13. HUNTER
13
“ W hy is that, Hunter?”
She’s looking at me with the same gorgeous blue-green eyes as Charlotte, pinning me with the same ability to melt my defenses in the blink of an eye. While Charlotte’s eyes are filled with joy, love, and excitement, her mama’s eyes come with a sense of comfort that makes me want to open up to her even though I don’t know the woman.
For a second, it reminds me of my mother, looking down at me while I peer up at her from above my Pokémon duvet, waiting for a goodnight kiss. But I slam it out of my head as quickly as it comes.
I watch Charlotte go back inside, then rear my head back to Elizabeth Roux.
My shoulders jerk, a little lost for words, but she patiently smiles at me, and I cave, just like I do for her daughter every damn day.
“After my father and my brother died, we didn’t really celebrate anything anymore.”
Too busy to get through the day in general. That first few weeks, I lived off a lot of casseroles and frozen meals; thank God for the neighbors pitching in. But the more time progressed, the less they brought, and the more my mother started buying bottles of vodka, forgetting about groceries altogether. Let alone reminding herself about my birthday .
“I get that.” She gracefully brings the glass to her lips, though the fatigue is set on her face. Her head is covered with a soft lilac beanie, and I imagine a voluminous pile of blonde hair sitting underneath it, even though I know the chances are unlikely.
“It’s hard when life screws you over like that. But take it from someone who doesn’t know how many birthdays she’s got left...” Her eyes mist over, but she keeps a steady voice, showing an inkling of the strength this woman possesses. “Every single one of them counts, because it means you’re still here. You are still here and whatever you wanna do or whoever you wanna be, it’s never too late.”
It feels bittersweet. I’m grateful that Charlotte has a mother like this, because she deserves nothing less, but it’s also a bit gloomy for me, wishing my mother was half as strong as Elizabeth is.
She eyes me with a serious look on her face, as if she wants to make sure I’m listening to her. “Because you’re still alive. Celebrate your birthday, Hunter. They are important, because you are important. At least to my little girl, you are.” She brings her glass up to me, a silent cheers in the air while I swallow, trying to process her words. The crickets sing in the night, and I get lost in her mesmerizing eyes. They suck me in like her daughter does, but in a way I haven’t experienced in years. With a maternal pride that roars my chest alive.
Like I matter.
“Thank you, ma’am. She means a great deal to me too.” I want to be honest with her, even if it’s only a little bit.
“Oh, I know.” Her wink is taunting, and I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “You’ve been falling in love with my girl since that first day at the creek, haven’t you?”
My tongue darts out as I lick my lips, stunned, then push out a breath. I have no clue how to respond to that while my hand reaches up to rub the back of my neck. Love. I don’t want to fall in love. Love is messy, and it hurts like hell when people leave.
And everyone leaves.
“We’re friends, ma’am. She’s become my best friend. I have no intentions of messing that up.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, holding my tumbler in a tight grip. It’s all I got right now. All I can admit without falling apart, and I can’t afford to fall apart. I have to survive long enough to graduate and get out of this one-horse town, chasing dollars in the big cities.
“I know, and you don’t have to admit it, boy. You love my daughter. It’s written all over your face, and you know it even though you’re pushing it away something fierce. One day, you’ll wake up and realize your life is worth living. Until then and after, our door is always open for you.” She gulps the entire drink down her throat before putting it back on the table, eyes colliding with mine again.
“How do you know, ma’am?” I don’t even know why I ask, because I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know the answer.
Her hands rest on her robe, her lips rolling as if she’s trying to pick her answer with care.
“Your eyes. You can fool the world, but your eyes radiate the truth.”
My head snaps to the side at the screeching of the porch door.
“What did I miss?” Charlotte beams.
“Nothing, just telling Hunter here the importance of birthdays,” Elizabeth says.
“See! Even my mom agrees.”
“I guess I can’t argue with the both of you.” I muster a smile, but an unsettling feeling makes my hands tingle.
Elizabeth's words frantically fly through my mind, like a bird trapped inside a house, desperate to find the way out. Panicking. But when I glance up at Charlotte, it all disappears. Fear is replaced by comfort, and I roll back my shoulders to relieve the tension in my spine.
“That would be wise, boy.” Mrs. Roux gives me a wink, then slowly gets back up. “I’m going back to bed. Two drinks, Charlotte. No more. And no driving, Hunter. You can take the guest room.” She lifts her finger in a reprimanding way, something that would be rewarded with an eye roll by any other giving teenager, but for me, it feels like a victory that she cares.
“Yes, ma'am. Goodnight.”
“Alright, Mama. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, kids,” she muses as she disappears into the house, and Charlotte flops back on the lounger next to me. She casually rests her head on my shoulder, and I bring my arm up to wrap it around her neck, settling her into my side like we did before.
The ginger beer lingers, combined with her sweet scent, a potent mix I’d love to nuzzle my head in. The temptation of giving in to my urges grows when her fingers fall to my stomach and the heat of her palm burns through my t-shirt.
“Sorry for my mom bursting through the door. I thought she was sound asleep.”
“Don’t worry about it, babe.” I move my hand up and down her arm, stroking the soft skin that isn’t covered up by her t-shirt.
“She likes you. I can see it in her eyes.” She looks up with her sparkling eyes, stopping my heart for a second before I put my focus back in front of me, with a sigh that’s both content as a little frightened. If these women are as good at reading eyes as they say they are, I’m in deep trouble.
“I like her too, Charls.”