Page 69 of Collision
“I see you get it,” he says smugly, then continues, “So, you really aren’t going to give me a tour? You’re being a terrible hostess.” He smiles.
“Didn’t you hear what I just said? You have to leave, I can’t risk my mother finding you here.”
“Yeah, I heard you,” he answers, climbing the stairs.
“Excuse me, where are you going?” I call after him.
“For a tour,” he answers calmly.
“There’s nothing interesting upstairs, just bedrooms,” I shout, as he climbs the last few steps.
“The best part, then.” He smirks mischievously at me before disappearing upstairs.
Damn, he’s not planning on going into my bedroom, is he?
There are a lot of pictures of me as a child up there, back when I looked like a raccoon. I rush up the stairs to stop him, but I’m too late. He is already inside. I clench my fists and wrinkle my nose in frustration.
“Who…gave you…permission to come in here?” I pant.
“I took it,” he replies with his usual arrogant air. “I always take what I want,” he adds.
I put one hand to my hip and use the other to point to the door. “Out. Now.”
Cocky as always, and with no intention of listening to me, he takes an amused look around before examining the framed photos on the shelf next to the bookcase. In the first one I am just a few months old, in the one next to it I am blowing out the candles on my third birthday cake. Then there is a picture of me at nine, completely drenched, with the German shepherd we had back when Dad was still living with us, Roy. We were at a friend’s barbecue that day. Dad and a friend of his had the bright idea of giving Roy a bath and they soaked me along with him. It was Mom who had captured that particular moment.
Thomas points to the picture, puzzled. “I don’t fucking believe it. Are you blond?” He looks at me in genuine astonishment.
I shrug. “You caught me.”
He looks at me, then at the picture, then back at me. “I never would have guessed.”
I managed to surprise Thomas Collins. Score one for me. In another photo, Alex and I wear our robes on graduation day, both of us sticking our tongues out at his mother, who was taking the picture. In the next one I am standing between Travis and Tiffany, also on graduation day. The last one is just me; Travis took it for me about a year ago. I am sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, kissed by the spring sun, with my legs crossed and a peony in my hair, immersed in a copy ofPride and Prejudice. Thomas picks this one up and looks at it thoughtfully, preparing who knows what idiotic comment.
“You look very beautiful here, Ness.”
“Thank you,” I reply, surprised and embarrassed.
A few seconds later, he grabs the picture of me at three years old and says, “And here, you look like a ghost.” Ah, here is the idiotic comment. It felt weird without one.
I snatch it out of his hand, annoyed. “Well, I was sleepy and I had just finished eating I don’t know how many pistachio brownies. I mean, I was going through an emotional time and no one understood that!” I defend myself wryly.
We look at each other for a few seconds, then he admits, “Your room isn’t what I imagined. Everything is a bit too pink for you, no?”
“It’s my childhood bedroom. At seven years old, girls love pink,” I explain, wondering why he was imagining my bedroom.
He nods vaguely, approaches my bed and asks me with a grin, “And who are these guys?” He points to three stuffed animals settled against the pillows.
Oh, no.
“What do you take me for? I’m almost twenty years old, Thomas, I don’t name my stuffed animals.” I chuckle nervously.
“Come on, give me the names.” He sits on the edge of the bed, certain that he’s guessed right.
“Momo, Nina, and Sparky,” I confess after a moment’s hesitation.
“Momo. Nina. And Sparky?” he repeats, clearly trying to hold back an explosion of laughter.
“Hey! You can’t just barge into my room without permission and start ridiculing my things! You’ll hurt my feelings.”
