Her gaze darts to mine, then away. I can almost read her thoughts—she won’t be here long enough for that.
Like a popped balloon, the moment deflates. The sounds of the store drift in right along with the pain that still gnaws beneath my ribs.
Laughter draws our gaze to the other women, hovering over the berries along with one of the deputy sheriffs in uniform, holding what looks like a wrapped sandwich. Both of Laiyla’s friends are beautiful in their own way. The blonde is the kind that make men trip over their own feet. The brunette, her hair darker than Laiyla’s, is more of the strong, silent, sexy type.
“Violation of penal code section 484a and 488 PC,” the cop is saying, his tone easy. The meetup doesn’t look like much of a true confrontation.
“I’m sampling the fruit,” the blonde woman insists, and I can clearly hear the flirt in her tone. “It’s common practice all over the world. Believe me, I’ve been just about everywhere, and I can assure y
ou there’s no stigma over testing the ripeness of fruit before it’s purchased. It’s a well-documented and accepted cultural norm.”
Sounds like she might have actually come from Tibet after all.
“Good Lord,” Laiyla says. “I can’t leave them alone for a second.”
“He’s new here,” I say, “but so far, he seems like a pretty good guy.” When her gaze returns to me, I know I need to move on. “I guess we’ll be seeing each other. At least until you leave. Again.”
When we say goodbye, there’s something lingering in her eyes. I’m afraid to let myself imagine what it might be, because I already want to identify the wispy shadow as longing or disappointment or something equally detrimental to my emotional health.
But between walking away from Laiyla and getting to my parents’ house, my mind torments me by mixing up today’s images with past memories. By the time I reach the house, already overflowing with family, I’m emotionally fried, and irritable that I’m emotionally fried. Pissed I’m letting her get under my skin. I’m also feeling a bit bipolar, swinging from anger to longing and back while suffering all the less intense emotions in between. And, yeah, that pisses me off too.
I’ve always thought that maybe if I’d been the one to break up, losing her wouldn’t have plagued me. That maybe what bothered me more than her walking away was the fact that she’d taken the control and done it first. And here I am, twelve fucking years later, still feeling out of control.
I grab dessert from the passenger’s seat and climb the stairs to the home I built for my parents five years ago when I returned to the States. The house is boisterous with kids laughing and running, sisters and brothers-in-law talking, family milling in the kitchen. Dinner smells amazing, and my stomach rolls, reminding me that I haven’t had anything other than two beers all day. Seeing Laiyla stole my appetite for lunch, and now, even starving, I’ll have a hard time working up interest in dinner.
I shake it off, determined to enjoy my family. My oldest niece, Kayla, runs up to me and hugs my legs. I ruffle her hair in greeting, and she runs back into the fray with her cousins. I offer handshakes to my brothers-in-law, hugs to my sisters and my dad, a kiss for my mom. My two-year-old nephew, Will, reaches toward me with both hands, and I swing him into a seat in my arms and wander toward my dad, who’s talking to my oldest sister, Lucy.
“Was that strawberry shortcake I saw you leave in the kitchen?” Dad asks.
I nod. “Peak of the season. Should be good.”
“Looking forward to it.”
Lucy turns her sharp blue eyes on me. “Have you seen her?”
I frown, not sure what she’s talking about at first. Then I roll my eyes. “This town, I swear.”
“That’s not an answer,” Lucy says.
“What difference does it make?”
“I don’t want her hurting you again.”
I can’t help but wonder if she’s more worried about me or herself. Lucy and Laiyla were friends from the start, but Laiyla didn’t keep in contact with Lucy after she left for Paris. In fact, she didn’t keep in contact with anyone but her grandfather after she left for Paris. I’ve always believed that Lucy’s ire toward Laiyla partially stemmed from her own issues. Valid, but separate. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m all grown up now, Luc. I can take care of myself.”
She huffs, looks at my dad and shakes her head. “No matter how hard I try to teach him, he just can’t get the hang of lying well.”
That makes my dad laugh. “Leave him alone, Lucy.”
Lucy has never learned to leave anything alone. I spot a bottle of bubbles on a side table. “Look, Will, bubbles.”
I escape Lucy as she scowls at me and take Will out on the porch to blow bubbles and watch him pop them all, sometimes one by one, sometimes with one big sweep of his hand.
After ten minutes, Dad comes out. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Okay.” To Will I say, “Last one.”
He dances around until every bubble is gone, then runs into the house, and I cap the bottle.