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Alan laughed, getting into the conversation. “Now tell me what happened with the cop.”
They were egging me on from the front of the truck on purpose. I was too aggravated, remembering that night and the hit I had to take so the chief would drop everything else he could have charged me with. Evan pulled some low blows saying that stuff about her, and I couldn’t handle it. I was nearing my breaking point with her, and barely handling much of anything these days each time I interacted with her.
I waved them off and Hunter picked up the story. “He had a few beers beforehand at Easton’s and drove home. Evan pulled him over on the corner by the bank, leaving the pub, and he got himself a DUI and a suspension.”
“Well shit, son, girls don’t like a man who can’t drive. We need to get thi
s straightened out.” I wasn’t sure how Alan was going to help me, but I wasn’t going to turn him down.
“Well unless we can get Demon here to settle down and stop trying to beat Evan every time he opens his mouth, it might be a hopeless cause.” Hunter thumbed into the backseat, looking at me through the rearview mirror. He used the nickname Kristen dubbed me all those years ago in high school. It was a stupid, silly thing, but just like Taylor was only called by her full name by Hunter and Alan, I felt a certain proprietary hold on my nickname by Kristen.
“Don’t call me that.” I pointed at him.
Dickhead stuck his tongue out at me in the mirror.
“Seriously Hunter? That’s what we’re going with?” Alan laughed and I glared at him, willing the shaved hairs on his head to catch fire or at least singe something. None of this was fair.
“Patience gets the girl. I ever tell you boys how I met Taylor Jane’s mother?” We shake our heads and Alan drifts off for a second, recalling those happy memories.
“I’d like to hear it,” Hunter said.
“Me too,” I added. I had nothing but respect for Taylor’s dad.
“I guess that settles it then. Let’s stop for lunch and I’ll tell you all about her beautiful mother, who gave me quite a chase in those early days. Hunter, you’ll have to drive us both to the DMV next week.”
“I planned on it, sir.” Poor Hunter—he was stuck with me until I finished the Intoxicated Driver Program. These next few weeks were going to be hell with him driving me back and forth but there was no way out of it.
5
Kristen
High School
“Damien Hart is the scourge of female kind.” Stomping my foot, I stormed around the kitchen of Taylor’s house. My mom was at the office working late and my dad was coaching the boys’ football team to another season ending victory. I had left my brother at home making out with some girl I couldn’t identify by her chipped purple toenail polish as Chase had chucked a pillow at me, throwing me out of my own house.
“What’s that, honey?” Mrs. Bryant, Jolene, or Momma Number Two to me pulled sugar cookies out of the oven. She was wearing a polka dot apron and mitts that looked worn around the edges, like her dented cookie trays from years of love and use. Her honey-blond hair was piled up in a neat little bun with wisps escaping the sides just like Taylor’s did, while she set out to make more cookies, letting the air smell like heated sugar. Taylor was the spitting image of her mother, give it a few decades and I could see Taylor doing this same thing with kids of her own.
“I bet he picks his nose when no one is looking.” I was huffing and puffing in a full-on teenage snit. I’d had to walk through the side yard without my shoes. My shoes were in the house because Chase was busy sticking his tongue down some girl’s throat, probably on an expedition to her tonsils. I heard there were socks you put on doorknobs for that sort of stuff. Next time I would make sure his sweaty football socks were everywhere.
“Boys are disgusting,” I husked out, talking more to myself than Taylor’s mom, settling myself at the kitchen bar and twirling on the stool until I came to a full stop. A plate of cookies magically appeared in front of me. A deep breath and I was centered once again in the warm kitchen with my best friend’s mom, who actually gave me the time to listen to my complaints as if they were the most important problems in the world. She made me feel like world hunger came second to my feelings, and I loved her for it.
“Oh honey, I’m sure he doesn’t pick his nose. Does he?” She shook her head like the thought was one she’d rather not have while cooking, and continued talking. “Boys are a bit dense at this age. He’ll come around when you’re older, I promise. Sometimes they’re like dough—they need work and to cook for a bit.”
She smiled, placing a piping-hot cookie on my plate. I’d never understand how moms could do that—just grab burning-hot food and dish it out to us kids like it didn’t melt off their fingerprints like on CSI: Miami. Compared to my mother whose cookie sheets still had the stickers on them from Williams & Sonoma. My mom was a lawyer. Maternal instinct wasn’t in her DNA, unless you considered her ferociousness inside a courtroom working for her clients.
I was pretty sure my mother hadn’t used the stainless steel double oven since they redid our kitchen five years ago for a housewarming party, even though we’ve lived in the house over ten years now. Parents could be such a drag sometimes. But Taylor’s mom was the bomb. I could sit there in the kitchen all day with her, watching her cook and inject love into everything she did.
I picked up the cookie, eagerly taking a bite, and the sugar-sweet dough scalded my mouth. “Oww!” Not wanting to spit it out, I cupped my mouth, blowing air in and out and hoping I hadn’t done irreparable damage to the tissue inside my mouth.
“Kristen,” Mrs. Bryant chided me, sliding over a glass of milk before imparting more of her incredible mom wisdom I wished my mom had time for. It wasn’t that my mother didn’t love us; she just wasn’t biologically disposed to being motherly. It was entirely possible that instinctual gene bypassed her altogether.
“And just because they’ve cooked doesn’t mean they’re ready to eat, either.” Her hand covered mine with a gentle squeeze. “Most need to cool a bit.”
“Is that why they’re so complicated?” I asked, letting my lips tremble and wiping back tears.
“You are so young.” She brushed a messy layer of my hair back as a gentle smile creased her face that seemed to remain ageless, and I knew she cared. “You’re my impulsive one, Kristen. The two of you are as close to fire and ice as you can get.” She patted my hand again. “Give him time to cool his jets.” And just like that I was in awe of how much my best friend’s mom made sense. Time and space were exactly what we needed, even if it sucked.
“Mrs. Bryant, can I sleep over tonight?” The last place I wanted to be was home feeling lonely in a full house. Mom would be holed up in her office reviewing briefs while Dad would be parked on the couch with Chase and some of the other boys on the team, watching football highlights and analyzing plays.
