I watch her as she dries the last bowl.
“Aaron never gave her even half of what Gus does, and sometimes, it seems as if Gus doesn’t even try. It’s almost like doing things like flying to Charleston are the absolute bare minimum to him, as if they’re the least that’s expected of him and so it’s so easy for him to do it.”
“I genuinely think it is to him.”
“I want that for you, as well. Not just someone to love you like that, but also for someone for you to love like that, too.”
“What do you mean?” I throw the sponge and gloves down by the edge of the sink. I move to start putting the dishes away, but Mom stops me, placing a hand on my chest.
“You have so much to give, Finley. In some ways, when I look at Gus, I am reminded of you. You’re both men who have this contained form of love within them. It fights and it fights, and in the end, it makes you feel as if you aren’t worthy, but sweetheart that’s because it’s not meant to be contained. It’s supposed to be free and chaotic and unstoppable. I have your father, Wren has Gus, it’s simply your turn.”
Oakleigh’s brown eyes and sharp features fill my mind and I hesitate.
“Does it worry you that I’m not with anyone?”
Her head shakes. “No, baby boy, no. That’s not what worries me.”
“Then what does?”
“Sweetheart, I’m not worried that you don’t have anyone. I’m worried that sometimes when I look at you, it’s as if you’ve given up on wanting it.”
I don’t want my mom to worry. Part of the reason I’m stuck with these ridiculous intrusive thoughts in the first place is because of my obsessive need to be easy, to not have anyone worry about me or want more for me. My brain works a million miles a minute to think of something—anything—that can make my mother’s worries disappear. I need her to know that there’s nothing to worry about. I need her to not think I’m a burden. And in my haste to do just that, my brain does the only thing it can think of…it blurts out a whole bunch of shit faster than I can process it and filter out the secrets.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about, Ma. I haven’t shut anything out; I’m merely waiting for the right person to come along. Besides, it’s not like I haven’t been doing anything, you know I go on dates, I talk to women. Dating nowadays is just really hard, ya know, especially when you’re surrounded by small towns like this one and nothing else. But no, I like to date. I mean, it’s tedious don’t get me wrong, I mean, seriously some people are just, wow, but I still do it and I still do…stuff, ya know? I have sex and stuff. You didn’t need to know that. But rest assured, I am being safe. You didn’t need to know that, either. The point is that I’m doing stuff and putting myself out there. Hell, even last year I ended up making out with Oak?—”
Fuuuuuuuck.
Mom’s dark brown eyes widen slowly.
“Finley Jonathan Southwick,” she squeals. “Are you trying to say that you’ve been spending time with Oakleigh…alone?”
My shocked silence seems to be confirmation enough for her. I have to shush loudly over her scream to get her to quieten down.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” She changes her scream to a quiet squeal. “Oh, Finley! Why haven’t you told us sooner?”
“Um…”
“Oh, now I can’twaitfor lunch tomorrow!”
She jumps around the kitchen as I hold my head in my hands.
This is bad. This is really bad. My mom is terrible at keeping secrets normally, but a secret in which I’ve implied that Oakleigh and I are dating? I am so fucked.
ChapterFive
OAKLEIGH
Ishould have known that my day would turn into a shitshow.
When it begins with a certain asshole unexpectedly banging on my door for the entire five minutes it takes me to put on clothes and run downstairs, then what other result could there possibly be?
At least he has the decency to look awkward as he stands on my doorstep, hands in his pants pockets, rocking back and forth from the soles onto the balls of his feet.
“What?” I demand. I’m aware that I look like I just crawled out of the Devil’s ass, but I’ve only slept for what feels like an hour. My mouth feels dry, my hair is sticking up at all angles, and I can just feel the line of drool on my chin.
Finn watches me with a pained expression. “This is how you open the door for people?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, is the drool and the bedhead offensive?”
