19
Since Bethany is still helping out at the farm when we finish up with Sora, Olive comes back to Anders’s place with us.
We didn’t mention Sora in front of her, in case Anders changed his mind.
But I told Dainese he was considering—so he thinks, but I know after he struggled to close the cage on Sora for five minutes, he will agree—and she stuffed a tote bag full of information packets and forms and mochi donuts.
When we get inside, I lay out the rest of the pastries on a plate and reply to a dozen texts from Taina asking for life updates every hour. I feel a little guilty since we usually text throughout the day, so I send a detailed account—sans Anders—and pictures of Sora.
While Olive and I finish up the last of the donuts, Anders walks in from a short call.
“Aunt Bethany is staying by the farm, you’re sleeping here,” he tells Olive, then me, with an explanation. “It’s a couple of hours away, and her astigmatism is bad at night. She’ll be back in the morning.”
Olive makes a victorious sound, then grips my arm. “Let’s watch all the Marvel movies.”
“Let’s,” Anders says, grabbing Olive’s shoulders and pushing her in the direction of the hall, “take a shower before anything else.”
She rolls her eyes. “I was in the ocean. The salt water already disinfected me.”
“A creative approach,” Anders says, “but not good enough. Shower.”
Olive shakes a thumb down in Anders’s face, the preteen equivalent of the middle finger, and I have to smother my laugh until she’s out of the room.
Anders stands there, puzzled. “Did she just flip me off?”
The laugh escapes me. “I’m pretty sure.”
“I used to be her favorite person.” He grabs my hand, which is still holding half a donut, brings it to his mouth and takes a bite.
I use the edge of my thumb to wipe stray frosting from his lip. “I’m sure you’re still at least in the top ten.”
He barks out a laugh. “At least.” He moves around me, trapping me by laying his hands on the counter by my hips. “You all set for tomorrow? Need anything from me?”
I shake my head. “All good, don’t you worry. Unless you have insider information of what to expect from the bridal party.”
He grimaces. “Keep your purse by you. One of them, Jennifer, is a kleptomaniac.”
“Excuse me?” I blink. “Maybe I shouldn’t assume this, but I figured Valerie’s friends would be, I guess, in a similar financial situation as she?”
He nods. “You’d be correct, but that did not stop Jennifer from stealing one of my Rolexes and Aunt Bethany’s pearl earrings.”
“One” of my Rolexes is a hefty reminder of our vastly different tax brackets, and I try not to flinch. No matter what I pretend, I’m not really a part of this life. Maybe my life’s puzzle piece fits perfectly beside Anders’s, but we’re in different shades, presenting different pictures.
“And she keeps her around because?”
“She’s actually a really nice person,” he promises. “Just, use a bag with a zipper.”
“Noted,” I say, though if she saw what little I have, she’d probably deposit a couple of dollars into my purse.
“Hey”—Olive appears beside us, narrows her gaze between us—“are you guys in a fight?”
“Huh?” I say, as Anders asks, “What makes you say that?”
She looks to me. “All your stuff is in the guest room and in the bathroom.”
“Oh.” Anders looks to me, wide eyed, for help.
“Of course not,” I assure her. “That’s all my sister’s. She came to visit.” An easy thing to say since, technically, most of the clothes are hand-me-downs.
“Really?” Olive says, looking around as if Taina will suddenly appear. “I didn’t know that, where is she?”
“Out with her husband,” I lie. “She came to stay for a bit, now they’re having a little TLC away. She’ll get her things when they’re back.”
“I want to meet your sister,” Olive says, as Anders grabs her shoulders again and starts pushing her to the hall. “Let me meet your sister.”
Unable to say another lie, I give her a thumbs-up as Anders takes her away. When they leave, I begin to clean up, my stomach starting a slow descent.
Olive is such a cute kid, and it’s clear she likes me. And I do her. It’s a lie that they’ll meet, but I know if she has any affection for me, she’d adore Taina. It would be cute to see them interact, but it seems I keep forgetting my time here comes with an expiration date.
“Lucinda,” Anders says, in a tone that says it’s not the first time he called my name.
“Sorry.” I put down the glass I just dried. “I think I need a shower. Can I use yours?”
“Of course.”
I move to his room and feel his presence shadowing me as I go. When I enter, there’s a light scent of lavender.
“Thank you for cleaning the sheets,” Anders says, as if the scent reminds him to. “You absolutely didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” I say, heading to his attached bath, “but I like to clean. Helps me clear my mind.”
As I open the door, he grips the edge of it. “And what are you clearing your mind of?”
You, obviously.
Instead of voicing the thoughts, I gently shove him away. “If I don’t get this layer of grime off my skin in the next sixty seconds, I’m going to puke.”
He nods, then reveals my vanilla-scented bodywash from behind him like a magician. “I snagged this when Olive was searching through the drawers. Figured you wouldn’t want to smell like sandalwood.”
“Sandalwood and mango,” I say, then immediately burn when he cocks his head as I admit not only do I like the way he smells, I know exactly what he smells like. “Okay, thanks, bye.” I snatch the wash and shut the door in his face.
I take the world’s coldest shower, and when it feels like my skin is going to harden into ice, I remain for another five minutes. The cold steals all thoughts. All I can focus on is the feel of it on my skin, and my teeth grinding while they chatter.
When I step out of it, the thoughts slowly make their way back to me.
The first, I realize as I wrap myself in a towel, is that my clothes are all in the room I claimed to be my sister’s.
Would it be too suspicious to go in and sort through my suitcases when I should have my own drawer here, in Anders’s room?
I open the door slowly so it doesn’t creak, and peek out to see Anders hunched over his desk, swiping on a tablet with an Apple pen.
There’s another smaller tablet beside him, propped up on a stand, displaying text in a font that’s thin on the top, thicker on the bottom, with wider space—a special font to help him read because of his dyslexia.
Curious, I tiptoe over. As I suspected, he’s working on a book cover. He’s on the sketching phase, so it’s just two plain doodles of bodies, and on the side, a bunch of colors in dots like a digital paint palette.
I lean in to read the text when he says, “Is this your attempt at being sneaky?”
“Oh no,” I say, “just nosy. If I wanted to, I could sort through all your things, and you’d never realize.”
He chuckles as he finishes the curve of someone’s leg. “Good to know.”
“Is that the book?” I point at the propped tablet.
“Yes,” he explains. “It’s nice to have it as a reference when I’m working on a cover.”
“Do you read the entire thing?”
“If it’s interesting enough.”
“Oh,” I tease, “so selective.”
He chuckles, then turns to face me. He stills, giving me a once-over before his gaze locks on to my face. His Adam’s apple bobs. My neck warms. He clears his throat.
“My clothes are in the other room,” I say.
“Right.” He gets up, carefully, so that our bodies don’t touch—a stark contrast from the normally easygoing way he reacts around me, and shuffles through his drawers. He pulls out a pale blue shirt and sweats. “Will this work?” His voice is this strained, polite, single tone.
“Perfectly.” My own voice sounds perky, airy, and I grab the clothes from him and change in the bathroom, slowly, trying to even out my breathing. I have to roll up the pants twice so I don’t trip on them, and the sleeves that probably stop just above Anders’s biceps fall midway down my arm.
When I come out, Anders is pulling out the thin sheet from under the comforter. He hears the door open and gathers it to his chest.
“Olive fell asleep in your room,” he says. “I’ll take the couch.”
“So much for movie night,” I say, plopping down on the side of the bed.
“What will you say you’re doing if she walks out in the middle of the night and catches you on the couch?
” The girl is too observant for her own good.
It’ll raise another red flag if she catches us sleeping separately.
It’s not a big deal if she knows, but if she relays that to Valerie or Bethany, it could bring too much suspicion on us.
Or at least make it seem like we’re in a fight when I’m trying to get close to the family.
“Okay”—he grabs a pillow and tosses it on the carpet—“I’ll take the floor.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I gesture to the mattress. “There’s plenty of space for both of us. And we’ve already slept together here.”
“Right,” he says. “When I was delirious with a fever.”
“Are you saying that the only way you’d share a bed with me is if you’re delirious?” Not to mention, he didn’t seem delirious when he wrapped himself around me. But adding that will feel way too angry-girlfriend-like, and I am just a phony.
“Of course not,” he says, looking from the floor to the bed. I can see the wheels turning as he tries to navigate this conversation.
“Unless,” I add, “you’re uncomfortable. Then I can take the floor. This is your house.”
Anders pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a frustrated sigh. I’m not sure what I’ve done to warrant it, seeing as I’m offering to sleep on the solid floor instead of him.
When I get up, I move to where he drops the pillow, and he grips my arm as I kneel.
“Lucinda,” he says, “the reason I am trying not to share a bed with you is because I can barely control myself now. You’re in my clothes, still wet from your shower, and in my bedroom.
I am a man.” The last part is said so deadpan, I can’t help but laugh despite the dots of warmth sprouting throughout my body.
“You Tarzan, me Jane.”