Page 38 of Advice from a Sunflower

She gapes, her eyes wide with disbelief. “And? What did you say?”

“I didn’t say much. He asked right before I left to come here. It wasn’t fair, really.”

“So, you never talked about wanting to move in with him before? And when he finally brings it up, you bail?” She watches me with a look that screams "I told you so." I ignore it, fidgeting with the clothes on the rack in front of me to avoid her stare and end the conversation.

She was right, though, and that’s the problem I kept running into with Brad. I make up romances for a living and I couldn’t seem to find all those fluffy feelings with him that I write about in all my stories. Or with anyone, for that matter.

At least, anyone but Eli. But that was an eternity ago, and this new version of Eli is one hundred percent off limits.

Marnie doesn't bring my failure of a relationship with Brad up again. We finish with our clothing and I pick out a few new outfits for the girls. I noticed the other day that their clothes were looking a little threadbare, especially Ally’s. When we check out, I insist the cashier put everything on one bill, which earns a lot of pushback from Marnie, but she eventually gives in. On the way home, we pick up the girls and quickly whip up something for them to eat while they model their new clothes for us.

It’s such a simple thing. Just a quiet night in with my favorite people in my world, but it ends up being one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time. When the girls settle down and head up to bed, leaving Marnie and me alone in the living room to wind down and watch TV, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’m making the right choice by staying.

Chapter 19

Eli

“Eli, clean up this mess. Your father should be home any minute,” Ma bellows up the stairs from her recliner in the living room.

She doesn't know I'm sitting in the kitchen on the other side of the wall from her, not upstairs in my room. Well, she knew ten minutes ago, when she came in to grab a glass of water. She just doesn't remember.

Right now, she's stuck in a time that's long since passed. I never really know for certainwhenshe goes to, but it usually sounds like something from when I was in middle school. Mostly because Dad didn't bother coming home for dinner in high school. Or anything, really.

“I'm in here, Ma,” I respond, not bothering to take my eyes off the spreadsheet I've been staring at for an hour straight on my work laptop.

She stumbles into the doorway, her face twisted in surprise.

“Oh, I thought you were out at the Scott's house,” she tries to recover, as if that explains why she was yelling upstairs for me. She walks toward the Keurig to brew a cup of coffee, but I reach to grab the pod from her before she pops it in, gently reminding that it's nine at night and she'll be up for hours if she drinks that.

I never understood how her mind could play such dirty tricks on her. I'm here, standing right in her face in my late twenties, yet she somehow only sees the teenage boy that her memory wants her to see.

“Dad called and said it'll be a late one. Looks like it's just you and me tonight. Want to watch that new singing show, American Idol?”

I shake my head at her slowly, taking my seat back in front of the laptop. “No thanks, Ma. I have a lot to do tonight.”

“That's a good boy, working hard on your homework. Don't stay up too late obsessing, now. I know that Scott girl is giving you a run for your money.” She winks, abandoning the coffee mission to go back into the living room.

She's never liked Mouse or Marnie. At first, she thought I should have been playing with other boys my age, not with the girls next door. When we got older and entered high school, she worried I'd miss out on certain experiences if I tied myself down to those two girls.

She was talking about my virginity. My own mother was worried that I'd miss out on taking all the bases with a girl if I stuck myself with the Scott sisters, whose mother pushed the Bible onto anyone with ears. It didn't bode well with Ma's sordid lifestyle and Denise made it very clear that she'd always be watching us around her precious gems. Apparently, she was the only one allowed to mistreat them. As if Ma drinking a couple of beers a night would corrupt their innocent little minds.

The joke was on her. Marnie was the first of our class to give it up and while that ship had sailed for me long before the night with Mouse, she still ended up shattering me the night she handed over her precious flower, not the other way around.

The mention of her has me thinking back to our dinner, despite my best attempts to shove it back into the depths of my brain to never be thought of again. Her rental car is still parked in front of Marnie’s house. I noticed it as I pulled into the driveway after work and my chest instantly tightened at the sight. I want her to be gone. I want her to run back to whatever place she calls home and stay as far away from The Hollow as she can, just like she had done before.

I don’t need the constant reminder of our terrible failure of a night when I couldn’t get a handle on my emotions. And I certainly don’t want the truth of what could have been dangled in front of my face as I float through this miserable existence. She’s overstaying her welcome.

Then again, I want the chance to get to her the way she's gotten to me. I want to make good on my promise. I want to taste her all over again. To bring her back over the edge and watch her fall. Judging by the fact that she's still here, she must want that, too.

***

Emma makes sure to stop me in the store on my way home from work today to pry any information she can about Mouse out of me. She’s been jealous of her since the moment she dug her pointy talons into me and probably long before that. That jealousy is part of the reason Mouse got away from me.

“So, how long is Mouse going to be in town?” she casually asks, not even bothering with a greeting.

One minute I'm alone in the dairy aisle, the next she's walking beside me, her shrill voice piercing my ears.

I shrug my shoulders and grab a gallon out of the cooler, not bothering with words. This woman always takes words and twists them into something else.

---