Page 47 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Oh no.It’s happening. My woodchipper word-slinging. I’m nervous again, and Brody isn’t even naked this time.
Brody gives me a funny look. “What?”
I nod. “It’s baby poop yellow.”
That at least makes him crack a smile.I’m funny when I’m nervous! Hooray!“Kate, what are you talking about?”
I feel like I’m hovering above this entire interaction, watching me make a fool of myself, but I’m too far in to turn back now. I sneak past him and lead him into the living room where I go to the pile of kitchen supplies amassing by the fireplace. “I checked online, and this thing hasn’t been sold since 1987. It was a QVC exclusive.” I heft the box and carry it to Brody. “See? Isn’t that color the worst?”
“It’s very 1987,” he says. “I bet you could sell it. I’m sure there are people who love stuff like this.”
“Yeah, maybe. Mom wants me to sell as much as I can. But I’m more likely to take it all to Goodwill and donate it. Maybe it’ll make someone’s day to find vintage KitchenAid. The hard part is that I keep uncovering things I’ve never seen before. Mom said most of the weird shopping happened after I left home, but some of this stuff has obviously been here longer than that.” I hold up the baby poop yellow mixer like I’m submitting evidence in a courtroom. My words are tumbling now, like water gushing down a mountain creek after a thunderstorm. “How did I live here and not know about all this stuff? It’s weird. And stressful. And I feel...guilty?” I drop the mixer onto the couch with a thud and rub my hands across my stomach. “I’m all smarmy inside. Like I’m the one at fault for not knowing about all this stuff. Then I talk to my mom, and she reminds me that Ishouldfeel guilty and I just...what if she’s right? I think I was a terrible daughter, Brody. Or a terrible granddaughter. Or both.”
“Hey.” He sets his hands on my shoulders, and they have an immediate grounding effect. Somehow in the last ten seconds, my nerves-induced word-slinging turned a ridiculous narrative about outdated kitchen appliances into a therapy session. “You aren’t a terrible daughter,” he says. “Or a terrible granddaughter. It’s just stuff. So you didn’t know what your grandmother stored in her closets. That doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“But I feel like it does. I loved her. But I’m not sure Isawher. Not like I should have.”
“You’re not remembering clearly, Kate. You were always sweet to Grandma Nora. She loved you. I know she loved you.”
“Then why does my mother use mylackof relationship as ammunition every time we talk?”
“Because your mother is insecure and making other people feel small is how she makes herself feel better.”
My eyes go wide, and Brody winces. “Sorry. That was probably too honest.”
“No, no you’re right. I’ve just never heard anyone say it so concisely.” I shake my head. “I just feel like I’m remembering all the times Mom tried, and I pushed her away. I was never here, and when I was here, I lived in my room. I thought I was so much better than her, that she was... I don’t know. I just know I said some really awful things.”
“You were a kid. We all say stupid stuff when we’re teenagers. But she said some stupid stuff too.”
My earlier conversation with Mom is evidence enough of that, but it still helps to know that Brody remembers Mom’s negativity too.
I almost hug him, but I’m still buzzing from the last time his arms were around me. I might short a circuit somewhere if I try again so soon. “This is hard, Brody,” I say softly. “Makes me understand why I ran away for so long.”
His grip tightens, squeezing my shoulders with gentle strength. “Nah. No more running. You can do hard things. We’ll do it together.”
I smile. “You’re good to me.”
“Tomorrow after your kayaking lesson, I’ll bring my truck over and we can haul a load of stuff over to Goodwill. Maybe getting rid of some literal junk will make the figurative feel lighter.”
I had momentarily forgotten that my first kayaking lesson is in the morning—amazing for how much time I’ve spent thinking about Brody.
Brody hiking.
Brody kayaking.
Brody lounging on an innertube tanned and shirtless.
Fine. I made that last one up, but after I broke into his house the other day, I haveallthe visuals I need to imagine him just about anywhere.
But tomorrow we will not be lounging. And I won’t just be observing. A pulse of anticipation fills me, radiating all theway out to my fingertips. I have never shirked a challenge, but whitewater kayaking might be the thing that breaks that record. “You aren’t going to make me kayak the narrows, are you?”
Brody chuckles. “Not if you paid me.”
I look up sharply. “But Iampaying you. These are lessons through the school. I have to pay you.”
He scrunches his brow as if considering. “Mmm, technically through the school? Okay. But I’ve talked to my boss, and Griffin is fine with me teaching you on the side. Either way,” he says, dropping his hands from my arms, “we won’t be anywhere near the narrows.”
I lift my hands to my arms, missing the warmth of his palms. “And you won’t mind coming over to help me haul stuff even after we spend the morning together? You’ll be with me all day.”
