Sixteen
Tait
Emmaline and Grady are already waiting by the truck when I head out with my groceries, violently fanning themselves. The heat feels similar to Tahoe during the peak of summer, probably only ninety or so, nothing too intense on paper. But it feels closer to the sun in the mountains, and therefore more powerful. I’m sweating more and stickier than I already was by the time I cross the parking lot.
“Whew, this is late in the year for a heat wave,” Grady remarks.
“And hotter than a witch’s tit, at that,” Emma replies.
I give a noncommittal noise of agreement and proceed with unloading the groceries. I don’t ask before making the executive decision to place them around everyone’s feet in the cab rather than in the back where they’ll be more at risk, when a thought occurs to me.
“Shit, I should have gone to look into a camera first.” The groceries will be stuck in the truck for too long now, in this heat.
“Oh, don’t worry honey, I called the local Fry’s for you. A replacement will be here in two weeks,” Emma says.
“Two weeks? What am I supposed to do for two weeks?” I groan. “Wait, how did you know what kind of camera I had?”
“I’m a nosy old lady… and asked Henry.”
It sets my teeth on edge to have anyone be so cavalier about my privacy, but at least the process is underway. I’ll submit the paperwork to Fletcher when I get back to the cabin.
“By the way, the saying is ‘colder than a witch’s tit’, not hotter,” I inform her, not without snark.
“Huh? Why would a tit be cold?”
“Not sure, probably because it’s implicating being coldhearted or something? And the heart is right beneath a tit?”
“I thought witches were associated with hell, thereby meaning that their tits would be hot. Are you sure that’s not it?”
“I’m positive. I have the dual pack of Grumpy Old Men and Grumpier Old Men on DVD and have watched them a million times. That is the first and only other time I’ve heard the saying colder than a witch’s tit. ”
“ ANY chance you guys could stop saying ‘tit’?!” Grady chimes in.
I look over at Emma to find her wearing the same “oops” expression as me, and we shrug. I turn up the music a short while after, and we ride along in relaxed silence.
My mind drifts back to Henry, to his quiet, formidable presence. Sometimes, there’s a melancholy in his expressions that doesn’t add up. Maybe I just haven’t been attracted to anyone in a long time? Most of the sexual encounters I’ve had in the last couple years have been born out of curiosity and boredom more than anything. I don’t really know, but I find myself warming up to the cranky cowboy. It was—dare I say— nice to have him around at the store. And I now feel a kinship with him, how he understands my shade of heartbreak.
The jolts of lust that accompany being around him aside, it felt comfortable… until that last bit when it didn’t. Each time I’ve been possessed to be a little flirty with him, he’s shut down immediately or basically fled like today. Jesus, he practically peeled out the first day I barely touched him, and I wasn’t even flirting that time.
Clearly, I need to get my attraction under control. My hormones and baser needs are continuing to betray me as far as he’s concerned. I’m somewhat ashamed to admit to myself that if he showed returned interest, I would definitely be willing to explore that lust.…
The same time that thought occurs to me, anxiety bubbles up and over because it’s a terrible, terrible idea. He is more a part of the Logan family than I am. Whatever connection I’m reluctantly building over here with them would get tied up and jumbled up with him, too. I need to tread carefully and not muddy the waters.
I can have a friend. If it was just friends with benefits, sure. We are both adults and can keep that separated…
At least, I think. I’ve been able to before, that is…
Something tells me that it would prove a little more difficult with him, though.
“Oh my god, you do the exact same thing as Dad!” Grady suddenly exclaims.
“What? What are you talking about?” I reply, confused, adrenaline-spiked from being yanked out of my machinations.
“You wear your entire internal conversation on your face!” He laughs, and then mimics some of the expressions I must’ve been making unflatteringly, cocking his head side to side.
I feel twelve again, annoyed with Ava stealing my clothes, or with her honing in on my deepest insecurities (like only a sibling can). I reach back and smack him in the back of the head, just as Emma does the same thing from the other side.
“Alright. I’m just going to nap then if you two are going to be all in cahoots and shit.” He pouts, but closes his eyes to do just that.
Sometime later, I feel Emmaline’s eyes on me. I look over to her wistful expression.
“I have a nice Canon you’re welcome to use until your camera comes in, Tait.”
I feel myself chipped further, that offer so much more meaningful than I could make her understand. I don’t want to feel trapped here, forced into this. Being able to do my work will be my saving grace. “Thank you, Em—um, Grandma.”
I feel her reach out and hesitate for just a second before she gives my shoulder a squeeze.
The rest of the ride home is quiet, apart from one of us girls occasionally humming along to the music, and Grady’s soft snores.