38. Liam
I’ve been to a fair number of funerals in my life, but Mac’s is sad in a way none of the others were. His parents and brothers are devastated, while Cassie is in shock still, pale, and absent.
“The doctor gave her something,” Brenda says when we reach Mac’s parents’ house. “Her mom says she’s been like this for days.”
I blow out a breath. “It’s got to be rough. I don’t think she ever even dated anyone else.”
Brenda looks around and leans in, her voice lowering. “You know, not now, obviously, but in a few months, you should ask her out. She’s exactly what you always said you wanted—she’s sweet, she’s cute, she’s dying to have kids.”
I stare at Brenda for a long moment. First, because I can’t believe she’s brought this up an hour after Mac’s funeral. Second, because…did I say that? I guess it’s possible. But it was sort of like choosing a favorite country before I’d visited many of them. It’s as if I’d said, “I want a tropical island” and continued visiting only tropical islands, though I was bored by the view and immediately sick of the heat every single time.
Now I know exactly what I’m looking for. And it’s not at all what I’d thought. “I don’t think so, Brenda.”
She smiles. “Ah, JP mentioned you’ve got a crush.”
I allow her to think it, though what I want to say is it’s so much more.
I take the guys to Beck’s after the wake and we have a somber beer in Mac’s honor. It still hasn’t really hit any of us that he won’t be returning next week with his dopey grin and those fucking Steelers jerseys he wore every fall just to piss us off.
And I don’t want to be here for even a minute of it. I tell them I’m calling it a night, and then I drive straight to Main Street because I have a feeling she’s still at work.
I unlock the store. “Put the scissors down, Em,” I call. “It’s just me.”
She walks out from the back, smiling but wary. “How was it?” she asks quietly.
“Hard.”
She steps into me and lets her head rest against my chest. “You’d probably be better off with a girl who’s pleasant and actually good in situations like this. Might I interest you in a sympathy blow job? I have no idea what to say to make it better.”
I laugh and cradle her head in my hands.
I don’t want a Cassie, and I’ve never wanted a Cassie. My favorite country, as it turns out, is one that goes from arctic to fiery without any warning. It threatens to kill the local rooster and babies the living hell out of a dog it purports to dislike and is awkward when it can’t take charge of the situation. I doubt it’s ever expressed love for another human being, but I suspect it could grow to love me if I just had more time.
And I don’t, but I’m not going to think about that now.
“Let’s go for a ride.”
She glances up at me, her eyes uncertain once more. “You mean just…riding? With no destination? Or is going for a ride some small-town euphemism for especially graphic sex acts?”
I kiss her forehead. “I just meant riding. Though given how open you sound to the idea of especially graphic sex acts, I’m probably going to suggest one on the way.”
We walk out to my truck. I help her climb in and then I turn toward the mountains and crank up the radio. I roll down the windows and she smiles as her hair starts to whip in the breeze.
“I feel like I’m in a country music video,” she says.
I reach out to twine her fingers with mine. “You love it,” I reply, and when she doesn’t argue, when I see her fighting a smile, I feel like a kid whose crush has finally looked his way.
That’s when I realize something I should have figured out long ago—it’s not a fucking crush at all. I’m head over heels in love for the first time in my life.
With a girl who’s only here for another few weeks.