Page 3 of Yours

He’s here.

Thankfully, I remembered to change out of my skirt and sweater. My peers at boarding school always dressed up. It’s the same at college, and it’s become a habit, especially when I travel. Got to put my best foot forward. I hurry to the door, unable to stop fretting about the shirt I chose or the fact I’ve tied my hair up in a messy knot. Will he think I’m a prude because my jeans aren’t the tight kind so many girls in town wear? Should I have unbuttoned another of the buttons on my blouse?You’re doing it again, I think as I reach for the door handle.

“Hey,” he says, standing on the front porch in a teal-blue t-shirt, canvas coat, and jeans. His dark hair is still damp from a shower, and his skin is freshly shaven. My knees practically wobble as I step back to let him in.

“Hey,” I reply.

Thank goodness he doesn’t try to hug me or I’m afraid I might cling to him.

I notice the pattern of a tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his t-shirt. That’s new, and I wonder what it stands for. I know he got kicked out of his house in high school. Some kind of fight with his dad. I guess he got into some trouble after that, and my dad pulled him out. That’s the kind of person my dad is.

“Smells good,” Brian says, slipping out of his coat. He lays it over the side of the couch, and I have the feeling it’s a motion he’s done a lot.

Sometimes when I call, Brian is here. He’s probably spent more time in this house than I have in the past five years. I’m glad—I don’t want my dad to be lonely.

“It’s just a simple stew and bread,” I say.

“That what they’re teaching you at that fancy school? Baking and cooking?” He’s teasing, but it still bites. Same old Brian.

“I had to genetically modify the basil and clone the lamb first,” I say, throwing it right back at him. Actually, I’m an English major. Science is okay, but I prefer the world of literature. My writing professor claimed my latest essay on existentialism showed “great promise.” Originally, I thought I might be a math major, but then we got into theoretical and I just couldn’t stick it out. Books have always been there for me, stable and unwavering.

He grants me a smile, but it fades. “How’s the old man?” he asks, jerking his head in the direction of the hallway and my dad’s room.

“He’s resting. You can go check if he wants dinner in bed or if he prefers to come join us.”

Brian nods and heads down the hallway, giving me a perfect look at the backside of his muscular frame. His jeans fit his physique perfectly, not too tight, not too baggy, so I can imagine the chiseled body beneath.

Spinning away before he can catch me drooling, I set the table.

A few minutes later, I’m ladling out soup when my dad and Brian exit the bedroom. My heart fills with gratitude at the sight of Brian helping my dad shuffle down the hallway. Where did this caring side of Brian come from? I see he’s helped Dad change his shirt, too. My dad’s even combed his hair and I wonder if Brian had something to do with this, too.

I finish slicing the bread and setting it on the table with the butter by the time Brian gets my dad settled into his chair.

“Looks great, Darce,” he says, catching my eye.

“Thanks,” I say to stifle my gasp. I had forgotten the nickname he used to tease me with.

“Lovely having you home,” my dad says, pulling his napkin slowly to his lap.

I go to kiss the top of his head. “I’m glad to be here,” I say. “And I’m glad you’re okay.”

My dad ignores this, so I sit. Even though we’re not religious, we say grace, just a quick thanks, something we’ve always done. I see the surprise in Brian’s eyes, but he doesn’t say anything.Great, I think,one more thing for him to tease me about.

Dad and Brian chat about the shop, which cars need what repair and what bills he should make sure to pay. My mind drifts, but Brian’s got a hold on me. I try not to gape at him, but it’s hard. It’s like he’s transmitting some kind of signal, and I’m the receiver.

“So, how’s school?” Brian asks me, taking a bite of soup.

“What?” I ask, then realize how stupid that sounds. Where is my brain? “Uh, it’s good,” I say, though this is not true. The only good things are my classes. Otherwise, college is just a continuation of boarding school. A lot of snotty kids flashing their parent’s money. One of my roommates last year had a gold Rolex, and got picked up in her family’s private jet every other weekend to fly to Palm Beach. I’m fine with kids having money, but most of them are rude, or, worse, slobs. But whatever, I’m getting an amazing education I’m sure I’ll use somehow to save the world or make my own money, lots of it.

“What’s Vermont like?” he asks.

“Well, in the winter, they have to build tunnels through the snow so we can get between the buildings, so that’s interesting,” I say even though that doesn’t really answer his question.

“What do you do for fun?” he asks. “Are there sports or clubs?”

“Yeah,” I say brightly. “Pretty much any kind of club you can imagine. I was on the knitting club last year,” I say, but I immediately regret it.Knitting club?If my knockoff-brand jeans don’t make me look like a total dork, knitting club will. “And ultimate frisbee,” I add, even though I technically only played for a month. I hadn’t realized how…physical the game was—people crashing into each other all the time. A girl from my team injured her knee so bad she was on crutches for two months. Try walking on icy paths and through blizzards with those.

“Cool,” he says.

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