Secondary Colors (4 page)

“You sit and enjoy,” my mother insists, a hand shooing us toward the table. And we do.

I dish out food, loading everyone’s plate, sans meat for Tay since she became an herbivore. My mother and I on the other hand are not. Tay serves up the sangria.

“I forgot the yogurt sauce.” Meredith swiftly rises and makes for the screen door.

“You’ll never guess who I saw,” Tay says, stabbing her salad with a fork and shoving a cherry tomato into her mouth.

It probably wouldn’t be hard if I tried. There are ten people in the whole town. She doesn’t actually want me to, though. Like most people, she wants me to set her up for whatever she’s about tell me.

“Who?”

“Makayla.” Her upper lip curls, as if it’s rejecting the name.

“I thought she went to L.A. to become a famous actress or something.”

“The gossip around town is Hollywood didn’t bang down her door. She’s been back in Aurora since spring working at her dad’s hardware store.”

“When did you see her?”

“Today, working some hot guy,” she answers, “instead of doing her job. She was her usual skank self. He didn’t seem to mind it either. I’ve never seen him before, so he must’ve moved here recently. Of course if there’s a new guy in town, Kayla’s the first to meet him, a one woman welcome wagon.”

Holt must be the unknown guy in the hardware store. Like I mentioned, in a town of three thousand people, if you’re not acquainted with someone personally, you at least know their face, name, or reputation.

“Did he flirt back?” I ask, wondering if she elicits a reaction from him. Tay elevates a nosey brow in my direction. She wonders why I care about the hot stranger’s response to my arch nemesis.

“Well,” she thinks back, “I couldn’t hear what he was saying to her, but he didn’t seem uninterested in her coming onto him. I mean, it’s Makayla, the man slayer.”

My intestines twist picturing Holt talking with Makayla, flirting with her when I can’t even get a damn hello from him. Why am I different from her? Not that I want him to flirt with me, but he’s living in my damn house and can’t (won’t) extend the common courtesy of acknowledging me.

“What are we talking about?” Meredith appears from the house again and puts the sauce in the middle of the table.

“Old classmates,” I answer with a dip of my spoon into the cucumber yogurt.

“Are you girls excited to see everyone again?” She sweeps the skirt of her dress out from under her as she takes a seat.

“Most.” Tay rips off a piece of pita and pinches it around a clump of rice. “There’s a big blowout this weekend on the lake.
Everyone’s
coming.” Her doe eyes dart to mine before she inhales the much-too-large portion, her cheeks fat like a chipmunk’s.

“Should be fun,” Meredith says cheerfully.

“Who is ‘everyone’ exactly?”

Tay’s eyes avoid mine.

“This is really off the charts, Meredith,” she praises, ignoring my question. She occupies her mouth by sucking the white sauce off the tips of her fingers. “Outstanding.”

“I’m pleased,” Meredith says, chuckling at Tay’s messy appreciation.

My mouth opens to re-ask my previous inquiry when she mumbles, “Holy crap,” her eyes growing as wide as her mouth is full. She gawks right past my mother toward the woods. When we follow her sightline, Holt’s approaching the porch, his face smudged with dirt. Max trotting behind him.

“Oh, Taylor, you haven’t been introduced to Holt, have you?” Meredith asks.

I’ve barely been introduced to him.

Gulping her food down and licking cucumber yogurt from the edges of her mouth, she says, “Not formally.”

“Holt,” mom says as he steps onto the patio. “I’d like you to meet Evie’s best friend, Taylor.”

She sticks out her hand, a dazzling smile brightening her all-American girl beauty. He takes it with a bob of his head and a stiff smirk.

“Pleasure,” she says, a flush of attraction on her cheeks. I guess I’m not the only one who finds him visually appealing. The verbal and mental department, not so much. “Would you like to join us?” She sweeps her hand over the table, as if she were a model on the Price Is Right, showcasing the many plates of food.

Tell him what he’s won, Johnny!

I creep to the edge of my seat, waiting to see if he’ll speak. His eyes dance over the table, Taylor, my mother, and then settle on me. He drags them from mine and fixes them back on Taylor.

He mumbles an answer. Most likely, no or no thanks. It’s so quick, it takes a moment to register in my sangria and Greek food haze. Before she has time to protest, he disappears into the house.

When he’s out of earshot, she leans into me. “That’s the guy I told you about, E.”

“Oh?”

I plead stupidity, your Honor.

“He’s a lot cuter up close.” She tips her chair back to peek down the hall. “And that view leavin’ isn’t half bad.”

“Tay!” I squeak.

My mother tries that motherly reprimanding stare, but it’s not working with the smirk she’s struggling to hide.

Tay shrugs, a mischievousness tweaking her lips.

colors you can’t fully remove from

your canvas

Over the next few days, I fritter my time away on the lake in my row boat, the gentle current carrying me wherever it chooses, hiking in the woods with Tay, sketching in the shade of a tree, or riding Nightmare in open fields. Anything to keep me from the house and Holt.

By the end of the week, it’s hard to invent reasons to avoid him and his uncomfortable silence. I’m going to be here for the next two months. It would be nice to have peace about everything.

On Friday morning, I search the house to confront him about his unconcealed need to ignore me. We don’t have to be the best of friends, but we have to learn to be civil—him more than me.

When I conclude he isn’t home, I elect to speak with him later. I eat breakfast and straighten up around the house to pass the time. After I’ve spent the morning cleaning, still with no sign of Silent and Mysterious, I hit the showers and dress to go into town for the afternoon to see if I can’t land myself a part-time job. I’ll need to get myself out of this house, even only a few days out of the week, something to occupy my time and make some lettuce. Enough to fill my wallet and save a tiny nest egg for those weeks in New York I may not receive a paycheck. I hit some places in town with no luck. It seems like most of the summertime jobs have been taken by high schoolers or kids home from college working at their families businesses.

By five, I realize I should call it quits and start fresh Monday morning. When I shuffle through the front door, I’m hit in the ears by the rattling melody of pots and pans.

Expecting Meredith, I wander into the kitchen. It’s not her, though. It’s Holt.

“Where’s my mom?”

He stops hacking vegetables to acknowledge me, shrugs, then returns to dicing.

“Did she tell you where she went or when she’ll be back?”

He shakes his head, keeping his focus on the chopping block. Max’s big brown eyes shift between Holt and I.

This is not the time to confront him. And I’m in no mood for a one-sided conversation.

“Fine,” I sigh. “I’m going to my room. If she comes back early, let her know I was asking for her, alright?”

He nods his head.

Is that all he does? Nod yes or no?

“Careful,” I mumble, “you might strain your neck.”

After my encounter with Holt, I locked myself in my room to fluff up my resume. My father called for his monthly parental check-in. As usual, it didn’t last long. He was headed out to some political event with his much younger, much newer wife, Felicia.

I expect nothing less (or more) from him.

Ever since my parents’ divorce, our interaction has been minimal at best. He disappeared for years, left me here in Aurora to open a law firm out of state. New York to be specific. In the beginning, my only communication with him was a child support check each month and a birthday card once a year. My mother would rip the payments up, using them for papier-mâché.

Once, I asked why she did it.

She replied, “My baby can’t be bought off.”

That was that.

When I turned fourteen, he finally came back into my life, but it was through phone calls and an occasional trip to visit him. If he came here, my parents would avoid each other at all costs. Under the most favorable circumstances, their separation was World War III. I’d be lying if I said I came out unscathed. It was the first time I’ve ever experienced a broken heart. Truthfully, I learned a valuable lesson from their divorce. If at all, marriage should be entered into carefully and with your eyes wide open. Not foolishly, with your love-drunken heart making all the decisions. That’s like driving intoxicated, reckless and bound to harm all parties involved.

Saturday morning, I wake to a message on my cell from my mom.

Will be home tonight or tomorrow.

Love you, baby.

No explanation where she went. I assume to her sister’s ranch in Vermont.

Not caring to question her impulsiveness, I brush my teeth, attack the knots in my hair, and apply sunscreen over ninety-eight percent of my body. I’m naturally tan from my Native American roots, so it isn’t necessary as much as a good habit. I wriggle into ripped jean shorts and a vintage black concert tee (the artwork so washed out you can’t identify the band) over my suit. I pack a bag with essentials, warmer clothes, a towel, and my music player.

When Taylor’s horn honks out front, I shove my feet into my boots without tying them, collect my things, and bolt for freedom. On my way to the door, Holt comes down the stairs wearing (only) worn-out jeans, Max playing his shadow.

Without expecting a response, I instruct him, “If my mom comes home tonight, let her know I’ll be late.”

I open the door, directing a glower at him, and then shut it behind me. Running down the path toward Tay’s Jetta, I jump in and buckle up before she takes off like a bullet from the barrel of a rifle.

“Ready for an entire day of fun and debauchery?” An enthusiastic grin is permanently chiseled into her face.

“You have no idea.”

Before I have time to get comfortable, we’re parking—in Aidan Channing’s driveway.

When my stunned eyes move to Tay’s, she yells, “Surprise!”

“He’s back?”

“For a few weeks now.”

To bring in extra income, my great grandfather built houses on the spacious acreage encircling the lake and allowed others to live on the land as well. Aidan’s family is one. They reside on the north shore in a monstrosity of a wood and stone manor. I haven’t been here since—

“I wish you’d told me we were coming here.”

“So you’re going to see the guy you’ve been in love with your entire life before finally losing your virginity to him in one wild night of young passion. What’s the big deal?”

Breaking me down, I laugh halfheartedly.

She knows very well the mark that night left on me, she’s the only one other than me who understands how huge a deal seeing Aidan is after all these years. There were so many things left unsaid, things he doesn’t know. Things I was sworn to withhold from him.

“It’s been a long time.” I stare nervously out the window at his house. “He probably doesn’t even want to see me.”

“He’s asked me to make sure you came, Ms. Pessimistic.”

“Yeah?”

“Come on, babe.” She tugs my arm encouragingly. “Let’s rip this old Band-Aid off.”

Was that an intentional pun?

We climb out of the car and hike around the massive house. It’s the largest, most extravagant home on the lake, with wall-sized windows in the living room facing out onto the water. Their plot isn’t as expansive as Meredith’s, but it’s certainly the most desirable on the lake. It should be. His father is in real estate and his mother is one of the most sought after interior designers in the northeast. Sadly, they weren’t around much during Aidan’s formative years. I’d always wondered what the point of having all this was, if it kept you from the thing that matters most, your child.

When we round the backyard, there’s about ten people already here. Everyone is hauling their things down to the lake and loading the two motorboats tethered to the dock. We casually meander toward the shore, stopping and catching up briefly with people passing by. A lot of them old friends from childhood, others were from the popular clique. Definitely not the crowd I ran with. I’m not surprised to see them at Aid’s house. He was the captain of the varsity baseball team and Prom King.

We spot a group of guys packing everything up when one catches my eye. He’s really handsome, well-built, and headed our way.

“Evie?” he asks with a bright, whole-hearted grin.

Holy fu
—.

“Aidan?”

“I thought I recognized those beautiful eyes.”

He scoops me up and spins me around, my legs swinging lifelessly. When he puts me down, they wobble under me, but his grip on my waist keeps me upright. I realize my hands are resting on his biceps when they flex under my touch.

The boy certainly filled out.

He’s changed from the last time I saw him. When he left, he was boyishly handsome and fit. He came back a man.

“You’re more breathtaking than I remember,” he mutters.

“And you,” I mutter, giving him a good onceover. “I can’t believe it.”

Beyond being devastatingly handsome, he dresses nicer than I do. He’s stylish and wrinkle-free, sexy and a bit preppy with his khaki shorts, ironed plaid shirt, and boating loafers. He’s Ralph Lauren. I’m second-hand stores.

“College did me good,” he states with a humble shrug.

“Hey,” Tay says to him. He hardly glimpses at her. Nudging my shoulder with her own, she walks past us to the dock.

“I see it did you well, too,” he comments, keeping his hands about my waist.

“Four years is a long time. A lot has happened.”

More than you know, more than I can tell you…Mostly because your mother would murder me if I did.

“Yeah.” His face sinks. “I’m sorry about that.” His hand moves to the back of his neck, rubbing it anxiously. “I had things I needed to work through. It took me some time.”

“What kind of things?”

Lifting his head, he scans the water with an unblinking gaze.