Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
R arity…
“Rarity, you okay?” I blinked and snapped out of my thoughts about Striker and pushed myself into a standing position behind the cutting counter at the craft store.
“Sorry, what?” I asked, Meredith. She was seventeen and worked part time after school. She was a goth girl, in Florida, which I couldn’t fathom all that black and all those layers in this heat but to each their own.
Surprisingly, she wasn’t a moody teen, but rather bubbly and bright in this weird Wednesday Addams meets a Disney Princess kind of a way. She and I got along famously – but didn’t get to work together very often. It was a rare treat when we did. I was usually gone and at the bar in the afternoons and evenings when she came in after school.
“Where have you been all day?” she asked, wrinkling her nose and grinning at me. I turned and stuffed my hands in my green apron pockets and leaned my butt against the edge of the counter behind me.
She gave me a dubious look and put her own apron over her head working on tying it in the back as she was back from her break.
“Just got a lot on my mind,” I said. “I promise, everything is all good. I actually… met somebody,” I said and I knew I was blushing by the heat creeping up my neck, my chest flushing and my cheeks growing warm. I couldn’t help it. It was pretty much what happened any time I thought about Striker anymore.
“Ooo, so what’s he like?” she asked and I couldn’t help but stuff my hand against my mouth as I giggled.
It was ridiculous being this… I don’t know! Girly about it, but we’d been talking… about all sorts of things.
It’d started when I’d texted him late several nights ago, after waking up from this awful dream where I was standing there, as my dad drove by and I was just helpless to watch him get slammed into in that awful accident all over again – which was nuts. I’d already been walking into class when he’d been hit, getting some of my early stuff done and out of the way before deciding on a degree and a course of action for the rest of my education…
Of course, that had all come crashing down when he’d been crashed into .
“He’s a biker,” I said reluctantly.
“Are you serious?” she asked, her face going blank as she thought about it, and I was about to cringe, fully expecting her ask me if I was insane because that would totally be what my mom or my grandmom would demand, but she focused back on me and said, “That is so hot!”
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding and laughed a little nervously.
“Yeah, well, they aren’t exactly known to be good guys… but he’s… different from I expected.”
She shrugged and said, “If he’s good to you , that’s all that really matters, right?”
“Ha, wow! I mean, yeah, I guess but I don’t think my mom or anyone would be half so understanding.”
“They don’t know yet?” she asked.
I sort of half-winced and said, “You’re the first person I’ve told.”
“Really?” she asked and she looked so excited under her pale makeup.
“He’s a lot older than me, and I’m really worried about what people would think,” I said and she cocked her head and asked, “How much older?”
“Like eighteen…”
She frowned, “Months?”
“Years…” I said and her mouth dropped open.
“Wait, that makes him like what? Fifty?” she asked.
I laughed.
“Wow, you’re bad at math!” I cried, laughing until tears gathered at the corners of my eyes. “He’s forty-two,” I wheezed.
“And you’re what?” she asked.
“Twenty-four.”
“I mean, it’s not that bad,” she said. “It’s not like he’s forty-two and hitting on me at seventeen. That would be so gross! ”
“Yeah, but a lot of people would look at it the same, wouldn’t they?” I asked and no, I had no idea why I was asking Meredith. She was seventeen! If I wanted a more accurate picture, I should have asked any of the older ladies working here with us, but I just wasn’t freaking brave enough. I certainly didn’t want Wanda’s perspective on things. She was almost as bad as my grandmother on the being older and set in the ways of the past.
Judgmental and awkward is just the tip of the iceberg, and my gran came in here and shopped because everyone here knew she was my gran and to give her my employee discount. I knew Meredith would keep my secrets. Anyone else? They would let slip in a heartbeat.
They were older, they were bored, and gossip was totally their main form of entertainment.
I didn’t feel like being judged or raked over the coals for exploring things with Striker, simply because he was a biker and an older man. I could leave. I could cut contact at any time. It was something my dad had always drilled into my head. It didn’t matter where I was or who I was with, it didn’t matter if society deemed it rude to not take the drink or to say ‘no.’ The word no was not only always a viable option, it was also a complete sentence in most cases and I was not responsible for how the other person felt about my saying ‘no’ or extricating myself from any situation that made me uncomfortable.
Period, point blank, end of discussion.
I could leave. Call an Uber or a Lyft. Hell, even though it would be uncomfortable as hell, I could call my mom, or my grandma, but let’s be honest – I would probably call my grandpa before either of them… but that was the thing.
Striker wasn’t the one I was uncomfortable with.
Quite the opposite, actually. I felt freer to be myself with him than I did in front of Mom or Grandma and yeah, even Grandpa.
Probably my dad, too, if he were alive and I were being completely honest.
I think when my dad instilled the lesson of ‘no’ and that I could leave, he didn’t anticipate it potentially ever applying to him, Mom, but definitely figured it could and would apply to my grandma someday.
My grandpa was chill, and my grandma had her good moments, don’t get me wrong – but man could she be an overbearing pain in the ass when she wanted to be… and where Striker was concerned? She would be polite to his face and a pure savage behind his back and I didn’t want to deal with it.
Meredith screwed up her face in a grimace at my last question, about a lot of people looking at things the same way when it came to mine and Striker’s age difference and said what I knew to be true but really didn’t want to hear; “Yeah, you’re probably right… I’m sorry.”
I sighed.
“Me too, it’s why I haven’t told anyone yet – at least not really.”
“Really, I’m your first?” Meredith looked entirely too excited about that . I mean, Gemma had a clue, but she wasn’t going to tell anybody, and we weren’t exactly seeing each other on the regular right now, not with the bar’s liquor license suspended.
“Yeah,” I said with a sheepish grin and she squee’d and hugged me.
“That’s so cool!” she whispered excitedly. “I swear, I won’t tell a soul. Especially around here.” She looked around us making sure no one could overhear and I laughed.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Still, you gotta tell me everything ! I wanna know what he’s like. For real, he has to be cool to get you to notice him.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, laughing.
She rolled her pretty brown eyes and said, “You are laser focused on your mom and brothers, to the point I wasn’t entirely sure you knew there was a whole wide world out here with you. Girl, when was the last time you had fun that didn’t involve your family?”
I thought about that and made a dour face and said, “Touché, you got me on that one.”
“Exactly, so if you got to go out, what did you guys do?” she asked.
I smiled, I couldn’t help myself, I hadn’t gotten to talk about it like at all , with anyone, and it was nice to be able to be excited about it rather than just nervously keeping everything all bottled up.
I spilled the beans, carefully, both of us clamming up when anyone else working or any customers came by, and before you knew it, our shift was ending and we were both packing it in for the night.
“Thanks for listening, Mere,” I said, and she smiled impishly at me.
“Hey, I live vicariously through you,” she said. “At least on this and for right now. Hopefully I’ll meet my dark and handsome prince someday but not around here and I sure as hell don’t think any time soon.”
“I feel you, there,” I said rolling my own eyes and sighing. “Still, stranger things have happened.”
“True, seems like you have yourself a prince charming.”
I smiled and wondered what Striker would think about that.
“Later, girl,” I said and she waved at me and made for the bus stop, opening up her black lace parasol to shade her fair and pale skin from the harsh sun.
I went and got into my Jeep and drove back to the house. Mom wasn’t home yet, and grandma and grandpa were up to their eyeballs with the boys. Both of them looked relieved when I walked through the door to the thrice shrill chorus of “Rarity!” from the little terrors.
“You take them, I’ll take dinner,” Grandma declared and I put on a brittle smile and nodded.
All I wanted was five minutes to decompress, but no rest for the wicked, or so they say…
It wasn’t until after dinner, after baths, and after a hell of a fight putting the three little monsters down for bed, that Mom and I had a minute.
“Drinks?” she asked, hopefully.
I said, “I’ll make you one, but I really just want some time to myself tonight.”
“All good, baby – I’ll make my own,” she said with a sigh.
“Okay,” I said and we hugged. “Goodnight, Mom.”
“G’night,” she said.
She went for the kitchen, I went for my bedroom, and finally, blessedly, shut my door on the world and dropped onto the edge of my bed with a sigh.
I took up my phone and saw a few missed texts from Striker. A couple general just ‘heys’ set hours apart, and finally an; I’m around if you want to talk. I don’t want to bother you. Clearly, you’re having a busy one today. Miss talkin’ to you, baby girl.
I laid out on my bed and held the phone over my face.
Hi, yeah, it’s been wild… I missed talking to you, too – I just haven’t had even a minute to myself all day.
It took around twenty minutes to get a response, and by the time my phone buzzed, it was through my breastbone as I’d rested it on my chest and had already begun to doze.
Hey, baby girl. You want to talk about it?
I filled him in on my day, and about the boys being your typical rambunctious four-year-old boys and he made jokes with me, and did what he always did… empathized and made me feel heard .
All jokes aside, he said, sounds like it was rough. I can totally get being overwhelmed and over stimmed and just needing a fucking break. I don’t know how you do it, baby girl – but you’re a fuckin’ rockstar for doing it.
I felt my hard resolve soften, and I closed my eyes and just breathed for a moment, basking in the warm glow of his words.
How do you do that? I thumbed out.
Do what? he asked.
Make me feel so calm with just a few words, like a flip of the switch… For real, I’ve been wound up and stressed out all day and just a few minutes of texting with you I feel so much better.
I waited and what he sent back was a bit surprising, but not at the same time…
That’s what a Daddy is supposed to do for his little girl…
I thought about that for a bit and asked…
Can we talk more about that?
He didn’t hesitate.
Of course.
What would you like to know?
That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? I mean, where to begin?