Page 46 of Down Bad

It just sits there like a member of plant royalty on a throne.

I look through the window. Wyatt’s house is dark. He’s asleep at this hour, no doubt.

I really do wonder if he was trimming those roses for that guy.

In the middle of the night. Tirelessly giving to these people who wouldn’t do the same in return. Spending his spare time to make everyone else on earth happy. All these sacrifices they don’t ever see. They just demand more and more.

And he just gives and gives.

Why doesn’t he see it that way?

Why does it seem to bring him joy, serving others like that?

I take my thoughts to the couch. The living room is where I spend the least amount of time. No idea why. It just reminds me of something I can’t put my finger on that disturbs me. Childhood. Or my selfish mom. Or my tío and his judging glare.

Or Dad.

Before I know it, I’m waking up on that couch to the sunlight cutting in through the back window, blinding. I push myself to the bathroom to piss my brains out and take a shower.

It’s while getting dressed that the rain starts tapping on the window.

By the time I’m ready to head to the shop, it’s full-on raining.

Great.

I’m on the porch deciding whether to wait it out or walk in it for the two or three blocks to the auto shop. For all the junk my tía and tío left behind, can’t find a single damned umbrella.

A flash of green.

I look to the side.

Wyatt stands on his front porch looking back.

Green umbrella opened in front of him pointed down—green with swirly pink flowers all over it. Seriously, it isn’t enough that he works at a flower shop? He’s gotta have a floral umbrella, too?

Why do I find that so fucking adorable?

I don’t say or do a damned thing, but suddenly he walks down his driveway, across the sidewalk, and up to the front of my porch with his cute floral umbrella.

His eyes shine through the rain.

His lips curling into half a smile.

Wearing a plain t-shirt that’ll have his cute floral apron over it when he gets to work.

Hair looking like he fixed it in the house only for the humid, rainy, gusty air to fuck it up the second he stepped outside.

He asks me something.

I have no idea what. I’m mesmerized, staring at him.

He asks again. The same question, I think.

“Huh?” I grunt, snapping out of it.

Third time, his face goes flat and his voice hardens. “Do. You. Want. A. Riiide …?” He really stretches out that last word, cupping his hands around his mouth.

I frown. “Nah, I’ll walk.”