“I’m glad you like it here,” she says, reaching around me and hugging me to her side, filling my body with even more warmth. I notice the stare she gives to Nate as she leaves, like they have a silent conversation about me, but I look away when Nate comes toward me.
“Oh, Mrs. Preeter, your home is simply divine. I must have your decorator,” Nate jokes, putting on his ridiculous, high-pitched girly voice.
“Oh my god! I do NOT sound like that,” I say, shoving him into my bed.
He raises his hand and holds his thumb to his index finger, measuring an inch. “You kinda do. But just a little.”
“Shut up. I want your mom to like me. And it’s really nice of your parents to have me here,” I say, actually feeling a little bad that he made fun of me. Nate can tell, and he grabs my hand, pulling me to his lap and hugging me tightly.
“I’m sorry. It was nice of you to gush. And for the record, my parents freaking love you. Just like I do,” he says, his smile warm against my cheek. Within seconds, he’s kissing me, and he keeps kissing me until we hear Ty clear his throat in the doorway.
“Yeah, you can’t do that shit at the Thanksgiving table. I’ll get sick,” he says, pushing into the room and lifting the corner of the blanket to his nose. “Damn. Mom actually washed your blanket. Did she wash yours?”
Nate shrugs, and Ty backs out of the room, heading to Nate’s. We follow him in there and he pulls Nate’s blanket to his nose then quickly tosses it back down. “All right, this is bullshit! Mom, what’s up with everyone getting dryer-sheet bed but me?” He’s down the hall and moaning to his mom within seconds.
“Dryer-sheet bed?” I ask Nate, laughing lightly.
“It’s a Ty thing. He likes the way they smell. It’s kind of like Cookie,” Nate says with a small shake of his head. “Ty likes what he likes.”
“Oh! Speaking of…look what I brought,” I say, leading Nate back to my room and unzipping my small travel bag and pulling out my teddy bear hostage. “I thought maybe we’ve taken this far enough.”
Nate nods, leaning against the doorframe and grinning while I start to tuck it back into the zipper bag. “You wanna win Ty over forever?” Nate asks, and I pause, pulling the bear back out again. “Come with me.”
Nate leads me to a small door near the back porch, and I realize quickly it’s the laundry room. We toss Cookie into the dryer with a fabric softener sheet and let it spin for about five minutes. When it’s done, we pull it out, and I write a small note in all caps that says: “NO MORE FUSSY FUSS, OKAY?” and we tuck the note and the bear in the top of Ty’s blanket for him to find at bedtime.
Nate
I like having her in my house. She feels…permanent. But there’s this constant ache scratching at the back of my mind every second. It’s the secret I’m keeping, and I know if I tell her, she’ll leave. And I would understand. She should leave—she should have known all along, and had her chance to say goodbye. But she can never get that back. So I guess the only decision now is what happens moving forward, and maybe her parents are right. Maybe, to move forward, Rowe just needs to keep moving. And maybe knowing this will hold her back, mess with her head during finals, ruin her great start. But I can’t help but think it might all just backfire, too.
Her parents haven’t sold their house yet. But the last time she talked with them, right before we left for our flight, they were mostly packed. I wonder if they really went through with taking a trip—a vacation for just the two of them—or if they’re just at home, pretending.
We spent the night curled up with one another on the couch, watching the end of the Pacers and Miami game with Ty and my dad. Mom busied herself in the kitchen, prepping for our un-traditional Thanksgiving tomorrow. Mom made Lasagna and eggrolls, and Rowe actually seemed excited by it, which only made me love her more. Every little thing—sometimes the tiniest things—makes me love her more, and I’m in so deep now, I know I won’t make it back out whole.
Stretching out every moment, I hold her body close to mine along the sofa. My dad, per tradition, has dozed off in his chair, and Ty is busy dropping sunflower seeds in his hair, one at a time, which makes Rowe giggle, and makes me hold her tighter—loving her more.
“All right, kids,” Ty says, brushing his hands of the salt from the seeds while he backs away from my dad’s chair. “This face needs its beauty sleep. And I told Cass I’d call.”
“Good,” Rowe says, her voice a little forceful, and it actually surprises Ty and me.