retreating back.
“Aren’t you going to work today, honey?” Mom asks as she peeks her head into my bedroom.
A low groan from under my pillow is the only response she’s getting, but I should know it would take more than that to keep her from prodding. The bed dips, barely, under the weight of her sitting next to me. My calves are sticking out from under the sheet; I never could sleep with them covered up. She pats them, forcing me to roll over and at least face her. “You didn’t go in yesterday either. Anything you want to talk about?”
The words “not with you” hang on my tongue, but I think better of speaking them, knowing that she’ll just smack me upside the head for my rude remark. “I’m fine, Mom.”
“By chance, does this two-day-I’m-not-getting-out-of-bed funk have anything to do with that pretty girl waiting for you downstairs?”
What pretty girl? The only one I can think of is Elle, but why would she be here?
Mom’s eyebrow lifts with accusation and playfulness. “Uh huh. That’s what I thought.” Her laughter fills the room. “Now get your ass outta this bed and get down there.”
“All right, all right.” I sit up in bed; thoughts of facing Elle force my drowsiness away quickly.
Grabbing a T-shirt from the desk chair in my room, I walk into the bathroom. After brushing my teeth and running a hand through my hair, I walk down the stairs and find Elle sitting at my dining room table, quietly chatting with my mom. They share a small smile before realizing I’m in the room. Mom squeezes Elle’s hand before rising from her seat. She shoots me a you-better-be-nice look, her eyes stern and her lips set in a firm line.
What the hell did I do wrong?
“Can we go outside?” Elle asks, looking over at me. My gut churns in anger when my eyes land on the pink welt on her cheek. She holds out her small hand, extending it to the back door.
Nodding, I stride over to it and hold it open for her. There’s a small creek running through the backyard. Lazily, we stroll down to its bank and sit on a log bench. We sit in awkward silence for a few minutes before I finally speak. “Why did you need to look me up?”
She shoots me an odd look. “Owen, it’s 2014. Everyone googles everyone. You’re not the first person who’s been found online. Besides, it’s not like I uncovered some undercover drug smuggling operation or anything.” Her eyebrows rise in jest.
“Nah, I keep that shit very well-hidden,” I deadpan, loving the fact that she can’t tell if I’m joking or not right away.
“Ha, ha, ha,” she mocks with sarcasm. “But really,” she twists in her seat, angling her body toward me. “Why didn’t you tell me about all of that?”
Shrugging, I toss a rock into the water, watching the waves spread out around it. “You saw me for what you wanted to see me as; besides, it’s not too far from the truth.”
“You have an MBA from Boston College,” she exclaims. “That’s a far cry from a simple farmer.” I nod and we sit in silence for a moment before she continues speaking. “So when you were talking about all those documents, you weren’t just making stuff up, were you?” she asks, already knowing the answer.
I nod in response, tossing another rock into the water. “Look, Elle. I don’t know what to tell you. I got into BC on a full academic scholarship, promised myself and my mother that I’d learn how to make enough money that we’d never have to live like this again.” Angling my head back to the house, she knows what I mean. “The man you praise as being your mentor, left before I was even born, didn’t even want me around.” My intent is not to hurt her by cutting my father down, but rather to tell her the truth about him for once. “He never even bothered to know me.”
Her long fingers fall to my forearm. “Owen, I think you’re wrong.” After pulling a few sheets of paper out of her back pocket, she hands them over to me.
Unfolding
“Aren’t you going to work today, honey?” Mom asks as she peeks her head into my bedroom.
A low groan from under my pillow is the only response she’s getting, but I should know it would take more than that to keep her from prodding. The bed dips, barely, under the weight of her sitting next to me. My calves are sticking out from under the sheet; I never could sleep with them covered up. She pats them, forcing me to roll over and at least face her. “You didn’t go in yesterday either. Anything you want to talk about?”
The words “not with you” hang on my tongue, but I think better of speaking them, knowing that she’ll just smack me upside the head for my rude remark. “I’m fine, Mom.”
“By chance, does this two-day-I’m-not-getting-out-of-bed funk have anything to do with that pretty girl waiting for you downstairs?”
What pretty girl? The only one I can think of is Elle, but why would she be here?
Mom’s eyebrow lifts with accusation and playfulness. “Uh huh. That’s what I thought.” Her laughter fills the room. “Now get your ass outta this bed and get down there.”
“All right, all right.” I sit up in bed; thoughts of facing Elle force my drowsiness away quickly.
Grabbing a T-shirt from the desk chair in my room, I walk into the bathroom. After brushing my teeth and running a hand through my hair, I walk down the stairs and find Elle sitting at my dining room table, quietly chatting with my mom. They share a small smile before realizing I’m in the room. Mom squeezes Elle’s hand before rising from her seat. She shoots me a you-better-be-nice look, her eyes stern and her lips set in a firm line.
What the hell did I do wrong?
“Can we go outside?” Elle asks, looking over at me. My gut churns in anger when my eyes land on the pink welt on her cheek. She holds out her small hand, extending it to the back door.
Nodding, I stride over to it and hold it open for her. There’s a small creek running through the backyard. Lazily, we stroll down to its bank and sit on a log bench. We sit in awkward silence for a few minutes before I finally speak. “Why did you need to look me up?”
She shoots me an odd look. “Owen, it’s 2014. Everyone googles everyone. You’re not the first person who’s been found online. Besides, it’s not like I uncovered some undercover drug smuggling operation or anything.” Her eyebrows rise in jest.
“Nah, I keep that shit very well-hidden,” I deadpan, loving the fact that she can’t tell if I’m joking or not right away.
“Ha, ha, ha,” she mocks with sarcasm. “But really,” she twists in her seat, angling her body toward me. “Why didn’t you tell me about all of that?”
Shrugging, I toss a rock into the water, watching the waves spread out around it. “You saw me for what you wanted to see me as; besides, it’s not too far from the truth.”
“You have an MBA from Boston College,” she exclaims. “That’s a far cry from a simple farmer.” I nod and we sit in silence for a moment before she continues speaking. “So when you were talking about all those documents, you weren’t just making stuff up, were you?” she asks, already knowing the answer.
I nod in response, tossing another rock into the water. “Look, Elle. I don’t know what to tell you. I got into BC on a full academic scholarship, promised myself and my mother that I’d learn how to make enough money that we’d never have to live like this again.” Angling my head back to the house, she knows what I mean. “The man you praise as being your mentor, left before I was even born, didn’t even want me around.” My intent is not to hurt her by cutting my father down, but rather to tell her the truth about him for once. “He never even bothered to know me.”
Her long fingers fall to my forearm. “Owen, I think you’re wrong.” After pulling a few sheets of paper out of her back pocket, she hands them over to me.
Unfolding
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