38. Two Thousand Asses
Chapter 38
Two Thousand Asses
Bonnie
I’m in my art shed nest. Lulu lies on the cushions beside me with my head in the crook of her arm as she runs fingers through my hair. I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours on this floor. Lulu hasn’t joked about my moping even once.
I was supposed to go to work today, but I didn’t. Rafe didn’t text me to ask where I was at either.
He knows he broke my heart.
I blink at the drawings of Rafe hanging on my wall. The longer I stare, the more I notice the differences between my old drawings and the new ones—the pieces from years ago, when I thought I knew him, versus now.
The mystery versus the man.
A laptop sits on the floor beside us, streaming episodes of shows we’ve both seen a thousand times. I’m not paying attention. Lulu doesn’t seem to be either as she looks at her phone.
“We’re gonna have company today,” she says.
It’s sad how quickly my heart leaps at it being Rafe, but I know it’s not him.
“Who?”
“Your mom,” Lulu answers. “And Wendy.”
My heart sinks into the cushions as I curl closer.
“She’s gonna be so disappointed in me,” I say, the words almost like an admission.
I’m not embarrassed by my decisions. I would choose Rafe time and time again. But with her and Wendy coming together, it’s easy to make a comparison.
One daughter just celebrated her baby shower.
The other daughter is in a relationship with her boss. And that boss punched someone.
Lulu shakes her head. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
Turns out, that bridge is sooner rather than later. In thirty minutes, gravel kicks up our driveway as a car rumbles down the winding lane. We listen as the sounds of car doors close, followed by our front door and back door. Finally, determined footsteps crunch through the garden before the shed squeaks open.
I squint at the summer sun shining through the open door, letting in light to our dark den. The low hum of summer bugs is taunting, and the waves outside are even worse. Silhouetted in the doorframe is my mom, out of breath with her wild black hair and strands of gray poking from the roots. Beside her, Wendy’s head tilts to the side in sympathy with one hand on her small baby bump and the other holding the door ajar.
I deflate. I’d rather them be angry. I don’t want their pity. There’s nothing pitiful about me.
Ma strides across the floor, falling to her knees as she cups my face in her palms. “Oh, Honeybee,” she coos.
They must have heard about me and Rafe. Nothing in this town stays quiet for long. Embarrassment rolls over me, but I don’t know why. I haven’t done anything wrong.
Ma lets go of my cheeks, sighing. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like a truck hit me,” I confess. “Then rolled back over. Then drove over me a third time.”
“Oh, I know. Breakups are hard.”
“We’re not broken up.”
Ma gets that little scrunch above her nose when she’s upset, but doesn’t want to be obvious about it. She blinks at me, shooting a glance at Lulu for help, who only shrugs.
“But we heard differently,” Ma says.
“But we also know, sometimes, town gossip is just gossip,” Wendy chimes in, lowering down next to me. She finds a free area of cushioning to stretch out on. “So, what really happened?”
I shrug. “He doesn’t think he’s good enough for me.”
Ma scoffs. “Well, for our girl, nobody?—”
“He is , Ma,” I cut her off. “He is good enough.”
“He was your boss, Siobhan,” she says, finally leaning into motherly mode.
“He is my boss,” I say. “And it wasn’t him who pushed. It was never him.”
“Yes, but you’re?—”
“An adult,” I finish for her. “And somehow, he’s the only one in this town who seems to respect that.”
“And me,” Lulu adds, throwing an index finger in the air. “I respect that.”
“Thank you, best friend.”
“No problem, best friend.”
Wendy twists her lips to the side. “He didn’t … fire you, did he?”
“No,” I say. “He let me have the day off.”
They don’t need to know we haven’t texted much. That’s between me and Rafe, just like this whole situation should be.
“That’s … kind of him,” Ma says, wincing. I can tell she’s forcing the words out.
“It is,” I answer.
There’s an odd quietness in the shed, only accented by distant voices chattering from our show on the laptop. Lulu reaches out to hit the space bar. It pauses, leaving us in even worse silence.
“He held my hair,” Lulu blurts out. “Rafe held my hair when I puked after the baby shower.”
My mom’s face screws up. “You were drunk at the baby shower?”
“I’m just saying,” Lulu says, quickly diverting it back to Rafe. “He’s a good guy.”
“I’ve always liked Rafe,” Wendy muses. “Which is why I don’t understand this situation. Why did Peter try to punch him?”
“Because he’s Peter.” I snort.
“But really … what happened?” she asks.
I sigh. “What happened is, we fell in love. Plain and simple.”
I expect it to sound silly said out loud. But I’ve never felt more confident with those words.
Ma sighs. “But he broke up with?—”
“No, he didn’t break up with me, Ma. I mean, he tried. But he didn’t mean it. I know he didn’t.”
There are some things my family won’t understand, and that’s okay because I understand it. I’ve spent this summer figuring out who I am and what I want. And I’m not going to throw all that away just because the man I love doesn’t think he’s good enough for me.
I know Rafe loves me.
He just needs to see it himself.
Wendy plays with the tassels on a random pillow in the corner, eyeing the shed, as if remembering what it used to look like when Jasper lived here. Probably far less messy. I’m messier than my brother in many ways.
“I’m sorry for ruining your baby shower,” I confess to Wendy.
“Oh, you didn’t,” she says, waving me off.
Maybe a couple of months ago, I would have accepted that response. But Rafe is unapologetically honest, and I want to live that way too.
“No, it was my drama that brought it up,” I correct her. “And I’m sorry.”
She smiles. “It was fine. Rafe actually got me the sweetest painting.”
I blink. “He did?”
“Yeah. So … it kinda negates the punch for me. Let’s just both agree it was the boys who started the fighting. Well, Peter.”
I snicker. “Peter, definitely.”
Ma opens her mouth and closes it, sorting through her—no doubt—complicated thoughts.
She squints. “So, Rafe didn’t take advantage of you?”
“No,” I insist. “Believe me, if anything, I was the terrible influence.”
“I believe that,” Wendy says with a grin.
I smile back, but it falls just as easily. “I just hope other people don’t … I don’t know …”
“Assume the worst too?” Wendy finishes.
“Yeah.”
When my shoulders drop, my mom places a hand over mine and squeezes. “They won’t. Not this town.”
“I’ll fight ’em if they do,” Lulu says.
“What is that, like two thousand asses to kick, if we don’t count kids?” Wendy says.
Ma sighs. “Ladies …”
“One thousand nine hundred ninety-nine,” I say. “Peter’s already got a black eye. Better not make it worse.”
The three of us laugh, despite Ma pursing her lips and fighting back her own giggle. She would never laugh at the misfortune of us Davies kids.
I feel lighter now. Less intimidated by expectations. And Ma keeps tossing me a knowing smile—that motherly one that says everything is going to be all right. That maybe she’s not disappointed in me at all. I like that look. It’s reassuring.
My phone buzzes at my feet, and my heart leaps as I hope against hope that it’s Rafe.
But I stop when I see an email waiting from the Howling Ravens marketing manager. My heart rushes up to my chest as I tap the email. Then, it pummels down immediately after.
Thank you so much for participating in our merch design competition. We were impressed by your creativity and passion, and we were excited to review your submission. However, after careful consideration, we’ve decided to move forward with another designer …
I grip the side of my phone and hold my breath. I fear if I let it out, I won’t survive the emotions that follow.
“What’s wrong?” Lulu asks.
She immediately grabs my phone, still open to the email, and pulls in a breath of her own. Wendy scoots closer to her, reading it as well.
“You entered a competition this summer?” she asks.
The words feel far away.
I can’t believe I didn’t get it.
Did they meet me and decide I wasn’t good enough?
I’ve made a lot of changes this summer. Changes I’m proud of. New skills that have made me a better artist. I felt like the tides were turning in my favor. I didn’t have to be a graphic designer. I didn’t have to go down a path that wasn’t right for me. I could illustrate and still be successful, just like Rafe.
But maybe I was wrong.
And not only have I been kidding myself all along, but I also let down my mom. Because if I’m not good at design and I’m also not good at the one style of illustration I love … then where does this leave me? What was the point of art school at all?
And suddenly, it all compounds. The feeling is rushing into me like a tidal wave, pushing, pushing, pushing down on my chest and sinking into me.
After twenty-four hours of holding everything in, I finally cry.
They’re gross, terrible tears. Pitiful. Embarrassing.
Ma scoots closer, stroking over my back. “Shh, it’s okay.”
I lean into her. She clutches me close. I didn’t realize how bad I’d needed a hug from her until now. All summer, I’ve needed her reassurance that I’m not the loser daughter. That I’m still her daughter.
I needed her.
I need Rafe.
I need him to tell me this is all gonna be okay. That there are better things out there for me. Because right now, all I can feel is shame.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur to my mom through my worrying bottom lip. The words are heavy and difficult to get out, like tugging a rope through a needle eye. Futile.
“Why?” she asks.
“I … I can’t get anything right.”
“Oh, baby …”
Lulu takes my phone so I don’t have to see the email staring back at me anymore. I bury myself into Ma’s chest, letting my mom attempt to convince me that the world isn’t falling apart.