TWELVE
Elijah
It’s Sunday and my parents’plane was supposed to land fifteen minutes ago. I thought about texting Hartley and giving her a heads up that they’re here in town, but I changed my mind and deleted the text message at the last minute.
I’ve been avoiding her since that kiss Friday night. I spent all day yesterday and this morning at the Trading Post, making sure that the store was set for Nick, my one employee, to run next week.
All weekend, I’ve been plagued by memories of Hartley. Thoughts of Hartley holding my hand, her fingers wrapped tight around mine, or of her lips against mine. I’ve never held hands with someone before and I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it was nice. Hartley’s hand was so small in mine and it reminded me of how much bigger I am than her. Her hand was so soft and smooth against my own rough fingertips. Another difference between the two of us.
It’s more than just her hands that I keep replaying in my head. I can’t seem to stop thinking about that kiss either. No matter how hard I try.
I’ve lain awake the last two nights replaying that moment over and over again in my head. I’ve kissed a few girls before but it’s never felt like that. Like I was being wrapped in a blanket. It was like I was coming home.
I pull up in front of the airport, finding an empty spot close to the arrivals door. It doesn’t take long to spot my parents. My dad is six and a half feet tall and he towers over everyone else who is outside waiting for their ride. I wave when my mom turns and sees me, and she excitedly waves back before she nudges my dad and takes off toward my truck.
“Eli!” my mom yells as she continues to barrel toward me.
I hop out of the truck to help them with their bags as she reaches me. My mom might be thin, but she makes up for it by being energetic. She runs toward me, throwing her arms around my neck and nearly tackling me in the process.
“It’s so nice to see you, dear. You look good. Have you been eating enough? You look a little thin,” she says as she holds me at arm’s length to get a better look at me.
“Hey, son,” my dad says when he joins us, dragging both suitcases behind him. “Let’s do this at the house. It’s freezing out here,” my dad suggests, prying my mom off me and helping her up into the cab of the truck.
I help him with the bags, hefting them into the truck bed before I climb back behind the wheel and pull out into the light airport traffic. It’s about an hour back to Honey Peak and I settle in for the drive. I have a feeling that I’m about to spend the whole trip fielding questions from my mom about Hartley.
“When do we get to meet your girlfriend?” my mom asks a minute later, leaning forward in her seat in the back.
“Hi, Mom. It’s nice to see you too. How was your flight?” I say sarcastically.
That earns me a warning look from my mom in the rearview mirror and I duck my head, mumbling an apology.
“It was fine. Our layover in Chicago was a nightmare though. It’s snowing there and I thought that we were going to get snowed in or that there would be too much ice on the wings or something, but we didn’t.”
“Yeah, I heard that we’re going to get snow here over the next day or two.”
“We should meet your girlfriend tonight then. What if we get snowed in and I have to wait until the wedding? That would be awful.”
“I think Hartley has plans tonight,” I say, trying to come up with an excuse to put off them meeting for just a little bit longer.
“So, dinner tomorrow then?”
“I’ll have to ask Hartley, Mom. She’s been busy getting her bakery ready for the grand opening.”
“Well, you should be helping her with that! Maybe we can help too,” my mom tries again.
She nudges my dad and he nods dutifully.
“Of course we can help.”
“I have been helping her. I spent all last week helping her paint and set up chairs and lights.”
“Then she should take a break and join us for dinner.”
I can tell that my mom isn’t going to let this drop. I shoot my dad a pleading look but he just smiles and shrugs at me in return. He’s not going to be any help, so I hit the phone button on my steering wheel, bringing up my contact list and finding Hartley’s name.
“Before I hit dial, please do not start asking her a million questions. I promise that you will be able to ask her whatever you want when you meet her this week,” I say, looking in the rearview mirror at my mom.
She nods, reluctantly, and I know before I say “call Hartley” that this is a mistake.