Page 88 of The Wild Card
If I’m being totally honest, I don’t alwaysfeellike an adult.
Being so tightly under my dad’s control makes other people around me, even those close to my own age, somehow seem older or more mature. Collin and his brothers and their significant others all seem to have their lives way more together for being a handful of years older than I am. The first time I met her, Harper seemed like the most intimidatingly independent person ever. Now, we’re really close, but I still kind of exist in awe.
Me? I’ve never had to handle things like my own insurance or rent or taxes. While I didn’t appreciate my dad’s extreme micromanagement, I definitely benefited from some of the good parts. Like having him change the oil in my car every time I came home from college or calling the bank for me when I had issues with my account.
So there weresomeperks to his overbearing nature. But I think he used all those things as ways to make me dependent on him. They lulled me into being a little bit lazy or just naive in terms of taking care of myself and grownup things. I’m still on the family phone plan, still on their insurance.
Those same perks also stunted my growth as a whole human. Or that’s how it feels now.
Or does everyone feel that way in their early twenties? Maybe all twentysomethings feel like they’re cosplaying as adults with no idea what they’re actually doing.
I’m obviously doing adult things. I mean,trying. I have a job. Several jobs, actually. No money yet, but I should get a good check in a little over a week now from social media. I have a place to stay and a car—though both are basically free gifts.
As much as I know relying on people’s generosity is different from relying on my dad, it’s similar enough that I know I need to get out on my own—and soon.
My deep thoughts have distracted me from my cow, who butts me with his broad head.
“Hey, watch it!”
“I think I’m ready,” Collin calls.
“Ready for what?”
But when I turn, my question evaporates. Because Collin has spread a blanket out over the hood of his truck along with pillows he’s propped against the windshield. There’s even a jarred candle on the roof of the truck, flickering in the light breeze. It’s simple and romantic, like something out of a movie.
My heart speeds up and my mouth goes dry.
Collin sees me staring and shoves his hands in his pockets, looking suddenly bashful. “What?”
“You’ve got a whole setup,” I say. “With a candle and everything.”
“It’s citronella. For the mosquitoes.”
“Are the pillows and blanket also for the mosquitoes?”
Now, he grins. “Absolutely not. Need me to help hoist you up?”
“I think I can manage. But do you happen to have any hand sanitizer or a napkin? I have cow hands.”
Collin chuckles and leans into the driver’s side of the truck, pulling out a package of antibacterial wipes. “How’s this?”
“Perfect.” I wipe down my hands. When I’m done, Collin pulls what looks to be a little fabric trash bag from the truck. “Is that a denim trash bag?”
Collin holds it up, turning it so I can see a pocket from what looks like a pair of jeans.
His expression goes dreamy and soft. “Yup. My mom liked to sew. She made a bunch of these from jeans after we ripped through the knees too many times to patch. It was long before any of us were driving, but I guess she was planning ahead.” He pauses, and his expression turns from soft to sad. “Tank gave them to us when we each got our license. Kind of like a delayed Sweet Sixteen present straight from Mom.”
Why I’m choking up about his dead mom, I’m not sure. But I am. There’s an unfamiliar ache behind my sternum, and I find myself pressing a hand there, like I can somehow push the feeling away.
“That’s really special,” I say, hoping he misses the catch in my voice.
But Collin says nothing as I ball up the wipes and drop them in the bag. It feels almost sacrilegious to do so, but I guess this is what his mom intended them for.
Collin puts it back inside the car, and then pats the hood, raising his eyebrows at me.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
