Page 20 of The Art of Us

Apparently, Ireland wasn’t any different because bringing Wasden up decided it for her. “Okay.” She slipped her hand in his, and Kal’s breath caught at the immediate warmth and comfort that came from having his fingers wrapped around hers. In a way, it felt like she was trusting him with the rough calluses of her palm that came from hoisting a duffel bag into the airevery day. Even though he knew she wasn’t really trusting him with anything because she didn’t know that he knew.

“Okay, then.” He walked with her to his truck and pressed the key fob. He regretted having to drop her hand, but he had to so he could open her door and clear away the debris enough to fit another human in his truck. “Ignore the mess,” he said as he shoved aside a bunch of various papers and empty food wrappers so that Ireland wouldn’t have to sit on them when she got in. Why did he never keep his truck clean? He didn’t want Ireland to think he was a slob, but as he cast a critical eye over the front seat, the debris on the floormats and the dust on the dashboard were silent witnesses to the fact that he hadn’t spent a lot of time keeping his space clean. To be fair to him, it was too cold to deep clean the car, not that the weather excused the lack of basic upkeep. He peeked in Ireland’s direction as she slid in on the passenger’s side.

She didn’t look repulsed or even slightly bothered by the hygienic negligence. But then ... she was living in a bathroom, so maybe he should count his blessings that her standards had been reduced by her situation.

Count his blessings that she lived in a bathroom?Where had that thought come from? He peeked at her again, glad she couldn’t hear his thoughts. If she could, she would think he was the kind of heartless guy who tripped puppies and yelled obscenities at old ladies.

He hoped his need to feed her wasn’t too obvious. Looking casual about the whole thing was harder than he’d imagined. He’d spent the weekend trying to come up with ways to help her or get her to open up to him, but seriously, what could he say? “Hey, so that bathroom thing ... it sucks,amirite? Let’s talk about it.” And although he’d almost told his parents about her situation, he’d managed to keep her secret from them too—athing he felt he should get an award for doing because that was harder than he’d imagined as well.

They drove to his house in relative silence. But it wasn’t awkward like he felt like silence should probably be. Ireland seemed comfortable with the silence and, oddly, he felt comfortable too.

At Kal’s house, they both got out and went inside. He looked around the living room—white, clean, spacious—as if seeing it for the first time. They hadn’t lived there long. Not even a whole year yet. They’d bought it because they were moving his grandfather in with them and needed to make sure the space fit everyone comfortably. His mom was a hobbyist interior decorator, so the bookshelves were curated with a mix of classy, leather-bound books, Grandpa’s personal mementos, and comfortable knickknacks that Kal and his siblings had made his mom and dad growing up. His mom managed to make all of this come together in a way that looked like it belonged on the homepage ofGood Housekeeping’s website.

If anyone had ever asked him if bits of childish art and actual art could live in harmony next to each other, he probably would have said, “Not a chance.” But his mom had proved otherwise.

The perfectly structured shelves, along with the plush area rugs, the oversized sofa with the perfectly matching throw pillows, and the perfectly oversized fireplace made him suddenly feel like aperfectsnob.

He sketched another glance at Ireland, wishing that he could read thoughts. It wasn’t too much to ask to be able to read thoughts, was it? The scene before him was nothing like a bathroom in the woods. He decided then and there tonottake her on a tour to show off the library or the theater room.

“It’s a really nice house,” Ireland said. There was a quiet reverence to the comment, which probably wouldn’t have bothered Kal, except he knew the circumstances she came from.Guilt saturated every cell in his body. He’d never really thought of himself as rich before. Comfortable, maybe, but not rich. Not before this moment. And, okay, he had friends and even some family who lived in less-than-ideal circumstances, so it wasn’t like he had no understanding of people being poor. But Ireland’s situation seemed different to him somehow. His friends and family who were not as well off as he was had community and family around them to support them. They weren’t alone. Ireland was by herself in the woods.

Kal shook himself out of his thoughts and tried to smile at her. But could she see the conflict in him? Probably. He had to stop being such so ridiculous. They had needed the larger space so that Grandpa would feel okay with moving out of his old house. And his mom had wanted space for his brothers to stay when they came to visit.

“Is this your work?” Ireland pointed to the painting on the far wall. It was of a woman in a white ball gown holding a fistful of balloon strings, but instead of balloons on the other ends of the strings, there were puffy owls and one bumblebee. The background was a starry twilight sky. He’d always liked it.

“No. That’s my grandfather’s. He’s an artist. He sold most of his work over time to pay bills, but we managed to hang on to a few pieces before he could sell everything. He calls this oneTwilight Flyers. Do you want something to drink, maybe eat?”

She tilted her head back so she could see up into the vaulted ceiling and the windows that let in the warm afternoon light. “Sure.” She turned away from him and wandered over to the bookshelves, inspecting the books that were there. Her brow was furrowed in what might have been confusion.

Though he wasn’t sure why she would be confused.

“These your siblings?” She pointed to a family portrait showing off the five kids in their family.

“Yeah. I’m the youngest. They’re all moved out—either in college or married.”

“All boys?”

“Yep. My parents say they wouldn’t trade any of us for a girl, but I know they both wanted a daughter. They were glad when they started getting daughters-in-law.” Kal wished that Ireland would turn and look at him so that he could know how she felt at that moment. Which was stupid because how was he supposed to know how she felt just because they locked eyes? And yet he did feel that if he could actually see into her eyes, he would be able to know where she was at emotionally.

His mom sometimes called Kal an empath. She said that his feelings were bigger than his body, which was why she thought he fell so hard for Brell and fell so hard again when Brell dropped him. And then he seemed to never stop falling when Brell was suddenly gone. Big emotions. They weren’t exactly manly, but he was what he was. And he’d decided to embrace it a long time ago. It was fine to be both a man and be hyperemotional—though his mom said he was still her little boy and not exactly a man yet. She thought she was funny when she said things like that. He thought it was more annoying than endearing.

Ireland finally did look at him then, as if her confusion was greater than it had been when she was looking at the books.

“Right,” he said. “Sorry. I’m supposed to go get food now. You want to come with me, or do you want to hang out here?”

“I’ll come with you.” She followed him through the living room, down the short hallway, and into the kitchen.

He watched Ireland take everything in. Her head kept swiveling, from the leaded glass in the white decorator cabinets to the art on the wall to the single stained-glass window in its octagonal frame in the breakfast nook.

Yes. Guilt had settled uncomfortably over Kal’s shoulders. His life really was fire. And he’d never bothered to be grateful for it.

Kal opened the fridge and pulled out the various deli meats and cheeses that had already been sliced by their local butcher. He then pulled out the mustard, mayo, pickles, and romaine lettuce.

Ireland’s eyes had shifted from confusion to curiosity to hunger. Kal wasn’t going to lie. Having a girl look at him with that ravenous need would have been totally awesome if it had beenhimthat she needed. But she wasn’t looking at him; she was looking at the foods placed on the island in the center of his kitchen.

“What can I help with?” she asked.

“You can cut the tomato.” He pointed to the various vegetables and fruits in the bowl on the center of the island.

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