Page 19 of Something Like Sunflowers

I know pretty much nothing about cars…internally, so to speak. You know, engines and gears and stuff. But I know a ton about color hues. And the shade of pink coating my pretty little ride is Dragon Fruit Sparkle, a limited-edition color that happens to match a real nail polish color available in the Dicon Nails summer collection.

People can call me a ditzy fashion doll all they want—and they have—but I love that I can match my nails to my Jeep, or my Jeep to my shoes, for that matter, and I don’t care who thinks it’s stupid.

My brother never cares what anyone thinks of him, and whenever I feel down on myself for being too girly or too…I don’t know, too me, I remember that about him.

But when I think of him, I think of Hunter.

Just about always.

“I just don’t understand why he must pop into my life all these years later and mess with the one thing I want. He doesn’t even like fashion! So self-centered.”

Shana chokes a bit over the phone, but it doesn’t sound like she’s eating. Hmm.

“You don’t agree?”

“Um,” she starts awkwardly, “I do agree that it’s crazy he popped back into your life and all, it’s just…”

“Shana, just spit it out. Rip the Band-Aid off and tell me how it’s my fault.”

“Devyn, stop.” She sighs like I’m exhausting her. People do that often around me.

“Nothing is your fault.”

“No, I’m sure it is. It usually is.”

The people in my life are always telling me the things I’m doing wrong. But what about everyone else? Yes, I left. But I came back. After a shitty fucking year, I might add. And they can think they know what went down all they want, but nobody ever points fingers at their own faults. Where were any of them when I returned and needed love and hope and home?

I slam on my brakes as I realize I’m at a stop sign. It’s a new one that never used to be there, and it caught me totally off guard. This is Mullins Road, named after Albert Mullins, the town founder who emerged here in 1922 and built the first convenience store off the main road.

Mullins Road was always a straight through with a yield sign on the cross street. I could have caused an accident with the car in front of me at the new four-way stop if I’d been any less aware.

“Are you okay?!” Shana yells into her phone. I must have screamed and not realized it. For a second, there, I was gone, encased in a memory I’ve buried as far down as it will go.

“I’m fine!” I say, taking a few deep breaths. “I’ve been gone for longer than I realized.” I finally pull forward, slower now. “When did they put a four-way stop at Mullins?”

“Um, six years ago?” she muses. She can’t even remember. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve been back home. Shana and I have seen each other only three times since then, and every time, she’s come to me. Because I’m a terrible person. Again, the realization hits me of what I need to work on in life.

The leaves are grasping at orange and pink, because it’s early September and school’s already begun in Pine Forrest. I smile as Shana goes on about something I should really be paying attention to as a new and improved, non-bitchy person, but I’m not. I’m thinking about how it is back home this time of year. Spring chickens will finally be laying cartons of eggs, rodeos will be in full swing every weekend, and the Sugar Stable will be the place to go on a Friday night after football games for some shitty burgers and a strawberry shake.

These are the reasons I miss home.

“Can you hear me?” Shana shouts. “I don’t know if your phone is breaking up, or you’re just doing that daydreaming thing you do. Did you hear me ask where you’re staying? I’ll come by and get you later for drinks so we can catch up in person. There’s some stuff I think you should know, Dev.”

I pause, mulling that over. But before I can even process, my mind snags on what she said before. About where I’d be staying. I’m five minutes from her doorstep, but I never asked her.

I just assumed.

Oh, my gosh, I really am a self-centered bitch.

“Um, I was going to stay with you?”

“Oh,” she says. That’s all. Just oh.

Shit.

I look in my back seat. I didn’t exactly pack light. I thought I’d have Shana’s whole guest room to stash my stuff for a few months. Does she not want me to stay with her?

I should have asked.

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