My Best Friend's Brother(12)

"I packed us a nice dinner. Made it all myself."


"Oh, how fancy. I figured you'd have it catered in or something once we got there," she said, grinning.


"Nope. You asked for a packed picnic, so that's what I got us. There are  grapes, homemade curry chicken salad with cashews, homemade croissant  buns, butter, sweet tea, water, homemade roasted red pepper hummus,  carrot slices, cherry tomatoes, and homemade chocolate cake for  dessert."


"Did you freshly churn the butter right there in your kitchen?" she asked.


"Nope," I said, chuckling.


"Ah, such a shame. Better luck next time."


The grin on her face filled my gut with excitement. She was playful.  Sarcastic. Independent. So unlike the women I usually drove around with  on my arm. She could meet me, tit for tat, in our verbal sparring  matches, and I was actually looking forward to simply sitting with her  and talking.


Even though I was worried about the subjects she would want to bring up.


We cruised down the highway for thirty minutes before we entered the  Wylie city limits. It was a small town if I'd ever seen one. Quiet  houses sat on the main stretch while the laughter of children in the  backyards could be heard. My GPS system guided us to the edge of the  lake, a hushed and secluded spot right as the sun was beginning to set.  The water sparkled with the colors of the sky, reflecting perfectly the  scenery around it.


It was like a special effect you'd see in a movie, and I could see the wonder on Sarah's face as she pulled off her sunglasses.


I reached behind me and pulled out the basket of food. I opened up a  sweet tea for her before I grabbed a bottle of water for myself. I still  didn't know how people drank that stuff. Tony was obsessed with it, but  I couldn't get past the sugar content of it.


"Not a sweet tea fan?" she asked.


"Not by a long shot, though Tony loves the stuff."


"Good man," she said.


"He is."


We sat there, drawing out food as we ate in relative silence. Here, I  wasn't sure what she wanted. I didn't know if she would start asking me  questions, or if she expected me to offer up scenarios of my life. If it  was the latter, she'd be waiting quite a long time. I didn't ever talk  about myself unless prompted, and even then I was a professional at  skirting the shit stuff.


But she seemed content to simply eat and gaze out at the lake, and I was  shockingly content at sitting here with her and absorbing her presence.


"Do you ever get angry at your mother?" she asked. "For leaving."


"I did when I was younger. A lot. I read a lot outside of school, but I was a punk while I was in school."


"How shocking," she said, rolling her eyes.


"Do you ever get mad at your mother?"


"All the time, even to this day. The anger is what fuels me to always  push myself and become more successful. I can stand in front of the  mirror and tell myself every morning I did it despite them."


"My dad's a good guy. I'm really close to him. I'm not so sure I could  imagine not having either of my parents. He was influential in my  success."


"How so? You didn't really dive into that during the interview."


"It's not really something I want the masses to know. I'm assuming we're doing all this in confidence?" he asked.


"Of course," she said.


It was the first time she turned her body toward me, and she actually  unhooked her seatbelt so she could turn and face me completely.


The way she popped the grapes between her lips was mesmerizing, and I  had to peel my eyes away from her lips just to answer her question.


"At first, I thought my idea was stupid. I was ready to abandon it  altogether, even before I'd clued Tony into anything. He found my  sketches and ideas one day lying around, and he encouraged me to pursue  it."


"He wasn't hands-on, but he's the reason you showed it to Tony."


"Yes. Without him, none of this would've existed," I said.


"He sounds like a good man."


I could hear the sadness in her voice, and for the first time, I felt  like I was seeing the actual Sarah. Not the one she showed to her  audience or the one she portrayed on her show, but the scared little  girl inside who was fearful of letting any man in, really.


And I couldn't blame her, after the shit her dad had pulled.


"What happened to your mom after she left?" she asked.         

     



 


"She found a job. Got remarried. Had a kid. Pretended like we didn't  exist. I never got phone calls from her or birthday cards. I tried  calling her on holidays, but she only answered when it was convenient.  Then, when I took to social media and started raising that money for the  project, she conveniently popped back into my life. Wanted to be a part  of it. Go do things with me. And I went and took her to a few things. A  couple of shows. Some dinner. All of it I was conveniently expected to  pay for."




"I'm so sorry," she said.


"Shit happens. People come out of the woodworks all the time who you've run into once you're famous."


"Don't I know it," she said.


"Did your parents do that to you when your show began?"


"No. I haven't talked to them at all since I was put into foster care.  But friends from high school did. Added me on social media everywhere  and ‘wanted to catch up'. Had some cousins blatantly ask for money.  Things like that."


"Fuck, my aunts and cousins pulled that shit too."


"It's like, when I wasn't shit, you didn't care about me, and now that  I've got some money, I'm expected to float you because part of our DNA  matches up? Does that mean I have to take care of all the orangutans at  the zoo too?"


I threw my head back and laughed. Her honesty and humor were incredibly  refreshing. I enjoyed our banter when she was upset, but this type of  easy talking with her was really nice.


I hadn't been able to talk to anyone like this except for Tony.


"Anyway, yeah. I know exactly how that feels," I said.


"At least someone does."


We sat there for a little while longer. Until the stars started to  twinkle upon the face of the lake. It was completely still like no life  existed underneath the water. It looked like glass you could walk on,  and I actually thought about sliding my hand over and taking hers. She  said she didn't want it to happen until we were driving back, but there  was something about the way the stars twinkled on top of the lake.


There was something about the unadulterated joy she got out of something so blatantly simple.


But I shook the thought from my head. I needed to stick to what she'd  told me, and I knew where our next stop was. I cranked up the car, put  the top back down, put our trash in the back of my car, and slowly  backed away from the lake. I pulled us out onto the main road going  through Wylie before I slipped my hand solidly into hers, and it was the  first time I really got a chance to feel the size difference between  us. Her entire hand fit into nothing but the palm of mine, which only  enhanced her vulnerability in my eyes. I looked over at her, and I could  see her mind turning over something behind her eyes.


I laced our fingers together just as she threw a curveball into our plans.


"Change of plans," she said.


"And what's that?" I asked.


"We're not going back to your place."


I felt disappointment rake my entire body. What? After all this. After  all the opening up and the laughter and the silent vulnerability, it was  just going to end?


"I'll take you back home," I said.


"Oh, you will," she said as her head turned toward me, "and you'll be coming up with me too."


I saw a malicious smile cross her cheeks out of the corner of my eye,  and I couldn't help but tighten my grip on her hand. I kicked it into  gear, racing down the road and weaving in and out of cars while she  squealed and giggled. Her hand clasped tightly onto mine as we took  tight turns and swerved over lanes, the joy apparent on her face as she  threw her head back and laughed. I'd never been with a woman who was so  easily entertained by something like this.


I could take her on a fucking cross country tip with nothing but a bag of clothes and a tent, and she'd probably love it.


I pulled us into the parking garage of her apartment complex, and I got  out to open her door. She took my hand and pulled me toward the  elevator, running in her heels as I strode behind her. I took in her  luscious curves and her strong legs. The way she seemed so steady  running in five-inch heels. I grinned at the way she tugged me into the  elevator, pressing the button that rose us to her level as her chest  panted lightly for air.


But the moment I stepped into her apartment, I was honestly impressed.


It was really nice for someone who seemed to push away the idea of money  and riches. The cherry mahogany hardwood floors permeated her entire  three-bedroom apartment. The carpet that was in each room was plush and  soft, almost silken, in a way. She had a cozy fireplace with furniture  that surrounded it and a heat-tempered television mounted right above  the mantelpiece.