Pieces of Me (10 page)

Chapter 12

When I report for my shift this afternoon, Mason seems more flustered than normal. He's flying around the shop in Suzi's wake, frantically writing down everything she's saying. From the gist of it, I guess that Suzi is leaving again.
              I actually haven’t seen much of her at all.  She doesn't come in very often and when she does it's usually just to interrogate Holden. Then she locks herself in the back office for a few minutes to look over paperwork before taking off again.
              Though my first impression of her was that she seemed kind of fun and was a doting mother, my opinion has quickly changed. She seems a little flighty, like she can't stand to be in the same place for very long at all. It makes me wonder about what kind of childhood Holden had.              
              Though my mom technically is a working mom, she was also always there when I got home from school, she's the one who nursed me back to health when I got sick and we always had dinner together as a family. I know that not every family is as lucky as mine, that we are definitely not the norm. But I still feel bad when I think about little Holden growing up without a dad and with a mom who can't seem to sit still for longer than fifteen minutes.
              But it's more than that. The way she looks at me—the way someone looks at a poor, sad animal that has been abused and locked away in a shelter—makes it impossible for me to be around her. It's too reminiscent of the stares I became accustomed to back home, even though there's no explanation for why Suzi looks at me like that. 
              “Good afternoon, Aria. So glad you are here. Can you cover the front for a bit?” she asks me as I'm tying on my apron.
              “Yes, of course.” I nod.
              “Fantastic. I just need to go over a few things with Mason before I leave.”
              “Oh are you going out of town?” I ask even though I already assumed as much.
              “Yes.” Her eyes light up in enthusiasm. “I'm going to Paris for the month.”
              “A month?”
|              “Yes. I love France this time of year.”
              “Do you go often?”
              “Only  as often as I can,” she says with a conspiratorial chuckle. “It's so much easier now that Holden is an adult. I used to only be able to travel during the summers while he stayed with my parents. It was such a hassle to try to find a reliable babysitter during the school year,” she says with a shake her head, as if she's so relieved that inconvenient part of her life is over.  Then she turns to Mason. “Come along Mason, I've still got to pack.”
              I don't know why but when he told me about spending his summers with his grandparents, I had assumed that he and his mother had spent the summers there together.  It never crossed my mind that she would have just dropped him off so she could go gallivanting around the world without him.
              Holden hasn't said much about it, but from what I've gathered from the bits and pieces Mason has let slip and my own observation, this happens frequently. She swoops in for a week or two at a time, drills Holden about his personal life, checks to make sure all the paperwork for The Java Bean is still in order and everything is running smoothly, then off she is again on to her next adventure.               Right on schedule fifteen minutes later she's bidding us all farewell and promises to bring back souvenirs and lots of pictures. Since it's our down time, I make a drink for Mason and take it back to him.
              “Knock, knock,” I say as I tap lightly on the office door. It's slightly ajar so I see him nod an acknowledgment my way before I push the door open. “I thought you could use this.”
              “Ah, thanks,” he says sincerely as he takes the cup from my hands. “That woman—” He shakes his head not saying anything else and I understand. That would probably be a little inappropriate since she is our boss.
              I hear the bell chime from the front and I excuse myself so he can get back to work. As I approach the counter, I see Holden and he appears to be looking for someone.
              “Hey, what's up?” I greet him.
              “Is she gone?” he asks and I know he's talking about his mom. Did she not even say goodbye to him? That's so weird. My mom drags out goodbyes like there's no tomorrow.
              “Um, yeah, you just missed her,” I say kindly, trying to soften the blow.
              He lets out a visible sigh of relief and sags into one of the chairs. “Thank God.”
              “What?”  That is definitely not the reaction I was expecting from him.
              “Nothing, I just didn't want to have to pretend like I was going to miss her,” he says casually. “Hey, look what I picked up on my way over here.” He hands me a white box. I open it up and see my owl from the pottery shop.
              “It looks amazing! Thanks for picking it up for me.”               “No problem,” he says with a smile.
              “Where's your mug?” I ask him unable to completely contain the grin from forming on my lips.
              “Don't worry, I didn't forget my own masterpiece. I figured we could use it for a tip jar,” he suggests pulling it out of the bag and setting it on the counter next to the cash register. I think it's even uglier now that it's been fired and I can't help but giggle.
              “I think that's a great idea. People might tip more just because they feel bad that all we have is that pathetic looking mug,” I tease him.
              “You are not a very nice person are you, Aria Watkins?”
              “I never claimed I was,” I say, echoing what he said to me my first day of work here.
              “Touché.”
              “Are you working or did you just stop by to bring me my work of art?”
              “Just stopped by.”
              “A little out of your way isn't it?” I ask but I don't really know that for sure. I actually have no idea where Holden lives and it's not like I could really ask him without making it sound like I was interested. And since I don't have access to his employee application like he did mine, I can't exactly do my research that way either. I'm not really sure why I even cared where he lives. It just seems weird that he always wants to help me study at my apartment. I would think it would get old and that sometimes he might want to just relax at his own house.
              “Tomorrow, do you want to study some place different?” I ask as discreetly as possible. “You know, change of scenery or whatever?”
              “What's wrong with your apartment?”
              “I don't know. I mean, nothing really. I just thought that maybe we could change things up a bit.”
              “But all your books and stuff are at your place,” he points out.
              “I could bring them wherever,” I counter.
              “While riding your bike?”
              “My  back is strong,” I say without much conviction.
              “Is there something going on that you don't want to tell me?” he asks and from the tone of his voice and his tense body language, he seems like he is on edge.  I'm wondering if there's something he wants to say to me but isn't sure exactly how to begin.  
              “No, not at all. I was just thinking—” I don't really know what I'm thinking. “It's fine. My place as usual.”
              As we're closing up the place, I am suddenly faced with a dilemma. I can't hold my pretty owl and steer my bike at the same time. It won't fit in my purse either.
              Holden is just locking up the cash register when he glances up at me and takes in my expression.
              “What's wrong Smalls?”
              “Nothing, it's stupid.” He cocks an eyebrow at me expectantly so I continue, “I was just contemplating how I was going to get Hootie home unscathed.”
              “Hootie?”
              “Yeah, my owl.”
              “You're naming it Hootie?”
              “What's wrong with that?”
              “I don't know. It reminds me of Hootie and the Blowfish. Your owl needs a more dignified name. Something like, Archimedes.”
              “You can't be serious. I can barely pronounce that.”
              “Okay...Mr. Wentworth.”
              “Is that a Jane Austen reference?”
              “Maybe...”
              “You've read
Persuasion
?”
              “I think my grandmother might have forced me to read it out loud once.”
              “Yikes, what did you do to deserve that?”

             
“Don't change the subject—this is a very important decision.”
              “Naming my ceramic owl is not going to change the world. And he's too cute to have such a serious sounding name.”
              “How about Bugsy then?”
              “Mr. Wentworth to Bugsy?”
              “It's better than the predictable Hootie.”
              “Find, Bugsy it is.”
              “Good choice.”
              “Glad that's settled.”
              “And you know, I'd offer to give you a ride but you repeatedly turn me down.”
              “I know, sorry. I don't mean to be so weird.”
              “It's cool. Playing hard to get. I get it.”
              “Hardly.”
              “Prove me wrong then,” he challenges.
              I think about it for a minute. I can either be stubborn again and refuse his offer and struggle to ride my bike while holding on to Bugsy or I can stop being so damn weird about this.  I rode in Olivia's car the other day and managed to hold myself together—barely but still, I survived. And this is a much shorter drive— I literally live just a couple of blocks away.             
              “Okay, as long as you promise you aren't some closet serial killer.”
              “Now would I admit that if it was true?” He smiles slyly and I can't help but smile in return.

Chapter 13

“I really don't want to do this,” I tell Olivia for the hundredth time.
              “Stop. No arguing. We're doing this. You're doing this. I told you that we're going to go to a party, you're going to have a good time being a normal college student. Think of it like some sort of therapy.”
              “Okay now you sound like my mom,” I point out. “Are you sure you aren't a psych major?”
              “Zip it. No more stalling!” She practically drags me up the steps of the old Victorian party house. As we get to the door some guy barrels out with his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. Olivia pulls me to the side and out of the way just in time to avoid the chunks of this guy's dinner from ending up all over the new dress she insisted I buy for the party tonight. Not sure what her deal is with wearing dresses to these things. At least this time she let me wear a coat. 
              Olivia leads the way to the kitchen where there is a variety of alcoholic beverages to choose from. Luckily there's a two-liter of Coke, presumably to make rum and Cokes with but I skip the rum. She mixes Parrot Bay with some pineapple juice, stirs it around with her finger then holds it up in the air towards me. “Cheers!”
              We head down to the basement where music is blaring loudly. The floor is gray concrete and there are several mismatched couches in front of an oversized flat screen television, a pool table (which a couple of girls are currently dancing on top of) and a door leading outside flanked by two windows.
              Some of Olivia's friends from class come over and start trying to talk her into pledging their sorority.
              “Aria, this is Chelsea,” she says, pointing to a girl with long bleached blonde hair and quite possibly the longest eyelashes I've ever seen. They have to be fake. “And this is Bridget.”
              “Are you interested in pledging?” Bridget asks expectantly. She's got exceptionally dark eyes and eyebrows but her hair is nearly as blonde as Chelsea's so I'm assuming it's not her natural color. Maybe being blonde is a requirement? Looks like I'm out.
              “Um, no thank you,” I say as politely as I can. They don't seem to care too much for my rejection. Olivia gives me a pointed look and I know she thinks I should be trying harder but me in a sorority? Yeah, not going to happen.
              I spot Holden over by the windows with two girls I don't recognize. It pleases me to see how indifferent he is to their obvious attempts at flirting, though the fact that I even care surprises me. He must  feel my eyes boring into him because he looks up and spots me immediately.
              Beck approaches him and then they both head over toward where Olivia and I are standing. I glance up at Olivia and I finally understand the expression 'if looks could kill'.
              “Hey,” Holden says when he's close enough. “Surprised to see you here.”
              “Yeah, Olivia talked me into it. Again.”
              Olivia tears her eyes away from glaring at Beck for a second to nod and say, “Yeah, trying to get Aria to loosen up and have a good time for a change.”
              “I'd rather be home studying,” I admit in true nerd fashion.
              “Isn't Holden here tutoring you?” Beck asks. He looks uncomfortable under Olivia's glare.
              “Yeah, thanks to him this biology crap is actually starting to make a little sense.”
              “Do you want a beer?” Some drunk guy I've never seen before forces himself in front of Holden.
              “No thanks. I'm good with my Coke.”
              “Come on, baby, Have an effin' beer!”
              “Seriously. I don't drink.”
              “Who doesn't drink?” he scoffs.
              “She doesn't,” Olivia says in her bitchiest tone at the same time Holden says, “I don't either.”
              “I call bullshit. I've totally seen you sporting a red solo cup.”
              “Yes, but have you ever seen me drink from said red solo cup?”
              The drunken douchebag thinks about it for a minute.               “Whatever. You guys suck.” He takes off towards the keg leaving us alone.
              “Wow.
              “I gotta pee. Be right back!” Olivia announces. After a moment, curiosity gets the best of me and I have to ask.  
              “You never drink?” I eye Holden curiously.
              “Not a drop.”
              “Why?”
              “Because my dad was an alcoholic prick.”
              He doesn’t say anything more on the subject and I don't want to pry when he's so obviously upset about the matter.
              “Do you want to get out of here?” I ask him when I can't take the silence any longer.
              “Already?”
              “I think we already established that parties are really not my thing.”
              “True. So why come at all?”
              “I'm not really sure. I guess I just keep hoping that one time I'll actually want to stay.”
              “Are you sure you want to leave with me?”
              “Yeah, I mean, I'm fairly certain at this point that you aren't a serial killer.”
              When he smiles like that, I feel like I've known that smile all my life.
              “Ice cream?”
              “What is up with you and ice cream? It's freakin' cold outside!”
              “I told you, it's never too cold for ice cream.”
              “Is there anywhere even open right now?” I look at my cell phone to see that it's already after midnight. I made it a whole hour this time. That had to be considered progress.
              “Hmm, probably not,” he says, pausing thoughtfully. “How about we grab a gallon and a movie and hang out at your place?”
              “On one condition.”
              “What's that?”
              “It has to be Cherry Garcia,” I say in the most serious tone I can muster.
              “Deal.” He holds out his hand so we can shake on it. Then he turns to Beck, “Can you take Olivia home?”
              “Yeah, man. No prob.” Beck actually seems pretty excited about the prospect.             
              “Wait,” I stop Holden. “I don't think Olivia would like that.”
              “Why not?” Holden looks confused.
              I look between the two of them before saying, “I don't think she wants anything to do with him anymore.”
              “Wait, what? Why not? Is this because I didn't call, because—”
              “Well, that and the fact that she saw you, and I quote, 'groping some redhead with a big ass' the other day.”
              “Ah, shit. That wasn't what it looked like,” Beck tries to explain just as Olivia walks up.
              She must have overheard him because she says, “Um, and what exactly was that then?”
              “You realize you are accusing me of groping my very pregnant sister, right? I don't know where you're from but here on the East Coast, that's not groping, it's called hugging someone goodbye.”
              Olivia blushes and I realize that she probably not only over-reacted, but also over-exaggerated the groping.
              “Your sister?” she asks quietly, biting her lip.
              “Yeah, she was in town for the week visiting.”
              “Oh. Well why didn't you call me then?” she demands. Now it seems like she's just grasping at straws for an excuse to be mad at him.
              “Now
that
you can be mad at me over.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I have no excuse for that other than the fact that I'm an asshat. I was just working up the nerve to ask you out again.”
              Olivia's eyes immediately change from shooting daggers to all doe-like and sparkly.
              “Olivia?” I ask wanting to make sure everything was good.
              “Yeah, it's fine. I can get a ride back with the girls,” she answers me.
              “I don't mind giving you a ride,” Beck offers.
              “It's fine, Chelsea lives on the same floor as me so I'll just get a ride home with her.” Beck looks a little upset so she adds soothingly, “But we aren't ready to leave quite yet.”
              Beck seems encouraged by that. Holden and I exchange a look and without words seem to agree that it's okay for us to make our exit now. Hurricane Olivia has mellowed.
              We step outside into the cool autumn night air to find it pouring down rain. The weather here is so much milder than it is back home, but rain is still rain and tonight it's cool enough to make me shiver. Cold and wet. Not cool              “Do you want my jacket?” Holden asks.
              “Nah, I'm okay. Not looking forward to riding my bike home in this.”
              “You don't honestly think I'm going to let you ride your bike home in the rain do you?”
              “How else am I going to get home?”
              “We can shove it in the back of my car, Brainiac.”
              “Are you sure that piece of crap can make it all way to my apartment without breaking down?” I tease.
              “As a matter of fact I didn't drive that tonight. I brought the Explorer.”
              He reaches for my hand and without thinking about it too much I let him. I follow his lead over to a white Ford Explorer that looks brand new.
              “Hop in,” he says as he holds the passenger side door open for me.
              How many cars does this guy have?
              He loads up my bike in the back and I find myself even more curious about him than before. I'm beginning to realize that Holden is a puzzle, and despite my reluctance, I want to piece it together. But it's like I'm only being given one precious piece at a time, sometimes not even that. Sometimes, like right now, I'm only given a glimpse of who he is. It makes it difficult to see the whole picture, but at the same time somehow I know that if or when I finally complete the puzzle that is Holden, it will be beautiful.
              He turns on the radio and one of my favorite songs happens to be playing.  He must recognize it from my top five list because he turns it up before smirking over at me.
              “I still can't believe you like her stuff. I mean, Taylor Swift? Really?”
              “Yes really. She's the whole reason I learned to play the guitar.”
              “Wait! You can play the guitar?”
              “A little.”
              “Wow, I'm impressed.”
              “Don't be. I can play, like, two songs.”
              “Would you play for me sometime?”
              “No.” I roll my eyes. “I don't play anymore.”
              “Why not?”
              “I don't know. I guess I just don't want to,” I explain lamely.
              I haven't actually picked up my guitar in over a year now. It probably desperately needs to be tuned but why bother?  I only knew a handful of songs because that's all Sean taught me before he died. I almost didn't even bring it with me but my dad insisted.  So I just shoved it in my closet with the box Sean's mom insisted I go through when I was ready. I didn't think I'd ever be ready, just like I don't think I'll ever be ready to play that guitar again.
We arrive at the twenty-four hour grocery store and head to the Red Box kiosk to browse the very limited selection of movies.
              “What are you in the mood for?” he asks me after a few minutes of looking over the options.
              “Nothing romantic.”
              “Obviously.”
              “And nothing scary.”
              “Why is scary out?”
              Because sometimes scary movies can be even more intimate than romantic ones. Especially since I'm a scaredy cat and I only have one couch so it would be way too easy to find myself wrapped up in your arms and burying my face into your chest.
But I don't say that out loud.
              “I'm a wuss,” is all I actually say.
              “Hmm, you're much pickier than I would have guessed.”
              I just shrug and keep browsing for something that would be simple and friendly and wouldn't risk blurring the lines that I have so carefully crafted from the beginning.  Ones that Holden is now enforcing on his own. 
              “Action or Comedy?” I ask.
              “Comedy,” he answers.
              “Okay then, this one.”
              I grab the ice cream and Holden grabs a bag of chips and dip. I shoot him a questioning look. 
              “You said you liked a little salty with your sweet that night I crashed your and Olivia's Channing Tatum marathon,” he says with a shrug as we head to my apartment.
              I didn't think that it would be a big deal since he's over here so much helping me study but tonight feels different. Maybe it’s because we aren't actually studying but just hanging out.  It’s not the same, even though I hang out and watch movies all the time with Olivia. I try to pretend that I don't know the reason why but having him here, in my apartment with the only light being the glow of my television, everything feels different. He plops down on the center cushion of the couch and I suspect that he did that on purpose so no matter where I sit, I'll be beside him.                  The butterflies in my stomach flutter excitedly as though feeling the gentle breeze of spring and preparing to take flight for the first time. Just friends, I remind myself.  We’re only friends.