Chapter 19 #2
“I gave it away to my first boyfriend.” As I spoke, I sounded so far away.
Back in the tenth grade with braces and pants that were in a constant flood.
“He’d been afraid to learn how to drive.
I gave it to him before his driving exam.
He kept it and wore it to a party where he cheated on me with this girl who took a ton of AP classes.
And then he tried to give it back. It was tainted after that. Luck for someone else. I donated it.”
Wilson’s expression fell.
“Sorry,” I said quickly. “That kinda sucked as a story to tell when we’re trying to recall the good parts of being young.”
“It most definitely sucked,” Wilson agreed. “And now, I’m retroactively upset and ready to beat up the guy that hurt my sister like that.”
“Dad gave him a stern talking-to.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Wilson scoffed. “Was it with the glasses that had that mushroom neck chain? The ones that made him look bug-eyed.”
I burst out laughing. “Yes. Oh my god, I forgot about those.”
“How gentle was his voice?”
“It was like he was talking to a newborn,” I said, still laughing. “Neither of them could get angry enough to really dig into people.”
“Tell me about it. I fucking hated that about them,” he mumbled the last part.
My laughter died down. “Same…Sometimes I just wish they’d scream. At each other. Me. You know, I stole some erasers from my homeroom once—”
“What did you want with erasers?”
“It was more the act, not the material, that was the point,” I said. He still looked confused, but I continued. “They didn’t even punish me. They just asked, ‘are you going to do it again?’”
“And what did you say?”
“‘I don’t think so.’”
“Let me guess, they then said a solid, life-changing ‘okay.’ And never spoke about it again.”
“Exactly. It’s almost like we grew up with the same parents.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. They were a piece of work, but…still, it could have been worse. Less frustrating, but at least it wasn’t worse.”
I nodded. “I miss them. I missed you.”
“I was afraid to call you that day at the airport.” Wilson’s voice was low. He wouldn’t meet my eyes as he confessed. “It felt unfair to ask for your help after all this time.”
“I cried after you did,” I admitted, looking down at my hands; my cheeks burned.
Being emotional didn’t happen often in childhood because I learned at a young age it didn’t offer me much.
Not attention from my parents, not care from strangers.
So, I stored all my feelings in a carefully guarded box because there was no use in actually feeling them if all they’d do was make me susceptible to dismissal or silent judgment.
“I was selfishly happy you wanted me to be the one to help you through it.” I played with Rae’s necklace as I made the confession.
“I don’t think that’s selfish.”
I brushed my cheek. “Yeah, well, wanting things with Mom and Dad…you know, they always thought everything was self-centered. Owning things. Wanting things. Needing people.”
Wilson’s hand stretched across the table, palm open, but I couldn’t slip my fingers inside. They were trembling too much, so I sat on them instead.
“Before I called, before I left.” Wilson looked down at his hand as he spoke. “I thought I saw something.”
I frowned and leaned forward, willing him to continue. “Something?”
“After the accident, I’d been seeing a lot of things, but this time the person spoke to me.” He swallowed and finally looked up again. “They died a couple of weeks ago.”
“Wil” was all I could manage.
“I know, it’s…I was sure I was losing my mind. So, I did what I always did, what we both do: questioned everything and looked for answers.”
Except he’d been more than willing to accept the solutions that hadn’t fit the model of the world in his mind. “And?”
He laughed a little, wiping his hand over his face. “There were none. But, as you well know, there were plenty of other answers to questions I hadn’t even thought of.”
“Do you still…see whatever it is you were seeing?”
“No, not once since I came here with you. But I’m going to be honest, I’d rather a ghost haunt me than a demon.”
“We’re cut from the same cloth like that.”
We shared a laugh. The sound of bare feet on the wooden floor made me stop short. Rae appeared at the kitchen entrance. Her curls were in full effect, bouncing down past her shoulders.
“Do you keep cleaning supplies down here?” She pointed to the cabinet under the sink. Wilson waited a beat before answering.
“Yeah, take whatever you need.”
“Thanks. We made a bit of a mess, but promise we’ll be done cleaning it up soon, and then we can head out.” She bent over, and I glared so hard at my drink that I’m shocked the ceramic didn’t crack. Wilson laughed under his breath, but as soon as I looked up, he stopped.
“Twenty minutes tops!” Rae promised as she hurried back upstairs with her arms full of paper towels, bleach, and spray.
“You like her?” my brother asked once she was out of hearing distance. He smiled, taunting.
“She’s not bad at her job.” I picked at a hangnail. “And she’s kind, so…I appreciate it.”
“I mean, like her.”
“No, I think that’s you,” I joked because for a second, I did think Wilson had a thing for her with how deep his research had gone.
He shook his head. “Not my type.”
“Love this turn in the conversation. All I ever wanted to do while bonding with you was talk about types.”
Wilson chuckled. “Stop trying to avoid the question. Would it be easier if I said I think she likes you, too?”
“That woman likes everyone.” I sighed, recalling that “not everyone” kissed at the inn. “You should have seen her at the convention. She’d flirt with an office chair.”
“Flirting is a hobby,” Wilson said. “Liking is a dedication.”
“And you’re saying she’s dedicated to me?”
“I’m saying I think I need to warn her about messing with my sister’s heart.”
“My heart’s fine.”
Wilson considered in silence for a second. “How long have you known you were into women, if you don’t mind my asking?”
I shrugged. “Just as long as I’ve known I’ve been into men. Been into people, really. Forever. Everyone’s cute.”
He hummed, nodding to himself as he studied his hands.
I tilted my head to the side, studying him. “Why?”
“Why, what?”
“Why do you ask?”
Wilson shrugged. “Taking an interest in my sister’s life is all.”
“We’re on a roll with this talking for real. An object in motion, right?”
“Right.” He smiled. “You’re very you, Octavia.”
I laughed. “Why does that sound like both an insult and a compliment?”
“It’s only a compliment,” he promised quickly.
“Sure.”
“I’m serious. It is. And you are very much yourself, and after the accident…I realized maybe I’m not. Which is a concerning thing to figure out at my big age.”
“It’s good you’re still willing to grow,” I assured. “Change.”
He nodded. “I guess. But, well, having a queer awakening at my age is…awkward. I hated being a teenager. And now, I’m back to questioning everything all over again.”
I let out a breath, so comfortable in this space with him. So honored he felt comfortable sharing this with me. The warmth from the stove, the smell of his home-cooked food, and my dream surrounded us.
“So, you’ve awakened,” I started.
“Maybe,” he whispered, talking more to himself.
“Since I’m so myself and all.” I tossed a couple of locs off my shoulder.
He chuckled. “Don’t push it.”
“I’ll let you know that to this day, I don’t have much of anything figured out.
Queer awakening or not. But what I know is that what I want out of this life is something that makes me want to wake up in the morning.
Not dread the days as they go by. You don’t have to be wholly yourself, I don’t think.
At least, not all the time. You just gotta know what you need in the morning. ”
“Dad taught you that?” He raised an impressed brow.
“Indirectly, yes. Dad and my mom both did.”