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“I do want you to be happy, but I’m curious what’s prompted it right now.” He already knows the answer so I don’t bother telling him. He smacks the truck with his palms. “Damn it, Brutal! You said you were gonna avoid her, but she went and got her claws in you again, didn’t she?”
I whirl. “Her claws? What do you think she is? A damn bear?”
“Cougar, maybe?” he snipes.
“That’s a low fucking blow, Bobby. She’s only a year older than me, same as always. And no, she doesn’t have her claws in me.” The denial is sour on my tongue, even though it’s mostly the truth. After yesterday, I don’t know what to think.
“So just being around her, in her orbit, that’s enough to make you giddy as a schoolgirl? You gonna bust out in giggles next? If so, give me a warning so I can put my waders on first.” Bobby’s digging in on this and not gonna let go.
I growl in frustration, hopping up onto the tailgate. “What do you want me to say?”
He leans a hip against the truck, thinking. I appreciate that, at least. He’s not talking off the cuff but considering his words. Or at least I do until he speaks. “I want you to say you hate her, that you’re still mad at her, that you don’t want to see her ever again. But none of that’s true, is it?”
I think just as hard as he did and quietly confess. “We had lunch yesterday.”
“A date?” Bobby barks.
I shake my head. “No, not a date. I was doing deliveries and one of them was to Al. Cooper invited me to stay for lunch and one thing led to another.” He raises a stern brow at me, and I clarify. “I didn’t sleep with her. I meant that we talked, mostly about the old days. Just the good stuff, happy and silly memories.”
“There,” he says, pointing at me. “You’re doing it again. Smiling like a damn fool.”
“That’s probably because I’m thinking about the kiss at Hank’s on Saturday night,” I bait him.
He closes his eyes, huffing and puffing as he talks to the sky like anyone’s listening to him. “What the hell? He says he’s going to avoid her, so what does he do? Take her to Hank’s, kiss her, have lunch with her . . .” His eyes jump to me as he stops ranting abruptly. “So what does this all mean?”
“Nothing, not really,” I admit. I scrub at my hands, bits of dirt falling to the ground.
I go through all of it, from the electricity shooting between Allyson and me to the kiss and her running out. I tell him about the awkward weirdness, the light-hearted memories, and the anger still simmering in my gut. And I tell him about how Allyson seems different, which stops his questions short.
“I want to be happy for you, I do, man. Maybe if this was all stars-aligning easy or some Hallmark movie shit, I’d make my peace with it, but it’s not.” He shakes his head vehemently. “I don’t trust it, don’t trust her. Especially if she’s got baggage she’s dragging you into and has already got you on a string, tugging you in and then letting you out like you’re a damn yo-yo. You’re already hooked and you don’t even know it. And that pisses me off, for you and at you. At her,” he spits out.
He brings up some good points, which I hate to concede, so I brush him off. “Well, shit, man, I didn’t know you cared so much.” I chuckle as I say it, pushing his hat off his head. It’s guy-speak for ‘Thanks, I love you too,’ which he’ll get clearly.
He growls as he bends down to pick the dirty camouflage cap up, slapping it across his thigh like that’d get the dust off it. “Such a dumb fucker.”
He mutters it, but I hear it anyway. He’s right, usually, but about this, I don’t think I’m wrong.
I see Allyson, and even though she ripped me to shreds when we were younger, I don’t know that she did it intentionally. That doesn’t mean she’s not responsible for hurting me, doesn’t mean I’m not still mad at her for it, but she’s not cruelly twisting me up like he says. If anything, I think she’s more lost now than I ever was.
“Maybe our best wasn’t good enough back then. Maybe you’re right and it’s still not good enough now, either. I don’t know.” I hop off the tailgate, heading back toward the rows.
Bobby’s eyes track me, confusion in the lines on his forehead. “So, what are you going to do?”
“Pick some more tomatoes.” I know he’s asking what I’m going to do about Allyson, but I don’t have the answer to that question so I sidestep for now. “Thanks for looking out for me, though.”
