53. Roadkill
As I driveBrant back to the arena to get his car, my head swims with fundraising ideas. Car washes, bake sales, selling candy for Valentine’s Day like I did when I was in school. The problem is they”re all way too small. The shelter needs so much more than that. ”Do you think the guys on the team would donate things for a raffle? Like a stick or a jersey or something?”
”I think they would give you anything you want. And I know for a fact Kayden has a fantasy about a group of women buying him at an auction.”
Thankfully, we”re at a stoplight because I automatically cover my eyes. ”Way more than I need to know about him.”
Brant chortles. ”That”s what I said when he told me about it. I”ll talk to the boys for you.”
My house has an extra bedroom, so I could take Chloe in. I”ve wanted to ask her anyway, but I”ve been afraid to push her before she”s ready. But what about all the others? There”s no way I can take them all. Do they just end up on the streets? Back with the parents who caused them to run away in the first place? ”We”ll figure something out, Lily. I promise.”
I smile over at him, and I think it might be the first smile I”ve given him since we got back from Canada. ”Maybe we could talk some mafia people into taking over the area, so the developers don”t want to buy the land there anymore.”
”I think that might not be your best idea. We can brainstorm all night at my house, which is where you”re staying.” Brant”s tone lets me know that it”s not a question.
It”s not like I really want to break up with him. What woman in her right mind would want to break up with Brant Morrison? My mom may be the fill in for Lucifer when the dark lord goes on vacation, but it feels like the timing of her text was fate. A reminder to me just as I was about to go too far. A reminder that nothing in my life ever lasts. And that men like Brant Morrison don”t go for girls like me. Just like she said all those years ago.
When he made me name the reasons we won”t work, I didn”t mention the biggest one. That I love him. It”s sure as pouring pesticide on a plant and watching it die. I acknowledge my feelings for someone, and they inevitably leave me. What”s wrong with avoiding the heartache this time? I”ve done enough crying in my life. So why can”t I tell him no now?
”I”m sleeping in one of the guest rooms.” This is a very bad idea.
”We”ll talk about that later.”
”We”re talking now. I”ll stay at your house, but it”s going to be in one of the guest rooms.” This isn”t just a bad idea, it”s the worst idea I”ve ever had. That perm I insisted on in tenth grade, the one that made my head look like a giant boxwood shrub? That was smarter than this. My body is already pleading with me to jump him here in the parking lot. What”s going to happen when I”m in his house? ”And no touching,” I add, like it might save me.
Brant lets out a low growl. The only reason I hear it is because I turn Sebastian off while I wait for Brant to get into his own car. ”This sort of defeats the purpose of having you stay with me.”
”Good, then I guess I won”t?—”
”Deal. Guest room and no touching.”
He”s holding out the pinky of his left hand, but I just stare at it. ”Seriously?”
”A pinky promise is the most solemn oath a person can take.”
I can”t argue that. ”That”s true. I just didn”t expect a tough athlete to whip out their pinky like this.”
”If you”d prefer, I could whip something else out for you.”
My body screams that it would very much prefer that, thank you very much, and I know the thought colors my cheeks. But I give him what I really hope looks like a disapproving glance as I wrap my pinky around his, pretending my core muscles aren”t so tight they could snap. ”I just need to grab a few things from home first.”
”Lingerie.”
I spin in my seat and level a glare at him. He has an eyebrow raised, hopeful, but as soon as my eyes meet his, he smirks. ”Absolutely no lingerie,” I tell him, leaving no room for ambiguity.
He steps out of my car, but turns and leans into the open door, the side of his mouth still annoyingly curled up. ”I was just looking out for you, Jams. It can get cold going around my house naked in the middle of winter, but you do you.”
”Morrison,” I growl.
”I”ll follow right behind you.”
So infuriating. ”You don”t need to. I promised I would come to your house, and I will.”
”Okay.” His car beeps as he slips his hand into the handle. ”Right behind.”
Asshole. I slam Sebastian into drive and stomp on the pedal. He responds with a gentle acceleration and none of the dramatic tire bark I hoped for. At least the glovebox stays closed. It takes just two traffic lights before the familiar black SUV changes lanes to get in behind me. It”s the kind of car that I would normally say is owned only by men who are trying to compensate for something else, but in Brant”s case, I know that”s not true.
Brant stays exactly two car lengths behind me for the entire fifteen minute drive to Sugar House. Even through the yellow light that I probably should have stopped at. I hoped he wouldn”t run it to stay with me. I should have known better.
When I pull into my driveway, I give him an irritated flick of my wrist. ”Satisfied now?” I ask aloud. Apparently not, because he pulls to the curb in front of the house. As if he doesn”t live just seventy-three steps away. Not that I”ve counted.
Even as annoying as he is, there”s something kind of cute about it. But it annoys me even more that I would find something like this cute. I feel his eyes on me as I walk up to the house, but I refuse to acknowledge him. I don”t look at anything except the turquoise door.
I laugh to myself as I remember the absolute fit I threw in high school over this door. The old, ugly white paint was chipped and fading into a hideous cream color. Dad wanted to just put a new coat of white paint on it, but that seemed like the biggest travesty in the world to me. Sixteen-year-old me had big feelings about everything. I”m surprised I didn”t lead a march on Washington when Trix cereal changed from artificial to natural coloring. But finally, I convinced Dad that our door needed to be bold. Just like him. Just like I wished I could be. And when he finished the last coat of paint, we both knew it was perfect. It couldn”t be any other color.
Maybe if I weren”t staring at the door to avoid Brant or if I weren”t remembering Dad, I would have noticed her walking up behind me. I could have hurried through the door and slammed it in her face.
”Oh my, is that really you? What have you done?”
It feels like someone runs an icy knife down my back. I haven”t heard my mom”s voice for fifteen years, but apparently it”s something I”ll never forget.
I should put the key in the door. It”s not too late. I can walk in and act like I never heard her. I owe her nothing. Instead, I turn around.
Two years after she left us, I looked her up online. Her Facebook account was private, but I could still see the thumbnail of her profile picture. I saved it and looked at it every night. I thought maybe there would be something in the tiny picture that would give it away. Something that could show me how my own mother could hate me. Or maybe I could find a clue that led us all to realize it was just a misunderstanding. But the picture was just a picture. The woman standing in front of me looks almost identical to the one I spent all those hours analyzing. She”s a little older. Her hair is shorter and dyed a shade lighter. But it”s her.
”Did you get my text?” she asks.
”I don”t want to do this.” In my mind, the words are strong, but in reality, they”re just a whisper that she ignores.
Another cold wave goes through me as her focus moves down and back up my body. I”m wearing a pink puffer coat over my sweatshirt and grey leggings. Just something comfy and warm for practice this morning, but it feels completely wrong under her glare. I wish I were wearing anything other than this, but I know nothing would earn her approval.
”So you”re still…” Her words trail off as she sweeps a hand along me.
Everything inside me is telling me to run away. Tears pinch the back of my throat. But I force myself a little taller anyway. ”Yep. Still me.”
”I had to find out online. From an old classmate.” She snarls. ”Do you know how embarrassing that is? You”d think my own... child could tell me when he”s back in town.” She makes sure to emphasize the misgendering as if I could miss it. As if my ears weren”t constantly tuned to pick up on that from her. ”I”m just glad she lives in this neighborhood, or I would have never found out.”
”I didn”t want you to know,” I mumble. The last time I saw her, I was still shorter than her, but I”m at least three inches taller than she is now. I wish it gave me the confidence to tell her what I want to say. That I never wanted to see her again. That she”s the reason I hate my hometown. That she hasn”t tried to contact me since I was thirteen-years-old, so how dare she blame me for not telling her I”m back? But there”s so much pressure behind my eyes I have to clamp everything down or I”ll break into tears. And I refuse to cry in front of her.
”I still pray for you every night. Every Sunday at church. I ask God to guide you past this trouble. One day He will. I just wish your father could have seen the truth before it was too late.”
In an instant, all the emotion I thought I”d buried for this woman compresses into a rage so hot that I”ll melt the siding on the house if I stand here any longer. This woman who has never stood beside me—this woman who actively fought against me—has no right to ever mention my father.
When I was in eighth grade, a group of parents at the school found out I was transitioning. They tried to pressure the school to make me use the boys” restroom, and when the school refused, they threatened to sue. I will never forget that school board meeting. Dad forbade me from going, but I snuck in anyway. Even now, it”s easy to remember the hatred in the eyes of the people who misgendered me. I remember all the things they called me. I was a thirteen-year-old girl, but the things they said about me—the things they said about my dad—are things I would never say to anyone. And I remember watching from the back of the room as Mom stood up. Even though I knew she and Dad divorced because of me, I was still naive enough to think that my mom would be there fighting on my side. I wish I could say I learned my lesson that night, but I spent too many years after that, hoping she would change.
I know now that she never will. I should have known when she walked out on us. I should have known when she walked up to the mic at that school board hearing. I am such a fucking fool to ever think that this woman might one day care about me just because she gave birth to me.
”I”m not an expert in God.” I close my eyes when I hear Brant”s voice behind me. It allows just enough of my steaming rage to escape so I won”t burst. ”But I think your prayers have worked. Lily has made it past those troubles just fine.” He puts his arm around the small of my back as he steps beside me, and I lean tight to his side. I”m shaking so much, I wonder how I”ve been able to stand without him. I am so glad he didn”t listen to me when I tried to get him to go on without me.
Mom sneers at him. ”Who are you?”
”The man who”s making sure Lily doesn”t have to put up with your shit. You must be Caralee. Lily hasn”t said much at all about you, but even that little bit has been more words than you”re worth.”
Mom”s face looks like an electric stove burner that”s been left on high for too long. I want to high five Brant. Or kiss him. Fuck, how can I want to kiss him as much as I do right now? But with Mom”s glare, I don”t dare do anything except slip my hand around his back. My arm a mirror of his.
”Thank you for that, but this conversation is obviously between me and…” the side of her mouth curls up like even looking at me disgusts her, ”him. So I think you should leave now.”
”I think I should be wherever the woman I love wants me to be.”
”Oh, that is so wonderful.” Mom grins and clasps her hands. ”Maybe you should stick around then because there is so much you need to know. My child, the deceiver.” Her attention turns back to me, and the grin grows. ”You”ve certainly built your life on lies, haven”t you? But dragging others into that web? What is this gentleman going to think when he finds out the truth about you? Hmm?”
Is this the reason she wanted to meet with me? Fifteen years of bigotry built up inside her that she has to pour out on me? Why can”t I tell her to go fuck herself? Why do I always let people like her stomp all over me? I glare down at her. I know the words should be right here on my tongue—they will be later when the adrenaline evaporates. But right now I can barely remember to breathe. When Brant steps between me and Mom, I know I don”t have to defend myself, but I should be able to. As grateful as I am that he”s here, I shouldn”t need him for this.
”The truth that she was assigned male at birth?” My lips twitch. Brant has obviously been researching terminology on his own, and if my desire for him wasn”t already bubbling, that knowledge just made it spill over. ”Or the truth that she”s better off because you weren”t in her life. It made me sad when I first learned you abandoned her. I always thought every girl deserves a mother in their life. But I was wrong. Lily has done nothing to deserve you, and no matter what you do, you”ll never deserve her.”
As Brant turns his back to her, I see the burning in his eyes before they soften with his smile. ”Hey,” I whisper. It”s so inadequate compared to what I need to tell him, but it”s the only sound I can form.
His smile grows, and it”s enough to block everything else. Mom is saying something behind him, but I can”t make it out. I”m barely aware of anything except the way he”s looking at me. ”We”re going to my house now. I”ll buy you anything you need so you don”t have to come back here.” My eyes start to drift past his shoulder, but he takes a quick step to his left to block me. ”She”s like roadkill on the side of the road. There”s nothing you can do for her, and there”s nothing to gain by looking. Focus on me.”
I nod and take the hand that he”s holding out for me, and as we walk to his SUV, the only thing I”m aware of is the feeling of his palm against mine.