Pretty Thing (Naughty Things 1)

I frown and nod. “I’ve missed you too and—”

But then we’re interrupted by his father poking his head out the door. “Coming inside?” he asks.

Aiden looks at him for a second, then tugs on my hand and says, “Yeah, we’re coming.”

My parents are already here, sitting in the conference room holding hands. They look down at our hands, and Aiden and I both instinctively pull apart. Like we were just caught doing something wrong.

My mother smiles at me and motions to the chair next to her. The conference room is small and so is the table, so Aiden takes the seat across from me, next to my father.

Aiden and I trade an apprehensive stare and then his father begins.

In the end, it’s mostly what we expect. Aiden gets the shop, I get Kyle’s Jeep and a bunch of stuff from when we were kids, and my parents get his little house a few blocks over. But we also each get something else.

“A phone number?” my father asks.

“It’s some kind of app,” Aiden’s dad says. “Called Dead Notes. I know, terrible name. But Kyle thought it was cool.”

Aiden huffs out a laugh. “He would.”

“What is it?” my mom asks.

“You leave a message for your loved ones and it’s connected to a phone number. They can call it whenever they want and hear your voice. So Kyle made one for each of you.” He passes us each an envelope. “It’s in there.”

“What do they say?” I ask.

“I don’t know, Kali,” Mr. Edwards says. “He didn’t share that with me.”

All five of us just kinda look at each other, and then Mr. Edwards is saying, “Well, that’s it. Anyone have any objections? Or questions?”

“Nope,” I say. And everyone echoes the same.

Mr. Edwards stands up, which is our cue to also stand, which we do. And then everything gets awkward.

Because now what? That’s it, I guess. The funeral is over, the will has been read, and Kyle is officially gone, so there’s nothing left to do.

“Do you want to come back to the house?” my mom asks.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I just want to go for a walk, if that’s OK?”

My parents each kiss me on the cheek and we promise to get together soon.

It’s what we do and say every time. And every time it’s a lie. Because I just go home and do my thing.

A few minutes later Aiden and I are walking in the general direction of the shop, my parents are on their way home, and Aiden’s dad is presumably back to work.

“So…” Aiden says. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“Your Jeep.”

“Oh,” I say, chuckling. “Well… whatever you want to do with it, is fine with me.”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “OK.” But then he stops and takes both my hands in his. “I don’t know why this is so hard to say, it just is. But I feel like this could be my last chance, you know? So I have to say it.” He takes another deep breath and then, on the exhale, he says, “I don’t want you to leave. Don’t leave, Kali. Don’t go home tonight. Just stay with me.”

Everything about this moment is honest. The way he struggles to put his feelings into words. The way his words make me feel as he says them. The seemingly endless, awkward moment of silence as he waits for my answer. And I wish I could say what he wants to hear, but I can’t.

Still, there is another option.

“I have to work brunch tomorrow. It’s the weekend and we open at ten. So I have to be there early.” His face, his expression—it’s so sad I want to kiss him right here, right now. In the middle of town. “You can come home with me though,” I say, offering up my alternative option. “If you want to, that is. You could stay the weekend with me, Aiden. I’ll be home by four tomorrow and then—”

“Yes,” he says, pulling me into a hug. “Yes. I’d love that.”

I hug him back. And for the first time since learning of Kyle’s death I feel… OK. Maybe not good, but OK is better than filled with despair and sadness.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN – AIDEN

We take her car and ride into the city together. I like that idea because it basically means she’s stuck with me for the weekend. And even if we do get into another fight—which I don’t think we will, but just in case—she will have to spend another two hours with me to drive me home. And then think about her actions for another two hours when she drives back.

I smile at that just thinking about it. Call that plotting, or scheming if you want. But I call it strategy.

“What are you smiling about?” Kali asks, just as we pull into the parking garage for her building.