Page 28 of Here's to Now

I’ve been walking around all day with my shoulders straight, smugness pouring from me. Why? Because I finally used my sneaky ninja ways for good.

Not only was I able to scribble out another note right under her nose, but I escaped the apartment undetected again. I feel like I’m testing my luck, but it kind of feels good to push it so much and get away with it.

Is it sad something so trivial makes me feel so tall? Probably, but fuck it. I’ll take it anyway.

It’s been a week since I met Haley. I’ve spent four nights at her apartment, each one of them ending with us tightly wrapped together, whispering goodnight. I try not to think about it during the day, but sometimes the thoughts creep in, and I begin to wonder what this all is. Then I remember I’m not thinking, and that’s okay. I like spending time with her and I don’t want to think too much on it and make it awkward. So, I’m going to just continue to…be.

Yeah. That sounds nice.

I wipe my hands on the oil rag and push away from my black Civic, thankful once again that I work in a mechanic shop where I can change my oil conveniently instead of crawling under my car in the middle of a parking lot or paying someone else to do it. The shop’s been closed for over an hour now, but I stayed behind to a) avoid going back to my craphole apartment, b) get this way overdue oil change done, and c) be alone. Option A holds the most appeal, but I can’t argue that option C doesn’t have its strong points. The loner in me loves the silence, craves it even. I think some of that has to do with the fact that I was an only child for ten years before not one, not two, but four siblings came along in rapid succession. My entire life changed after Gia, my oldest younger sister, was born. The moment they brought home the little pink bundle of cries and odd smells,Ichanged. Most kids would react to a younger sibling with love and acceptance.

I didn’t.

Think of the exact opposite. That was me. I resented her. I resented the noise. I embraced solitude and silence.

Do I sound like an ass? I must—I didn’t even want my own sister. Fuck. I was such a little shit back then.

I roll my shoulders once and shake out the tension in my arms. It’s amazing how one simple thought can lead to an unwelcomed slew of them and do an entire one-eighty on your mood. Why do we let ourselves get so wrapped up in shit we can’t change? Why do we torture ourselves with the what-ifs? Or maybe that’s just me. It wouldn’t surprise me if I were the only fucked up one.

Continuing to amble around my work space, killing time before my shift at Harold’s and pushing all my dark thoughts away, I pick up my loose tools with one hand and check my phone with the other. Smiling gleefully, I see a text from “Nikki” waiting for me.

Nikki: Thank you for my note…I guess.

I laugh as I think back to the short note I snuck in this morning.

Hales,

(I can call you that, right? I’m going to.)

You snore. It’s slightly annoying.

Your almost-friend,

Gaige

Me: You’re welcome. Took at least two minutes to come up with.

Nikki: It was very eloquent.

I chuckle, about to respond with something equally eloquent (not), when a call from my aunt fills my screen. Unease creeps into my bones, my stomach turning from starved to queasy in only a matter of seconds. My mood was lifted, excited; now it’s down and ugly, a scowl crossing my face. If Tuck was here, he’d make some smartass comment and I’d toss one back, not really meaning a word of it.

But this? Talking to Aunt Mercy? It makes me feel sick, makes me feel itchy and angry.

It’s never gone unnoticed by me how little Mercy has in common with her name. Kindness, tolerance, and forgiveness are nowhere near anything she shows me—more like contempt, indifference, and disapproval.

And I deserve it all.

Mercy was twenty-one when my mother was born. The two sisters were never close and I’m certain the huge age gap played into that. At thirty-seven, Mercy’s life fell apart when her husband of fifteen years died suddenly. She grew callous and mean. Then the stroke happened. After that, any shred of manners or care she had left in her evaporated. She became cold and methodical, never letting herself feel again. By that time, I was living with her, and it was a hard transition to navigate, especially for a teenager. The result is the strained relationship we have today as she acts as guardian to my four siblings.

Reluctantly, I swipe the green button and bring the phone up to my ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, Gaige.” Her tone is already flat, unfeeling. “I wanted to remind you about the program at Graham’s school tomorrow night.”

“Yes ma’am, I remember.”

“A surprise,” she says plainly. “There’s been a change of plans…”

I grit my teeth, mildly annoyed by this last minute notification—then I mentally slap myself. I have no right to complain, not to Mercy, not about the kids. I swallow the annoyance and urge her on. “That’s fine. What is it?”

---