coffee that got dumped on me. “I guess this was a sign that today’s outfit wasn’t it.”
I felt cute in a tomboyish kind of way. The long-sleeved black shirt is keeping me warm with the temperature drop and hugs my narrow torso and the slight curve of my chest. My B-cups are nothing to look at, but they’re about the only curves I have thanks to chemo. I lost a lot of weight that I was never able to gain back over the years. I’m pretty sure one of the only reasons Mom was okay with me coming here was because she thought I’d get fattened up by good Southern food.
“I’m so sorry,” the brunette says again, dropping the tray onto the table beside her and quickly using one of her napkins to try cleaning off my pants.
I laugh, ignoring the people watching us in the dining hall. It’s crowded because lunch hours are almost over, so I’m not surprised we have a large audience. “Seriously, it’s okay. The stain sort of blends with the pattern anyway. See? You may want to go get something else before they start closing down the grill.”
She looks up from where she’s squatting in front of me, pausing with her cleanup. “You’re really not mad?”
I shrug. “Unless you’re about to tell me you did it on purpose, then no. It was an accident. And clothes wash, so I’m not worried about it.” I could tell her about the hundreds of times Bentley spilled stuff on me, and some of those were definitely not accidents, even if he told Mom they were. I never got mad at him. Much.
The girl finally stands, and I realize how short she is compared to my five-five. She barely comes eye level to my boobs. Her face is hot when she notices the attention we’ve garnered, and she winces and hides behind the pieces of dark hair framing her face. “I feel bad. I tripped on my shoelace.”
I glance down at her untied shoe, which she sighs and kneels to fix. “They’re cute,” I compliment her red Chucks because apparently complimenting women’s shoes is the only method I have for making friends.
She points at mine. “Yours are too. Even with sauce on them.”
I snort, examining them. “They’ll wash.” I offer her a hand, which she takes to stand. “I’m Sawyer, by the way.”
“Dixie.” She drops her hand and blushes deeper when a janitor comes over with a mop bucket and starts cleaning up. “My parents were obsessed with the country band Dixie Chicks when they had me.”
It’s been a long time since I’ve listened to their music. My mom wasn’t a big music person, and Bentley prefers indie rock or screamo that’s barely tolerable to my ears. “That sucks since they changed their name.”
“Yeah, they weren’t happy.”
I gesture toward the line of kids still waiting for their lunches. “Come on. We should probably get something. I saw their grab-and-go section today, and it was lacking, unless you want a soggy BLT wrap.”
Dixie’s mossy-green eyes drop back down to my ruined pants. “You’re going to stay?”
My stomach rumbles. “I’m hungry. I’ve learned the hard way I get cranky when I don’t eat. Nobody wants to deal with me when I go She-Hulk on their asses.”
She laughs in surprise. “Well, it’s on me since mine is on you,” she offers, following me to one of the lines.
All the food here smells delicious, so Mom will probably get her wish. Instead of the freshman fifteen, I’ll gain the junior twenty. And I’m sure my parents would think I looked better for it.
After we gather our things and Dixie pays, we head to an empty table in the corner. “You really didn’t have to pay for my stuff,” I tell her again, even though I appreciate it. Everything here is cheaper than what I’m used to in New York, but I’m all for saving money when I can because it’s my parents’ money that they transfer into an account for me, as if they haven’t almost gone bankrupt to care for me in the past.
She waves it off. “It’s the least I can do.”
Before I can answer, an arm drops around my shoulders, tugging me into a muscled chest and startling me. “I thought that was you,” a familiar voice says.
Dixie squeaks, her eyes wide when she sees Dawson draped over me.
I nudge him with my shoulder playfully. If he moves just right, he’ll probably feel where my port used to be just under my collarbone. I’ve managed to hide it well so far, which hasn’t been hard. It’ll be more difficult when the weather gets hotter and my summer wardrobe comes out.
“Hi, Dawson,” I greet, offering a small smile and noticing how red his eyes look today. Mom used to have bad allergies and take medicine for it when the seasons changed. But hers never looked this bad.
Dixie looks between us, awe in her gaping lips. Does she know him? It seems like there’s familiarity carved into her arched brows.
“This is Dixie,” I tell him when he finally moves his arm and takes the seat beside me. “We just met. Dixie, this is Dawson. We live in the same building.”
Slowly, her head bobs. “H-Hi.” Licking her lips, she blurts, “I know you. We have history. Er, I mean we had history together. Last year. With Goodwin.”
Based on her darkening cheeks, I’d say she more than knows him. I’ve been a girl with a crush before, so I know what it looks like.
Dawson doesn’t seem to recognize her, even though he says, “Oh yeah. Dixie. Right.”
Totally clueless. I scoot my chair out to try giving her a minute alone with him. “I need a drink. Dixie, do you want one?”
She’s still looking at Dawson as she shakes her head slowly.
Internally, I giggle.
When Dawson notices my pants, his brows go up. “Whoa. Very…Picasso of you.”
I’m not sure that’s an accurate artist for the scattered stains on my camo, but I let it go. “Life happens. You want anything to drink?”
He smirks. “Nah. But the offer is still open for me to get you one. Preferably together.”
My eyes go to my new friend Dixie. “In a group, right?”
Dawson glances at Dixie before those red-rimmed brown eyes come back to me. “Yeah, if that’s what you want.”
I smile at the boy who I’m fairly sure is stoned right now. I used to go to chemo with a boy not much older than him, and he definitely enjoyed his medical marijuana. “Maybe Dixie and I can join you and some others then. It could be fun.”
Dixie makes another noise before I eye her and subtly gesture toward Dawson, but when I leave them alone to get water, I see Dixie silently sitting there and fidgeting with her hands while staring at her food. It takes Dawson a few minutes to say something to her, laughing, and then he waves her off and walks away.
When I get back, I ask, “Where did he go?”
Her face is still red. “He had class. How do you know Dawson Gable?”
A full name. She does have it bad. “Like I said, we live in the same building. That’s only, like, the third time we’ve ever spoken.”
She blinks in disbelief, shaking her head and playing with her new bowl of jambalaya. “He seemed very…touchy with you.”
“I think he’s like that with everybody,” I theorize, not that I can be sure. I’ve seen him on campus with his arms around different girls and messing around with a couple guys who dish it back to him. “If it matters, I don’t like him or anything. I mean, he seems nice. But he’s all yours.”
Her green eyes snap up to me.
“So,” I press, leaning my arms against the edge of the table. “What do you think about going out for drinks with him?”
She licks her lips. “That’s Dawson Gable…”
Amusement lifts my lips. “I know.”
“He didn’t recognize me,” she mumbles, shoulders dropping in defeat.
Okay, true. “He knows you now. So…?”
She watches me, nibbling her bottom lip. “I guess one drink couldn’t hurt. If you think it’s a good idea.”
I perk up. “I think it’s a great idea. I’ll let him know the next time I see him. We can dress up, and you can get his full attention. He’d be dumb not to remember you then.”
She looks skeptical but still agrees. “Want to meet at my dorm the day we go? I haven’t gone out in a while and could use the help getting ready. I live in a single on campus.”
I grin, grabbing my apple. “By the time we’re done with you, Dawson Gable will be panting.”
Dixie shifts in her seat, but I can see the ghost of a hopeful smile on the bottom half of her face as she stares down at her lunch again.
When I get home that night, I cross another item off my list.
Make new friends