Boy? Yeah, no. There’s nothing boyish about Reagan. Except for the occasional regrettable Anchorman reference. Notice how I also don’t mention that the boy who got me the job is also the one who played a part in my ankle being injured.
Speaking of the man/boy, I step outside my dorm to find him waiting for me in the Jeep, crooked smile already in place. It’s Thursday night and I’m headed to study group, the one he insisted he drive me to.
He jumps out and opens the passenger side door for me. I wasn’t aware that men still did that sort of stuff, and I gotta say, I love it.
I mean, I’m all for women’s lib. Hell, I’m as liberated as they come, but chivalry should never ever die. Let’s go ahead and put that in the Constitution. Only a monster would object.
“I gotta go, Mom,” I say to her while he looks down at me with smiling green eyes. “My ride is here.”
“All right. Call me tomorrow. Love you!”
“Love you too.”
I get in, slip my cracked iPhone into my messenger bag. The crutches go in the back and the Jeep pulls away from the curb.
“My stepmom,” I say because after our talk on Saturday I know he’s wondering.
“Do you speak to her every day?”
“Sometimes.” Knowing what a delicate subject this is I don’t chase any of the questions I’m dying to ask him.
He nods, looking pensive and a little forlorn. My heart knots, a painful reminder that things are rarely what they seem. That even the ones we assume are living the life we covet, without a care in the world, are dealing with their own little shopping cart full of issues.
I’m ashamed to say I’m one of those people falsely assuming his life was perfect because he’s beautiful and privileged. Because his parents are still together. Knowing what I know now I wouldn’t trade places with him for anything.
“You’re close, huh?”
“She raised me.” A smile stretches my face every time I recall the story of how they met. “When I was seven I got the flu. It was really bad––my temperature was close to 104. Dad took me to the ER and Nancy was the emergency room nurse that night. She took care of me.”
Reagan’s attention shifts between me and the road. “After I was sent home, once the fever broke, Nancy showed up at the house and unleashed hell on my father, shouting about how irresponsible it was for him to wait till my fever was out of control to seek help. He said he fell in love with her that second. Two years later they were married.”
A strong gust of hot air invades the car and Reagan’s hair gets ruffled. It’s been like this the last few weeks. Crazy hot winds picking up now and then. Mine is literally standing on end. I’m forced to hold it down with both hands.
“The Santa Anas,” he says as if reading my mind. I look over and find him smiling at me. “The hot wind.” He swirls his index finger.
I let go of my hair, close my eyes, and let it have its way with me. It stands instantly upright, like I stuck my finger in a socket. I’m sure I look like an idiot but it makes me laugh, a burst of pure joy emanating from my chest that can’t be contained any more than the wind can.
“Nice hair,” he mocks with a teasing smile.
“Thanks, Flipper.”
“I thought we established that it’s not a dolphin.”
“You’re not going to like me saying this, but you’re more dolphin than shark,” I happily point out. He’s always perky and upbeat, likes to socialize, loves all the attention. He’s a dolphin––whether he likes it or not.
He levels narrowed green vengeance on me, offset by a sly smile. “I’m the top of the food chain, babe. I’m all shark.”
“That’s adorable. Especially coming from someone that wears a swim cap like my nana used to wear. Except yours has those darling cinnamon buns over the ears. Like Princess Leia.”
He fights his amusement. “Those cinnamon buns are meant to protect my ears from all the rough, manly activity. And I’m tellin’ on you. I’m tellin’ all the guys you said that.”
The Jeep comes to an abrupt stop. Only then do I realize we’re parked in front of the apartment building where my study group is being held. Scanning the parking lot, I see people I recognize from class pouring out of a car.
My attention returns to Reagan and I find him watching me. His smile melts. His expression grows serious like he rarely ever is. I rake my hair down and get my fingers snagged on a few knots. Unfortunately I’m not the comb-carrying type.
Mental note: purchase comb. Crazy winds are afoot.
“Thank you for driving me.” I look for some sign of what’s going on in his mind and finding the door shut.