Page 48 of Sunshine with You
Willa rolls her eyes before scowling at me. “She chases the wrong type, andyouchase the wrong type when, really, you two should be running toward each other. I’m telling you so you can get your shit together and finally be with her.”
“What shit, Willa?” My scalp prickles at her insistence that she knows me. She barely knows her own sister. What makes her think she has me pegged? I run my tongue along my bottom lip, breathing out my irritation. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me about myself…?”
She bellows a loud, hearty laugh, wiping tears from her eyes. “Oh please, Hunter. You very clearly have the deepest type of ‘mommy issues.’ Every girl I’ve ever seen you with looks the same as the one before—skin tones may vary,” she lilts like an infomercial. “I bet you twenty bucks I know what your mom looks like based off of them. And the way you leave them, quickly and quietly, I know there’s a reason for that too.”
“Willa…why the fuck do you care?”
“Because she’s my sister, and you’re the only one able to convince her to choose the things she really wants in life. If you could get past your commitment issues, you two would be unstoppable.”
All I can do is stare. She and Chase are the annoying angel and devil combo on my shoulder. Chase sits on one side, telling me to be the bigger person and let Ashlie go, while Willa sits on the other, encouraging me to keep her for myself. There’s a whole lot of noise in my head right now, and all of it is stressing me out. This kind of drama is my sign to cut and run. Shut it all out and push down whatever these conflicted feelings are. But there’s a nagging part inside of me that keeps asking:What if, this time, you didn’t?
Everyone’s scatteredaround the property after Thanksgiving dinner. Kayla and Chase are outside at the fire pit, Trevor is getting smoked by Willa in a chess game at the dining table, and Kayla’s mom is chatting it up with Ashlie’s parents by the fireplace. I don’t know where Ash is, but honestly, that’s kind of a relief right now. Trying to clear my mind, I busy myself with the cleanup process, filling the single basin copper sink with soap and water. As I’m about to dump in the dirty dishes, a bump on my hip snaps me out of my daze.
“Need any help?” Ashlie asks, grinning up at me. She’s pulled her hair back, a few curly tendrils framing her face. My eyes dip to the mustard sweater dress clinging to her body before I catch myself.
I haven’t said two words to her today, and I’m at a loss for any sort of meaningful conversation right now. Shaking my head, I turn back to the sink. “I’m good.”
“So, it’s gonna be like that?”
“It’s notlikeanything. I’m doing the dishes. It’s a one-person job.”
Ashlie sighs, knocks her hip into my side again, and rolls up her sleeves. “Move over. Let me help.” She grabs a stack of dirty dishes and dips them into the water. I know she’s trying to connect, make sure our friendship is still intact. But I’m so lost, I just can’t pretend right now.
“No.”
“Hunter…” she grunts, trying to push me out of the way with her ass. “Move…over.”
“No.” Acting out the first impulse that comes to mind, I flick a wet hand toward her. My eyes widen when I realize how much water made it to her dress, and I try to stifle the laugh in my throat by biting my lips together.
She turns toward me slowly, mouth gaping, working hard to hide her surprised smile. Cupping a handful of water, she flings it sideways at me, hitting me square in the chest. Her brows raise in a feisty taunt.
I tuck my chin and challenge her with a stare. “You really wanna start this war?”
She slaps her hand into the water, laughing as the large, wet splatter plasters my button-down to my skin. “Yep.”
“You’re trouble. You know that?” I wrap my arm around her, pinning her wrist to her back while I repeatedly flick water toward her face.
“You cheater!” She laughs, twisting out of my grip and lunging for the sink sprayer. Pointing it right at me, she looks down the center like it’s topped with a scope. “I’ll do it.”
“Naw, you won’t. You’re too nice.”
“I will.” She reaches for the faucet, and I fold my arms over my chest in a silent dare.
“Ooh, what’s going on here?” Ashlie’s mom, Jackie, asks, looking between the two of us with a smile. Jackie’s dark curly afro is held back by a wide orange headband that matches her pantsuit.
“Just tryna clean up, and this troublemaker over here started a water fight,” I say, tipping up the corner of my mouth as I turn toward Jackie.
“Me? You splashed me first!”
“Where’s your proof, Little Miss Faucet Sprayer?” I tease. Ashlie drops it, placing her hands on her hips.
“You do look pretty guilty, Ashlie. I’m with him,” Jackie teases. “While I have you here, did you get your application in? It’s due in a couple of weeks.”
Ashlie takes a deep breath, and I clock the anxiety in her eyes before I turn back to the sink. She already knows what I think about the situation. This is her business, and she can handle a conversation with her mom on her own, even if she doesn’t think so. “Uh, yeah,” she says. “The deadlineiscoming up. But I don’t think I’m going to grad school this year.”
“Ha. Ha. Very funny. Of course you’re going. That was the deal we made. A year off, and then graduate school. Two weeks is plenty of time to get your application together.”
“Um, no. I don’t want to go anymore, so I’m not applying.”
