Page 17 of The Long Haul

I’m just thankful she and I truly aren’t.

So, by her way of rationalizing, she tries to think as little as possible.

I am not joking. She actually said that.

Out loud.

With confidence.

And a straight face.

Attempting to make sense of it gave me a headache.

“My apologies,” I offer, insincerely, but it’s better this way. “What can I do for you?” I know that’s why she’s contacting me.

“I forgot to pick up presents for my friends. Can you take care of that?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Just get this something nice,” she tacks on, completely ignoring my response. She simply assumes I’ll do it. Granted, I usually do, yet being around the Jenkins family is changing me.

Helping me see my own worth.

That I’m not a burden.

“I can’t do that.”

“I appreciate it. I’ll pay you back when I get home.” Which she never does.

“Why aren’t you listening to me?”

“Because you aren’t saying what I want to hear.”

“Good-bye, Andrea.” Is it petty I pronounce it the American way with no accent? Hanging up on her, and knowing I’ll be told about that later, as well as my insolence, I realize I’m proud of me. It’s about damn time – overdue, truthfully – that I stood up for myself. “Maybe being Audrey Wilcox isn’t so bad after all.”

**Carson**

“Hey,” Aubrey says as she opens her door. “You been there long?” She seems nervous as she waits for my answer. Is it because of the conversation she was having? Whatever it was about and whoever it was with, I don’t know. What I do is that it wasn’t pleasant.

I can see the aftereffects of it in her posture. While I like every facet of the Aubrey I’ve come to know the past few days, and can’t wait to see more of them, that does not include this defeated version.

Since my presence or, more specifically, what I might’ve heard appears to be causing her anxiety, I want to reassure her. I also want to know who or what upset her, but I can be patient. Wait for her to tell me of her own accord. “About two seconds before you saw me.”

Her relief is instant. Don’t get me wrong, she’s still a bit wary. The thing is, I’m not sure if that’s in relation to me or the person she was talking to.

“Oh.”

“Everything okay?” I ask, taking her hand. Aubrey grips it tight, not enough to hurt, but as if she’s holding on for dear life.

Fact five about Aubrey. She’s affection starved.

Tit for tat, a fact about me? Aubrey has all of mine whether she knows it yet or not.

With the kisses we’ve shared, she knows I’m attracted to her, as she is to me, but what I feel for her is so much more than that.

“Yeah,” she replies, though there’s no truth to the assertion.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

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