Page 9 of Unhurried Hearts

To keep from showing up at Anna’s salon the second it opens, I grab my keys and drive over to my parents’. They’ll probably be on their second cup of coffee by now. I don’t bother to change my clothes since I’ll probably end up on my back in the garage or elbow-deep in an engine anyway. Dad and I are making steady progress on the 1932 Deuce Coupe, sourcing parts when we have the time. The front yard of the rancher I grew up in stands out among the immaculate golf green lawns on the street. My mom is big into natural landscapes that attract pollinators. In spring and summer, the whole place is abuzz with hummingbirds and Monarch butterflies. Dad waves at me from the open garage, impeccably organised as always. The checkerboard floor tiles give the space that vintage look, the glossy blacksquares reflecting the bright overhead lighting that allows him to work any time of day. He’s always been a night owl. Rather than tossing and turning and waking Mom he’d get up and work on projects. How many times did I pad down the hall after him, slinking into the garage in the hopes that he’d smile and welcome me to stay? The times he did wave me in were special. I’d perch on a chrome and leather barstool, handing him tools and trying to remember every step.

“Morning,” I say, skimming the tips of my fingers over the curves of the Deuce Coupe.

“No trips this weekend?”

I suck my teeth. “Nah, went for a run and washed the Jeep.”

“It’ll rain now. You watch.”

I laugh at his very dad-like prediction.

“How’s work going?”

“Busy. We’re booked out forever, it feels like.”

“So busy you can’t fit in a haircut?”

I glance at my watch. Five minutes. That’s how long I’ve been here, and how long I managed to go without recalling the weight of her body in my arms. Jesus, if I let her cut my hair will I ever be able to get her out of my mind?

“Yeah, I’m gonna get one. Can I help?” I lift my chin at the Deuce Coupe.

“Always. Grab me those pliers.”

I barely need to look to find them. Muscle memory and Dad’s meticulous organization work together to aid me. We fall into a rhythm beneath the hood, sunlight creeping across the garage floor as morning slips away.

“Hey, Teddy?” I hear Mom behind the door that leads to the house.

She’s the only one who calls him that.

“In here, Sam.”

Where else would he be?

“Oh!” Mom smiles as she peeks into the garage.

Her blonde and silver curls are piled on top of her head in a bun, framed by her reading glasses.

“Hi, sweetie. You want coffee? It’s hot inside.”

“Sure. I’ll come in and get it. You’re on your own, old man.” I pat my dad on the back before washing my hands with the orange degreasing soap at the sink in the corner.

Slipping out of my sneakers, I head toward the kitchen at the back of the house. The space screams eighties, oak everything from when they bought the house before my sister and I were born.

I choose a mug from the cupboard over the coffee maker, a simple glass carafe with one button.

“You want to come to my next ivy pull?”

Mom isn’t just passionate about planting local flora, she also coordinates groups of volunteers to get together and eradicate invasive species. One of the most notorious is the English Ivy which essentially sucks the life out of healthy trees by blocking their sunlight.

“Could do.” I sip my sweet coffee. “Let me know the date.”

She ruffles my hair. “This is much longer than normal.”

Annoyance slips into my tone as I duck away. “I’m aware.”

Between my own desires and everyone’s comments on the state of my hair, it’s like the universe is forcing me towards Anna. I’m not exactly kicking and screaming.

“Sorry, sorry. Have you heard from your sister?”

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