Page 59 of The Mountain
“Move it,” I grumble through gritted teeth. “I don’t have time for this right now.”
Because I have approximately two hours, maybe less, before everyone gets home.
The truck finally turns, and I let out a stilted exhale, then touch my foot to the pedal. My heart races uncomfortably at the sudden movement, but I ignore it. Lily needs me. Antoine needs me. Even Liam—who I’m pretty sure would rather die than show any amount of weakness—he needs me too.
I pull into an empty parking spot at the back of the nearly full lot, stomach dropping at the crowds I can already see through the drugstore window. That’s what happens when you go shopping on Christmas Eve, I guess.
I take a deep breath, trying to focus on slowing my heart rate and calming the wild drumbeat pounding in my ears. I think about Antoine’s face last night, when Liam had told us how he and Antoine had tried to buy condoms at this store and some old guy refused to sell to them. Antoine hadn’t said anything. He didn’t need to. I could see the way his green eyes dulled with exhaustion, could see the helpless anger mingling with grief.
He didn’t deserve to be treated like that. Neither of them did.
I crank open the car door, ice crunching under my boots as I think about the way Lily’s face fell when Jackie had mentioned her parents at lunch. At the empty disappointment every time she’s looked at her phone. I saw the screen once. I shouldn’t have peeked, but I couldn’t help myself. Don’t know what I’d been expecting, maybe some threats from Tom, or some messages from that asshole ex-boyfriend I’d heard her telling Seth about.
I hadn’t expected to see an endless string of unanswered texts on a group chat labeled ‘Mom and Dad’.
Heat blasts my face as I step inside the drugstore. I pause in the entrance, carefully unzipping my jacket, tugging at the collar of my sweater. Someone comes up behind me, the sudden brushagainst my back as they try to get past sending a jolt through me. I mutter out an apology and blink against the oppressive glare of florescent lights glinting off cheap red, green, and gold Christmas decorations.
I might not know what happened with her parents, or why they aren’t answering her messages. But I do know what it feels like, that longing to be enough, to be loved—and falling short each time.
Well, she won’t feel that with me. Or any of the other guys. Not if I have a say in it.
I pat my jacket pocket, feeling for the small box I’ve started carrying with me ever since I met Lily. It’s probably a stupid thing to keep on me, considering it’s the most valuable possession I own. But it makes me happy knowing it’s there.
Just in case.
I step into an empty aisle and pull it out, smiling as I run my thumb over the worn velvet casing, the rounded edges. I still remember the day my grandad gave it to me, his leathery hands wrapping around my own, his pale eyes watery as he’d stared intently into my face.
“Don’t tell your mother I’ve given this to you,” he’d whispered, glancing conspiratorially at the open door to his room, as if my mom was going to magically appear there. “She always thought your grandma would leave this to her.” He’d snorted, the sound wet with unshed tears. “But your gran wanted you to have it. So that when you find the love of your life, you don’t have to wait and save up for months before you can get down on one knee and ask her to marry you.” He’d given me alopsided grin then, looking a bit sheepish. “Waiting was never our strong suit. But you probably guessed that.”
My cheeks had flushed hot at his words, and I’d stared at the multicolored carpet intently. At fifteen, I’d been old enough to guess what he was talking about, and young enough to be completely horrified at the thought of my grandparents doing that.
“I put mine in there too.” His voice had grown serious, the sorrow from earlier back with a vengeance. “They belong together, those rings. Just like me and your grandma…” His voice had faltered, his hands tightening around my own, that little box pressed between them.
A week earlier, we’d all stood around fresh-turned soil, our cheeks streaked with tears, our throats aching. Two months later, I’d stood there again, staring at new grass next to raw earth, wearing the same suit—only now it was too tight across the shoulders, and that little box was tucked in the inside pocket, pressing against my heart.
I flick the lid open, hand trembling as I quickly remove Grandpa’s wedding band and slip it on my finger. The last time I tried it on, it had been too big. Now it catches on the knuckle, barely sliding into place. I stare at it in awe, at the way it glints brighter than any of the Christmas decorations lining the shelves around me, at all the familiar scratches and dents carved like memories across the metal.
I hurriedly close the box and slip it into my pocket. Maybe I’m terrified of losing Grandma’s ring. Or maybe there’s too much wild hope locked up in that stone for me to risk looking at it.
“Can I help you?”
My head snaps up, images of Lily dressed in white and smiling up at me dissipate like snowflakes on the wind, the gnarled face of some shopkeeper taking their place.
“Oh.” I dare a glance around the abandoned aisle, shelves half-empty with the remnants of Christmas decorations. How long have I been standing here, gathering my courage? “Um…” My throat bobs. I had planned to just wander around the store until I found what I was looking for. That had seemed like the safest plan. The least embarrassing plan. Certainly the one that required the least amount of interaction.
The old man narrows his eyes at me, bushy brow drawing together until it nearly forms a solid line across his forehead.
“Where are the condoms?” I blurt. I look wildly around the endless shelves, at the bright placards hanging above each aisle, as if half expecting to see some neon sign that says ‘sex-related items this way’.
“Condoms?” he echoes, and that one word is so heavy with disapproval, that I know. I justknow. This guy is the jerk who refused to sell to Liam and Antoine yesterday.
I stare baldly back at him, ignoring the way my skin prickles, the heat burning down my neck, to the tips of my ears. I lift my hand, willing it not to tremble as I flash Grandpa’s ring, that simple, masculine band that fits my finger like it was made for me.
The old man’s expression relaxes, lips tightening into an approximation of a smile. “Ah. Well.” He gives a little tilt of his chin. “Just follow me. I’ve got the key with me somewhere…” He pats at his pocket huffily, soles squeaking on linoleum as he walks.
Anger wells up as I follow, darkening the edges of my vision.
I was expecting this. It’s why I put on Grandpa’s ring, after all. Growing up in small-town Idaho, surrounded by the conservative friends of my conservative parents, I know how they work. The little things they look for—the things that make them decide you’re enough like them to matter.
