Page 36 of Marrying the Gardener
I am almost positive that Crisis has known Crimson just over a singular year.
“Your twin is completely closed off from the idea of relying on other people.”
Crisis eyes me, blinks, says, “Huh. Wild. I didn’t know we had a triplet.”
Ignoring the accusation, I continue, “She is determined to do everything herself, even if it means breaking herself in two andsending her soul through a blender.”
Crisis pouts her lip and throws her hand up, palm open.
Sighing, I deliver a few round nuggets of the koi food that I have in my pocket into her grasp.
She sets the balls perfectly before the mouths of each koi, mimicking them as they gulp the bites down.
“You’re not going to help me, are you?” I ask.
“Crim has a savior complex. She likes me because I always need to be rescued. I exist as a built-in test for her usefulness. Every time she sees me, she knows that she’ll make my life better in quantifiable ways. You’re too capable and self-assured. Not to mention, it sounds likeyou’retrying to saveher. She hates feeling like a damsel in distress. She hates being told what to do. You’re sweet, Kaleb. You give. But you’re both givers, and she’s too stubborn to take.” Crisis pushes herself up off the moss into a kneeling position at the water’s edge. “Have you tried being utterly useless?”
I don’t exactly have the luxury of being useless unless I’m content to ruin her schemes, and no matter how they sicken me, I am not at liberty to make that decision for her.
It occurs to me while I’m trying to think of ways I could give Crimson opportunities to save me that I am also really, really, phenomenally bad attakingand Crisis’s triplet allegations hold some merit.
I’d rather continue selling myself as though I’m still apart from my family than rely on their offers to take care of me out of love. I’ve spent the past seven years in continued service to the world I knew while I was gone. I’ve gardened and served and denied everyyou don’t have to do this.
Just like Crimson is denying me.
“I’m…” I swallow and discover that the realization we’re very alike does not deter how badly I want her. “…not sure what I feel comfortable taking from her. I don’t need her money, and sheknows that.” I can’t ethically request her body to save me from something as stupid as “desire,” not while she suffers through every touch she’s employed me to commence. She acts like a sex-repulsed asexual. The last thing I want is to make her miserable, so there’s nothing for me to take without losing some piece of my moral code.
“Start with her time.” Crisis runs her fingers across the moss by her legs. “You could always go to a public school and lick doorknobs, too.”
My brain stutters. “I’m sorry. What?”
“To get outstandingly ill,” she clarifies. “She’ll kill you if you man flu, but if you can pop out a fever of 103? She’ll wait on you hand and foot. She’s very nurturing. Loves tending to and caring for her people.”
“How do I know if I’m one ofher people?”
Crisis lifts a shoulder. “You kind of just…know. You can tell. Her smile is different for you. She gravitates closer. And if you need her, she’ll drop everything.” Crisis glances at me, scans me, then grimaces. “Now, you will have to somehow overcome the fact you’re a boy. Crimson, fundamentally, hates boys.”
Yeah. I noticed.
Before licking doorknobs actually becomes a feasible option, I say, “How far do you suggest I press?”
“What do you mean?”
“I have already asked for a small portion of her time each day. She has forfeited it reluctantly because it is under the guise of meeting her means to an end.”
Crisis’s head shakes. “If it’s work, it’s work. That’s not actually letting her give anything at all. The trick is being useless when you can’t help it. Men take advantage. That’s not what I’m suggesting. You need to be vulnerable, and she needs to believe she can help.” Rising, Crisis rustles my hair as she turns toward the quiet path home. “You’ve got plenty of valid trauma,Kaleb. Use it. Therapist Crimson is super hot. Five stars. Highly recommend.”
If Crimson gets any hotter, I will be in a world of trouble.
And if my options are unpacking trauma or licking doorknobs…well…
Someone get me a high school.
Chapter 12
?
I’ll give youonehint at what I’dliketo do with a golf club…
