Page 25 of Hate To Love You

“I’ll show you chopping! You added too much sugar. It’s better with a sour edge. It’s supposed to be tart. It’s rhubarb, for the love of dingleberries.”

“It’s not supposed to be so tart that your face sucks into your arsehole. Then we’ll all walk around looking like you.”

We didn’t hear any of the fridge or cupboards rage, but I’m hearing the rhubarb rage now. It’s time to step in.

I round the corner and clear my throat. “Dad, I’m sure the crisp is going to turn out fine. Thank you both so much for pitching in to help with the fridge and cooking. We really appreciate it.”

Gerry looks a smidge guilty at the insult to my dad that I very clearly overheard. My dad, on the other hand, is steamed like a teapot. His face isn’t red from the heat since it’s perfectly chilled in here. I’m not going to take sides, even if I think rhubarb should always be tart. But it’s good when it’s sweet too. It’s basically the one food I would eat forever if I could only ever eat one food for the rest of my life.

Gerry opens his mouth to say more, but I rush forward and inspect the crisp. They’ve worked miracles in the short time I showered. My dad was working on mixing up the rhubarb filling, and Gerry took over the crisp topping with the oatmeal, brown sugar, and flour.

“This looks so good, and we haven’t even baked it yet.” I snatch a piece of rhubarb, loving how my mouth and tongue immediately go fuzzy with it. The sweet taste hits first, then the bitter and sour when I crunch down.

“Feral,” Gerry comments. “Eating it raw.”

“Don’t call my son feral, you dithering bonehead!”

“Enough,” I protest, still chewing. They both look like they’re ready to go at it again, so I clarify. “Enough doesn’t mean insulting each other more.”

We all hear footsteps at the same time. I don’t have to tell my dad or Gerry to get on their best behavior because they both do it automatically for Patience. It’s remarkable to see the way they change. Her dad stands up straighter and puts on a smile, while my dad looks less feral himself and more friendly and open. I know they’re just trying to please Patience after she was so upset. They’re trying their best. It’s obvious from the fact that no new assholes were torn during this team-building process.

Patience looks fresh and clean. She smells fresh and clean, and she’s flushed from her shower, her hair dripping wet like mine. She put on a floral maxi dress that flows all over the place and has a line of buttons from the top to the bottom. There are little ties in the back, and it looks entirely country. In her arms, she’s holding the world’s scariest doll. The thing was made to look like it’s been gardening. The dress is a matching mini to the one she’s wearing. When I look down, I realize her dress has been shortened and hemmed at the bottom. Did she borrow fabric from it for the doll’s clothes? It sure looks that way. The hair, though. Always the hair. This one is ankle-long. It looks real, but as in a really awful wig. The doll is pasty white with little pink spots on her cheeks and drawn-on large green eyes. Somewhere, Patience found a tiny set of glasses, a little garden trowel, and a miniature book. She’s sewn all of them onto the doll.

“I wanted to show you my latest creation in honor of the gardening and baking we’ve been doing.” She thrusts the thing out proudly. “Her name’s Gretchen the Gardener. I just love her! She turned out so well!”

Gah. Glerp. Gulp. “Well” isn’t the word I would use. I mean, yes, she’s well-made. But she’s lovely in a nightmarish sense.

Gerry gulps like I just did. “She’s beautiful, honey. I love the little finishing touches you put on her.”

My dad’s eyes shoot to me like he’s asking me if I knew about the dolls before, how many are in the house, do I have extra locks for his bedroom door at night when those dolls start walking, do they shapeshift, and can they get under the cracks, rendering the locks useless?

I shoot a look back at him, saying yes, I knew about the dolls, and yes, I’ve slept soundly every night, and no, I haven’t woken up to one slithering the walls. The only night-time disaster we’ve had so far was the bird that somehow got in here and screamed its head off about it.

“I’ll just…get this finished and into the oven,” my dad says about the crisp. He quickly turns around.

Gerry shuffles his feet a little and nods. “That’s right. Crisp. Finish. Oven. Yes.”

Like a miracle, our dads work together, throwing all their effort into the dessert.

Patience watches them, the slyest grin turning up the corners of her mouth. I realize the doll was no mistake. She came down here with it, not just to show us her latest creation, but because she knew it would motivate our dads into behaving. Patience is good and sweet, and I don’t think she’d ever turn our dads into dolls, but the possibility is there, hanging over them like a threat.

I want to laugh. I want to race over and hug her and tell her she’s brilliant. I want to lift her up and swing her and that wretched doll around and kiss her. Fuck, now I’m rocking Boner 3.0.

I settle for a grin instead. One that I hope conveys how thankful and hopeful I feel about this day.

CHAPTER 10

Patience

“I know it’s been a hard few days. I have something I want to show you.”

I think this is a terrible idea for several reasons. Firstly, the way Apollo says it has his eyes glistening and his feet shuffling. He totally shifts from one foot to the other, which makes him look like a little boy. It’s not the least bit charming. Not at all. I do not get sucked in. No, not at all. I don’t want to find out what this ultra-mysterious surprise is. Not at all.

Secondly, he’s wearing his freaking T-shirt and shorts combo, and the shorts are like the khaki kind that shouldn’t be hot on anyone, and the T-shirt has a kitten face on the front, which also shouldn’t be hot. Cute, yes. Hot, no. But he looks unreasonably attractive, and he smells unreasonably good. My hormones are currently doing unreasonable things. Thirdly, it seems like this surprise is going to take me out of the house, and I don’t want to go anywhere alone with Apollo. He used to be good at surprises. Really good. Now he has unlimited amounts of money, so there’s no telling what he planned.

I’ll probably like it.

But I don’t want to like it.

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