Page 25 of Rumi: The Hawthornes

“Stellar.” He slapped his book shut and hurried toward the door. “Can I drive?”

“That’s a big fat fuckingno,” I yelled, chasing him as he ran out the front door.

If I would’ve known that Nana and Pop were going to be home by the time we got back from the ice cream shop, I would’ve kept Bird out longer. They were supposed to be out late, that’s why they’d asked me to be home, but Pop’s bike was in the driveway when we parked. He was pissed because I hadn’t cleaned up after dinner. It was such a small thing, and I would’ve done it when we got back, but that didn’t seem to matter. He spent ten minutes railing about responsibility and cleaning up after ourselves and how he wasn’t raising entitled kids, and by the time he’d wound down Bird’s shoulders were tensed up around his ears and his mouth was pinched with worry.

By the time we went to bed, no one in the house was in the best mood. Bird didn’t even ask to come into my room that night. He just silently slipped in and made his bed on the floor without a word. The rest of the week was pretty calm, though, and by the weekend, all of us had pretty much forgotten or at least stopped thinking about Pop’s shitty mood.

Thursday, I went on the date I’d mentioned to Rumi, but the guy who’d seemed so charming when I’d met him at work turned out to be a dud. I tried not to compare him to my best friend, but it was impossible. Sean wasn’t as tall as Rumi, he wasn’t as funny, and while he was arguably as good looking, he just didn’t have thatthingabout him that drew you in. I spent most of the night texting Rumi commentary under the table and was at home and in bed by ten and perfectly happy about it.

The weekend was pretty boring since I was working both jobs and didn’t have a ton of free time. I missed weekends but the tips were so much better at the pancake house on Saturday and Sunday that it was worth the sacrifice. It wasn’t until the next Monday when I had the morning off and realized that I’d barely spoken to Rumi since I’d left his house.

I tried to brush it off like it didn’t matter. It wasn’t unheard of for us to go a few days without talking, but he almost always reached out on the weekends to see what I was doing or stopped by the pancake house to see me. The fact that he hadn’t made me feel weird, which irritated me because we’d said that sleeping together wasn’t going to change things and I couldn’t be sure if the sinking feeling in my belly would be there if we’d kept things strictly platonic. Bottom line, I was starting to overthink shit like a girlfriend and that was unacceptable, so I stopped by the garage on my way to work.

“Hey Nova,” Rumi’s grandpa Grease greeted as I climbed out of my car. He was leaning against the building smoking a cigarette and the familiar sight made me smile. Life had seemed weird lately with Pop stomping around the house and all of the stuff with Rumi and this little piece of normalcy was welcome.

“Hey Grease,” I said, bumping my hip into my door so it would latch.

“You havin’ problems with that door again?” he asked, straightening. “Thought we fixed that.”

“You guys fixed the passenger side,” I reminded him, pulling up my hood. It wasn’t raining yet, but the sky was dark and it smelled like it would start at any minute. “This side is sticking now.”

“You workin’ today?”

“I work every day,” I said with a laugh as he moved toward me.

“Well, when you’ve got some time, you bring her back in and we’ll figure out what the problem is,” he said, moving past me to open and close my door a few times. “Looks like a simple fix.”

“I will.”

“Surprised Samson didn’t already fix it.”

“I haven’t mentioned it,” I replied, ignoring the look he shot me. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Gonna be a big deal if it flies open when you’re drivin’.”

“I always make sure it’s latched and locked when I’m driving.”

“Uh-huh,” he muttered, unconvinced. “You here for your grandpa or Rumi?”

“Rumi.”

“Well that’s good since Samson’s not here,” he said easily, ushering me toward the garage. “Rumi!”

I could hear Rumi’s voice calling something back, but it was so muffled I had no idea what he was saying.

“Come on, honey,” Grease said, bringing me inside one of the large bay doors. “Rumi!”

“Just a sec,” Rumi yelled from underneath an old pickup truck. The only parts of him visible were from the waist down.

I took a long look at the way he filled out the stained jeans then quickly averted my eyes before Grease noticed.

“Don’t wander,” Grease ordered as he walked away. “All sorts of shit in here that’ll put you in the hospital.”

“I know the rules,” I replied, grinning.

I’d been coming to the garage for years, first to see Pop and later to meet up with Rumi. The rules had never changed even after I became an adult. If you didn’t work in the garage you weren’t allowed to go wandering in and if you did get escorted inside, you better plant yourself where your escort left you or there would be hell to pay. I never knew if they were actually worried someone would hurt themselves or if there was shit in the garage that they didn’t want anyone to see. It never mattered to me, because I’d never had the urge to go wandering around.

“What’s up, Gramps?” Rumi said as he finally rolled out from under the pickup. His eyes widened in surprise and he grinned when he saw me. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”

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