Page 55 of No More Love Songs

Time flies, and dusk is out to meet us when we leave the Scrap and Paste, each of us carrying our own little paper bag filled with our creations. Having sat with the girls, I’ve had plenty of opportunity to gush over their beautiful new frames, while Kit has continued to deny us all the results of his crafting efforts.

“Didn’t turn out, did it?” I try a new angle at gaining access to the contents of his bag.

“If you think I’m going to show you what I made just to prove my crafting skills aren’t as lacking as you’re implying, you’re wrong.” He takes my bag from my hand and moves it to the one he’s holding his own, along with my bags of books, before he brings his palm back to meet mine.

It’s such a simple thing, to hold hands while we walk, and yet there’s so much comfort and contentment in it. It’s one of the things I miss most of all when I’m alone and can’t get enough of now that Kit always seems to be walking beside me.

“It was worth a try.” I laugh to myself, secretly wondering if I’ll ever find out what he made, and whether or not it will bother me forever if the answer is no. I like knowing things, obviously. But, more than that, I like knowing things about Kit. And the more I know, the more I crave to learn about him.

The drive home is longer than it was on the way into town because we detour to drop Rat off at her house. Once it’s just the three of us, the dynamic inside Kit’s truck changes. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

“Anyone else notice that Mavis has been wearing perfume, lately?” Ari asks, having moved to the middle seat of the backrow, allowing her to lean forward, one hand on each of our seats, and stick her head between ours while she talks. “Normally, she just smells like baby powder and whatever food she’s been cooking. Yesterday, I swear, she smelled like flowers.”

“Your cousin Tara signed her up on some online dating app,” Kit explains, the underlying chuckle present as always in his voice. “I don’t think she’s gone out with anyone yet, but she’s definitely prepping for it. Caught her looking up all the current texting acronyms the other day. I told her to just ask you, but she just shook her head and walked away muttering under her breath how ridiculous all of it is and how stupid it is that she has to stop spelling entire words and forming sentences to look smarter.”

I laugh. “I actually agree with her on that one.”

Ari just sighs dramatically. “Your generation just doesn’t get it.”

“Actually, I’m starting to worry about all the things your generation isn’t going to get. A well-rounded vocabulary, for one,” Kit chimes in. “It’s bad enough you guys can’t bother to spell shit out, but half the time I hear you talking, you’re not even saying entire words anymore.”

“Like when?” Ari demands haughtily.

“Like when you say someone LOLed so hard. What the hell is that? LOLed is not a word.”

Now I’m cracking up. “Yes! My niece and nephew do that too! I’ve started my own non-word phrases to make fun of them.”

“Oh, my God, please tell me you’re joking,” Ari groans.

“Definitely not.” Though I am joking when I use my made-up acronyms as words.

“Let’s hear ‘em.” Kit’s enthusiasm is so stupidly adorable, I nearly forget all the clever crap I came up with to torment my niece and nephew.

But only nearly.

“Um, my favorite by far is when I’m KIRing. You know, keeping it real.”

Kit laughs.

Ari retreats to hide her head in the backseat.

“Then there’s also, I OOCed, perhaps better known as overdosed on coffee. I use that one quite a lot.”

“As one would expect from you,” Kit teases.

“Oh, and, whenever possible, I like to tell the teens in my world to stop BADing. Being a downer. Or, it can also be like SAD, as in such a downer. Either one will get a solid eye roll response, complete with a whine of frustrated disapproval.” I laugh. “It’s quite satisfying.”

“It’s child abuse,” Ari corrects me sternly from the backseat. “You’re totally torturing them.”

“Yes,” I agree. “But I do it out of love.” I shake my head. “No, wait. I do it for entertainment.”

“I think that’s as good a reason as any,” Kit adds.

“You’re both horrible.” But she’s already laughing again, so it’s hard to take offense to that. “Unrelated, Juliana just texted. Her dad decided last minute to show up for his Saturday divorce-designated- daughter-time, and so now she’s stuck at his house for the night and is wondering if I can come and keep her company.” She pulls herself up to be closer to us again. “You could just drop me off on the way. I don’t even need any stuff because he keeps spare toothbrushes in the bathroom and makes her wash her clothes every night so she can wear them again the next day. I think he has a real fear of her accidentally moving in on the rare occasion she’s over, because he doesn’t let her bring anything.”

“Yeah, I remember Juliana’s dad,” Kit grumbles. “He’s a real peach.” Then he exhales his frustrations over her friend’s father’s shitty parenting skills, and adds, “And yes, I can swing you by there to keep her company tonight.”

She smacks a big kiss on his cheek before plopping properly back into her own seat. “Thank you!”

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