atticus
I’d trade a hundred nights of wantin’ for one night of havin’
I love readingabout the Revolutionary War, but I’m pretty sure I’ve reread the same page about ten fuckin’ times now.
This uptight, high-strung, goofy, playful, and hugely judgemental woman is under my skin. I don’t know how she did it, but she did, and I want her out.
What’s the point? She doesn't wanna be with a “grandpa” like me. Not to mention, I get the feeling she ain’t lookin’ to be with a mechanic. It’s not sparkly enough for her.
Doesn’t stop me from needing to know what the fuck happened with the Brutes and why she left on such bad terms. As uptight and fake as she can present herself, I don’t get the sense she has a mean bone in her body. Misguided sometimes but cruel enough to get herself fired and blacklisted? I just can’t get there.
As she dozes not a foot away from me, I can’t help but wonder what Mere would think of her. Then I think back to the first time I laid eyes on Goldie. She was glarin’ at me from Beck’s front porch. If I remember correctly I think she even told me to fuck off. No. Wait. “Fork off” I believe it was.
I’ll admit. First few impressions I got of her weren’t good. In fact, she was reminding me of all the girls Mere grew up with. The ones that picked on her for liking horses, painting, and reading books instead of watchingThe Bacheloretteand going to football games. Goldie woulda been one of those voices in Mere’s ear telling her she needs to eat less or try harder.
That’s one of the things that keeps me at an arm's distance. The idea that I gotta live a life that Mere never had the chance to live… it makes me hate myself. Experiencing things she never will doesn't seem right. But to catch feelings for a woman who, in all truth, very closely represents the type of girls who tore my baby sister down? That’s all kinds of wrong.
Still, part of me thinks that if Mere were still here, she’d like Goldie. She’d like her silliness and her smart mouth. Part of me wonders if she were still here, would Mere look up to Goldie? I don’t know.
I can’t deny that she’s the first woman I’ve been curious about in too many years. I’ve had some hookups and definitely got my physical needs met, but not until this firecracker did I want to talk.
May just be about food and sexual proclivities, but I ain’t a fool. I know what it means. It means my Mom’s right. Even if it feels like a betrayal to Mere, I gotta live.
I consider waking her or even just taking her to bed, but it’s only half past three, and I’m pretty sure she’d wake up anyway. Quietly, I close my book and slide it onto the table, and then I just… watch her sleep.
Never watched anyone sleep before. I may like watching, but this is different. My chest warms at the sight of her comfort next to me. And I get the feeling this woman ain’t always comfortable.
For the first time all weekend, I locate my phone and check it. A few missed calls from Beau, one from pop, and a text from Mom. I swipe to read.
Mom:I know you’re at Beau’s place up the hill this weekend, but dad’s done something to the remote
Mom:We can’t get the words off the bottom of the screen
Mom:And they’re in Spanish
Mom:Come over Sunday and help us, son, and I’ll send you home with soup for the week. Love you.
Peering over at a very comfortable Goldie, I take my phone down the hall to our room, partially close the door and call Mom back.
She nabs it after a ring, probably because she’s playing Wordle. Edie Winters is a Wordle fanatic.
“Hi, son, how are ya?” Her voice is light and happy, and it makes me smile. Probably the only time I can organically smile these days is from my Mom’s voice.
“Good. I just read your messages. You’re right–I’m up the hill at Beau’s dad’s place.” I walk to the window and knock the curtain back, exposing the bright scene outside. A glowing sun, falling snow, and a sea of white. “Still snowin’ here, but I’m planning to scrape the drive and head out in the morning.”
“Snowed a little here, too. A lot of rain, though. Raining curse words left and right–”
My dad pipes up in the distance somewhere, and I can just imagine my Mom swatting his voice away like it will make a difference. “I did not turn those captions on, Edith! And quit tellin’ me I did!”
I snort to myself. “Mom, I can just send you a picture of the remote and circle the button you press. It’s just menu choices from there.”
“No, no,” she sighs. “I’m done foolin’ with it. The words don’t bother me so much anymore.”
I sigh. She’s more than happy to have closed captioning eat up half her TV screen just to annoy my dad. Stubborn through and through, Mere was just like her. I love it. Love ‘em both.
“I’m leavin’ tomorrow morning sometime, but it won’t be early. I’ll come by on my way through town,” I tell her because even if she really doesn’t care, I can’t let my parents live a life where the chair squeaks, the captions are on, and things are going unfixed. I don’t want that for ‘em, and neither would Mere.
“No rush. You have fun up there. How’s that baby and missus of his?”