23. Hunter
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
HUNTER
“ N ot a football person?”
I glance over my shoulder as Willa strides across the deck. Dejection slumps my shoulders, and I resume watching the autumn foliage lose hope. Not her . “Just needed some air.” I’ve been checking the score on my phone, but watching Ashlie and Trevor bond over football—and everything else—sounds worse than throwing myself into a woodchipper. Yesterday was brutal enough. I made up my mind about Ashlie on my run, and swiftly unmade it when I found out about her date with Trevor. Watching them leave for their date excitedly, and return standing much closer than they had been before, tore me apart inside. For the last twenty-four hours, I’ve taken silent shots to the chest each time she’s giggled at his jokes or made eyes at him. And the visceral reaction I fight every time he flirts with her—touches her. I’m fucking pathetic .
I finally went to bed early last night, only to hear them talking in the hot tub outside my window until one in the morning. When I rolled over to sleep, my damn pillow smelled like jasmine, memories, and misery. I hardly slept.
“I don’t think it will last.” Willa zips her purple jacket, then sits in the weathered Adirondack chair next to mine, looking out at the scenery.
“The game? It’s almost over …”
“Don’t play dumb. I’m talking about Ashlie and Trevor.” She shakes her head like I should already know.
“And what makes you say that?”
“Because he’s just like Bryan.” She shrugs, watching me.
“Care to expound on that?”
“Bryan was nice enough at first. He was the type of guy Ashlie thought she was supposed to be with, so she tried to make it fit when it clearly wasn’t what she wanted. She may not know it yet, but this Trevor thing is the same. He’s the friendly, All-American type who always does the right thing. Ashlie walks around like she gets paid to keep people from being disappointed. She thinks he’s the kind of guy she’s supposed to go for.”
“Why are you telling me this? She can date who she wants. It’s none of my business.”
Willa rolls her eyes before scowling at me. “She chases the wrong type, and you chase the wrong type when, really, you two should be running toward each other. I’m telling you so you can get your shit together and finally be with her.”
“What shit, Willa?” My scalp prickles at her insistence that she knows me. She barely knows her own sister. What makes her think she has me pegged? I run my tongue along my bottom lip, breathing out my irritation. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me about myself…?”
She bellows a loud, hearty laugh, wiping tears from her eyes. “Oh please, Hunter. You very clearly have the deepest type of ‘mommy issues.’ Every girl I’ve ever seen you with looks the same as the one before— skin tones may vary ,” she lilts like an infomercial. “I bet you twenty bucks I know what your mom looks like based off of them. And the way you leave them, quickly and quietly, I know there’s a reason for that too.”
“Willa…why the fuck do you care?”
“Because she’s my sister, and you’re the only one able to convince her to choose the things she really wants in life. If you could get past your commitment issues, you two would be unstoppable.”
All I can do is stare. She and Chase are the annoying angel and devil combo on my shoulder. Chase sits on one side, telling me to be the bigger person and let Ashlie go, while Willa sits on the other, encouraging me to keep her for myself. There’s a whole lot of noise in my head right now, and all of it is stressing me out. This kind of drama is my sign to cut and run. Shut it all out and push down whatever these conflicted feelings are. But there’s a nagging part inside of me that keeps asking: What if, this time, you didn’t ?
Everyone’s scattered around the property after Thanksgiving dinner. Kayla and Chase are outside at the fire pit, Trevor is getting smoked by Willa in a chess game at the dining table, and Kayla’s mom is chatting it up with Ashlie’s parents by the fireplace. I don’t know where Ash is, but honestly, that’s kind of a relief right now. Trying to clear my mind, I busy myself with the cleanup process, filling the single basin copper sink with soap and water. As I’m about to dump in the dirty dishes, a bump on my hip snaps me out of my daze.
“Need any help?” Ashlie asks, grinning up at me. She’s pulled her hair back, a few curly tendrils framing her face. My eyes dip to the mustard sweater dress clinging to her body before I catch myself.
I haven’t said two words to her today, and I’m at a loss for any sort of meaningful conversation right now. Shaking my head, I turn back to the sink. “I’m good.”
“So, it’s gonna be like that?”
“It’s not like anything. I’m doing the dishes. It’s a one-person job.”
Ashlie sighs, knocks her hip into my side again, and rolls up her sleeves. “Move over. Let me help.” She grabs a stack of dirty dishes and dips them into the water. I know she’s trying to connect, make sure our friendship is still intact. But I’m so lost, I just can’t pretend right now.
“No.”
“Hunter…” she grunts, trying to push me out of the way with her ass. “Move…over.”
“No.” Acting out the first impulse that comes to mind, I flick a wet hand toward her. My eyes widen when I realize how much water made it to her dress, and I try to stifle the laugh in my throat by biting my lips together.
She turns toward me slowly, mouth gaping, working hard to hide her surprised smile. Cupping a handful of water, she flings it sideways at me, hitting me square in the chest. Her brows raise in a feisty taunt.
I tuck my chin and challenge her with a stare. “You really wanna start this war?”
She slaps her hand into the water, laughing as the large, wet splatter plasters my button-down to my skin. “Yep.”
“You’re trouble. You know that?” I wrap my arm around her, pinning her wrist to her back while I repeatedly flick water toward her face.
“You cheater!” She laughs, twisting out of my grip and lunging for the sink sprayer. Pointing it right at me, she looks down the center like it’s topped with a scope. “I’ll do it.”
“Naw, you won’t. You’re too nice.”
“I will.” She reaches for the faucet, and I fold my arms over my chest in a silent dare.
“Ooh, what’s going on here?” Ashlie’s mom, Jackie, asks, looking between the two of us with a smile. Jackie’s dark curly afro is held back by a wide orange headband that matches her pantsuit.
“Just tryna clean up, and this troublemaker over here started a water fight,” I say, tipping up the corner of my mouth as I turn toward Jackie.
“ Me ? You splashed me first!”
“Where’s your proof, Little Miss Faucet Sprayer?” I tease. Ashlie drops it, placing her hands on her hips.
“You do look pretty guilty, Ashlie. I’m with him,” Jackie teases. “While I have you here, did you get your application in? It’s due in a couple of weeks.”
Ashlie takes a deep breath, and I clock the anxiety in her eyes before I turn back to the sink. She already knows what I think about the situation. This is her business, and she can handle a conversation with her mom on her own, even if she doesn’t think so. “Uh, yeah,” she says. “The deadline is coming up. But I don’t think I’m going to grad school this year.”
“Ha. Ha. Very funny. Of course you’re going. That was the deal we made. A year off, and then graduate school. Two weeks is plenty of time to get your application together.”
“Um, no. I don’t want to go anymore, so I’m not applying.”
“Oh yes, you are.” That prompts me to look over my shoulder, just in time to see Jackie put a hand on her hip, making it clear where Ashlie learned the motion. My body tenses, teeth grinding as I listen to this woman tell Ashlie how to live her life. “It’s been your dream since you were little,” Jackie urges.
“No, it’s been your dream since I was little. Things change, Mama…”
“If it’s a money thing?—”
“It’s not the money. I just don’t want to go. And I’m not going, so you can stop pressuring me.”
“I’m not pressuring you. I’m trying to keep your feet on the ground and your head out of the clouds. If this is a money thing?—”
“It’s not a money thing, Mama. God ! You’re not listening to me!” Ashlie’s voice shakes as her volume increases. She’s saying exactly what she wants, and Jackie is stomping all over it like it’s nothing. I bite the inside of my lip to keep my mouth closed, but it’s getting harder to act like I don’t hear what’s going on.
“You better watch who you’re talking to like that.” The authority in Jackie’s voice makes me whip my head back to the sink. “You can’t work at a fitness store forever. What can you possibly gain working there?”
“Happiness, Mama. I’m happy there, and I’m good at it, and I don’t leave in tears every day. I won’t work there forever, but I’m staying for now.”
“You should be in the classroom . You were a good teacher. Don’t selfishly hide your gifts. Hunter, you tell her. She listens to you.”
My back goes rigid. I wasn’t prepared for a direct call in. Grabbing a hand towel, I take my time drying the water dripping down my forearms before turning to Jackie.
“I think Ashlie has made it unmistakably clear that she doesn’t want to go, and you can’t accept her no for what it is. You’re putting so much pressure on her to do this thing she has no interest in, she’s having panic attacks about disappointing you. She doesn’t want to, and for that reason alone, I don’t think she should.”
Jackie’s mouth gapes at my boldness, and I turn back toward the sink, glancing at Ashlie as I do. The pure look of shock on her face leaves me feeling satisfied. Someone needed to say it .
“Ashlie, is that true? You’re having panic attacks again?” Jackie asks.
“It’s true, Mom,” Willa says from somewhere behind me. “You and Dad put so much pressure on her. On us both. She hated teaching. If she wants to work in retail forever, that’s something she gets to choose for herself. You need to deal with it.”
“I just want what’s best for you,” Jackie says tearfully. “For both of you.”
“And that’s for us to decide. Not you, and not Dad,” Willa replies.
I hear footsteps retreating, but I don’t know who they belong to until I finish the dishes and turn around.
Ashlie’s leaning against the island, in the exact spot as our first night here, as beautiful as ever. The mood is different, but she looks just the same, biting her thumbnail with a timid stare through her lashes. “Thank you,” she whispers.
“Hey.” I shrug, taking the few steps to stand in front of her. “I got you. Always.” Raising my fist, I knock it lightly into the hand she’s holding up to her mouth. I smile until she smiles back, and I feel like we’re closer to the friends-who-don’t-talk-about-that-night than we have been in days. This is for the best .