Page 10 of The Weight of Your Wishes

“I guess so. Should probably stretch. I’ll come inside.” He swings the door open, and I follow. The doorbell dings as we walk in, and Patty says her usual greeting, not even looking up from the crossword puzzle she’s working on. The store is definitely outdated in comparison to what Hendrix is used to, I’m sure. He scrutinizes the place curiously and saunters to the back with confidence. He’s so much different than I was at his age. Appearing this self-assured has been a slow process for me.

He swings open a cooler door and grabs a sweet tea before heading towards the snacks. I grab a six-pack of beer and follow behind him as he heads to the register. He sets a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels next to his drink. Not something I’d have ever picked, but okay.

Patty looks up from her puzzle, doing a double take. “Well, Grant, who is this handsome fella you’ve got with you today?”

I open my mouth to respond but hesitate for a second, and Hendrix jumps in. “He’s my mom’s friend. I’m staying with him for the summer.”

The wrinkles in her forehead deepen. Our town is small enough that everyone knows each other. “My old friend, Cynthia,” I supply. “This is her son. I’m pretty sure I’ve ever told you about her, but I’ve known her since high school.”

She nods absentmindedly, her eyes jumping back and forth between us. I clear my throat, “I need to get some gas, too.”

Thankfully, she seems to decide on not prying like she usually would and starts ringing up our stuff. I’d rather not have to explain any of this long, complicated history and get the judgment that always comes with it. People either can’t believe I stayed friends with Cynthia after what she did, or they think I was the butt of her joke—that she used me.

Hendrix grabs the bag and says, “Have a nice day, Patty.” And just like that, he spins on his heels and pushes out of the door. I pick up the pace, carrying on behind him. Patty is definitely going to grill me about this later.

After pumping the gas and getting back on the road, Hendrix speaks up again. “What’s up with Patty? You kind of clammed up in there,” he says carefully.

“I didn’t,” I grunt.

“Um, yeah, you did.”

I shoot him a glare. “It’s nothing really. She’s a gossip, is all, and I wasn’t interested in explaining my life story to her today. She pries enough at the bar.”

“That old lady goes to the bar?” he asks, clearly surprised.

“Hendrix, everyone here goes to my bar. There isn’t anything better to do.”

He seems to mull that over in his head for a minute. I turn off the main road onto a dirt one. Almost there. “Do you live on an actual dirt road?” He says it as if it’s the most absurd thing in the world.

“I sure do—last house on the right. Not too far from the gas station, so you could always walk there if I’m not home.”

“This is fucking insane. Why would anyone want to live in a place like this?” He seems genuinely confused, and I don’t really blame him.

“Same as you. The city is all you’ve ever known, and this small town is all these people have ever known.” He glances out the window again. There’s mainly just thick brush around us back here. Finally, I pull into my driveway and park. There’s an ache in my neck and lower back that’s already irritating me.

“You good, old man?” Hendrix asks as he hops out of the truck.

My jaw clenches. “First of all, forty is not old.”

“Really? Then why were you groaning as you stiffly got out of the truck?” He scoffs. The little shit is actually teasing me. I narrow my eyes at him before heading toward the garage.

“Damn, Uncle Grant. You live in the middle of a jungle.”

I take my boots off at the door and unlock it before stepping inside. “You know, you don’t have to call me uncle,” I say, meeting his emerald gaze.

He shifts around a bit awkwardly and bites his lip. “This is a really nice place. Wasn’t really expecting it.”

“Did you think I lived in a shack or something? Cut me some slack, kid,” I laugh.

“Where can I put this? I need to go grab the other one from the truck.” He motions toward his duffle bag.

“Shit, I’ll go get it. You should’ve said something.”

I ignore his objections and head back outside. I grab it and lock the truck before going back. When I come inside, he has both of his fists planted firmly on his hips, tapping his foot anxiously. “I could’ve gotten it, you know,” he grumbles. Warmth pools in my gut at his obvious pouting. It’s kind of adorable.

“You could have, but I wanted to help,” I say sternly, so he’ll leave it at that. “Follow me.” He grabs his bag, and I lead him down the only hallway. “This place is sort of small, but it has tall ceilings. That’s what sold me on it. I’ve been doing some work on it when I actually have the time. Your room is right next to mine, and this is the only bathroom, so we’ll be sharing.”

He visibly flinches at the last part as he sets his bag down in the room. “Um, okay,” he mutters.

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