That Girl is Mine - Part One (6 page)

Dylan is really quiet on the drive back home, and I worry for him. It can’t be easy seeing someone you love and having them not recognize you.

“Your Grams is really nice, Dylan,” I say, turning to look at him as he focuses on the road.

He presses his lips together and nods, glancing at me briefly, a pained expression on his face. I reach out and place my hand on his forearm in comfort. He’s rolled his sleeves back up now and I can see the intricate artwork once again.

“Are you OK?” I ask.

He nods.

“Is that why you let your hair grow out – to cover the tattoo for your Grams?”

He nods and I wonder if he’s ever going to speak, as I notice his teeth worrying at his lip. I remove my hand and let out a small sigh, wishing he’d talk to me instead of staying silent. I feel like I’ve done something wrong.

He glances down at his arm where my hand was then back at me before turning his attention again to the road. “They scare her,” he says suddenly.

“What do – the tattoos?”

He nods. “If she’s lucid and remembers me they don’t bother her. But if she isn’t, she can get a little upset when a strange tattooed man walks into her room. She’s the only person I’ll cover them up for.”

“So you let your hair grow all month then shave your undercut again after you’ve gone to visit her?”

“Pretty much,” he says as we pull into our street and he stops in front of the house. “Listen, will you be fine until Josh gets home on your own?”

He keeps his head down and focuses on the center of his steering wheel. I can feel melancholy radiating off him. I give him a reassuring smile as I open the door. “I’m a big girl, you know. I can be on my own. You don’t have to worry about me.”

He looks up at me. “Rusty, I worry about you all the time.”

Then he reaches across the car and pulls the door closed before he pulls away from the curb. I think he’s driving off, but he just turns the car around and waits across the street with the engine idling. Curiously, I lift my hand and wave before I hobble up the path then into the house. Only then do I hear his car drive away.

***

“Is Dylan out tonight?” Josh asks when he gets home and practically falls beside me on the couch. It’s after eleven and he looks absolutely exhausted. I move so he can put his head on my lap and I run my fingers through his brown hair as he sighs contentedly.

“He left before dinner. So I just made a sandwich for myself. How was work?”

“Busy. One day, I think my head is going to explode from an information overload. The kids are such troopers...” A small frown creases his brow and he goes quiet for a moment, and I wonder if he’s going to tell me what’s on his mind. But he doesn’t.

“Tell me about them. I want to know what it’s like.”

Reaching up, he takes my other hand in his then presses a kiss to my palm before holding it to his chest. “It’s just hard, Avery. It’s really hard,” he says, and I feel a pang of disappointment in my chest. He’s always so vague about his work, and I wish he’d tell me more. I’d like to know what it’s like and how he’s feeling about working with sick children. Does it hurt him to see them so unwell? Is he coping? But this is all I’m getting from him and as much as I can see that he’s taking comfort in my presence, I just wish he’d let me do more.

“How was your day?” he asks, closing his eyes as he wriggles his head a little to get more comfortable.

“It was good. Dylan took me out to see his grandmother.”

“The one with Alzheimer’s?”

“Yeah. She thought I was someone called Natasha.”

“Hmmm,” he says, as I continue to stroke his hair, and relay the conversation I had with her. Then I tell him how quiet Dylan was in the car.

“I think it’s really hard on him to see her that way,” I say, letting out a sigh as I remember the pained expression on his face on the way home in the car.

It’s then that I realize that Josh hasn’t responded in a while, and I look down at him, seeing the steady rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps soundly on my lap. For a while, I just sit and watch TV like that, and when I grow tired, I slide from beneath him, place a pillow under his head, and a blanket on his body. Then I kiss him softly and retire to our large bed, empty and alone.

I let out a sigh and turn my pillow to the side, hugging it to me.

I miss my boyfriend.

When I wake the next morning, I’m feeling just as confused as I was yesterday. I had hoped that after a night out, I’d be feeling more like myself, however, things didn’t go according to plan, and I ended up coming home at two in the morning to find Josh fast asleep on the couch.

Part of me wanted to wake Avery up and ask if she was OK (why was he on the couch? Where they in a fight?) But I let her be, and instead spent the night tossing and turning and wondering what I was going to do because there was no point in denying it anymore. I’m fucking attracted to my best friend’s girl – like, totally into her attracted. And I can’t seem to stop thinking about her. What the hell am I supposed to do?

By the time the sun starts peeking through the blinds, I’ve decided that maybe what I need is a bit of distance. There are guest spots available at other tattoo parlors and I’ve always wanted to travel – I can go and spend a few months out there, make more of a name for myself in the industry and hopefully, by the time I come back, I won’t be looking at her and thinking like a hungry man. I’ll be looking at her as who she is – she’s Avery. She’s Josh’s girl.
Josh’s
girl. That girl is not mine.

An alarm goes off in Avery and Josh’s room, and I listen as I hear her groan a little in her sleep then shut off the sound. I wait a little as I hear her go down the stairs. Then I hear a cell phone go off before she says something to Josh. He doesn’t sound like he wants to wake up at all. When I hear the shower turn on, I get up and throw on a shirt and a pair of sweatpants then head downstairs.

I find Avery in the kitchen, playing the domestic goddess and looking perfect as always. “Mornin’ Rusty,” I say as I approach, and she turns from scooping coffee into the filter and smiles at me like I just told her she’s won a prize.

“Good morning. Did you sleep here last night?”

“Yeah, I got in around two.”

“No fish biting?” she asks with a wink, and I can’t help but chuckle.

“I wasn’t fishing.”

“Oh,” she says, turning back to the coffee machine to click the filter in place and flick the on button.

“I um…when I got home, Josh was on the couch. Is everything OK?”

“What? Oh, yeah. He was just exhausted and fell asleep as soon as he got home. Poor guy. The job’s really hard on him I think.”

She moves about the kitchen pulling out mugs and plates for everyone and she places slices of bread in the toaster. “You don’t need to make anything for me. I can do it myself,” I tell her.

She shrugs. “I really don’t mind. You get me lunch all the time.”

“But you cook dinner.”

“I really don’t mind.” She turns to me and smiles. “Do you have an early client?”

“Uh, no. I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Something on your mind?”

“Kind of…”

She turns to me and raises an eyebrow, seeming completely oblivious to the torture that’s going through my mind. I open my mouth and close it, struggling to find the right words.

“Is it because of yesterday with your Grams?”

She places a plate of hot toast in front of me, and coffee made just the way I like it. Then she hands me the butter and a knife.

“Stop!” I snap, and she flinches, her eyes wide, confused. “Stop acting like my wife, or my…my mother. This needs to stop!”

Her eyes shine with emotion and she drops her gaze. “I’m not trying to be either of those things,” she says calmly, although her voice shakes a little at the end of the sentence. “But if that’s the way you feel. Then fine. I’ll stop.” She takes the coffee and toast then dumps the contents in the sink and the trash. “Happy?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m not happy at all.”

She frowns and looks at me as if trying to piece together a puzzle. “What is going on with you?”

I shake my head. “I just think we’re getting to comfortable with each other.”

“Why is that a problem?”

I step forward and lower my voice a little. “I don’t know. Because you were sitting there holding my hand yesterday while everyone assumed we were together.”

“I was what? It was you – oh my god. What is this really about?”

I shake my head, pulling at the front of my hair as my head aches because I’m fucking this up. I’m tired and I’m confused and I need for her to stop being nice to me.

“I just don’t want you getting the wrong idea about me, all right?”

She looks at me for a long moment, her hands on her hips as she searches my eyes. “Right now, the only idea I have about you, is that you’re an asshole who’s trying to push away the only person who really knows you.”

This pressure builds in my chest as her words hit me with their truth, proving that I’ve let her get too close. Proving that I need to put some distance between us.

I open my mouth to speak, but Josh’s voice interrupts. “Avery! I need you to pick up my shirts from the dry cleaner. Is that OK? This is my last one. Oh hey,” he says, when he sees me standing across from her. “I didn’t realize you were home. How are you? I feel like I see you less than when I was in New York these days.”

“Life gets in the way, man,” I say, giving Avery one last look before I slap Josh on the shoulder and excuse myself to use the shower. “I have to stop in to the barber before work to get this undercut shaved off.”

“You should get Avery to shave it for you. It’ll save you the trip. She cuts my hair so we have clippers. You don’t mind, do you, babe?” he asks her, and she shrugs to indicate she’s fine. Then he turns back to me. “She’s quite good at it.”

“Seems like she’s good at everything,” I comment a little snarkily – why can’t I stop snapping at her?

“Except people,” she responds. “I obviously have a problem with reading people.”

She sets Josh’s breakfast on the table then returns to the kitchen to get a plate and coffee for herself, taking the seat next to him.

“Babe, you’re great with people,” Josh says, leaning over to kiss her cheek, exactly where I did yesterday (it bothers me). Then he turns his attention back to me. “She’s great with people. I don’t know why she thinks she isn’t.”

Neither of us responds and I excuse myself again to go and take my shower.

“Oh, before you go – I have next Saturday off, and Avery’s getting her cast off today. We should go out and celebrate.”

I glance over at Avery. She didn’t tell me it was coming off today…

“Uh, sure. That’d be perfect actually. I’m actually headed to New York for a bit. So it will be my last chance.”

“Why are you going to New York?” Avery asks quickly.

“To do a guest spot at another shop.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know. As long as it takes.”

Her mouth drops open a little and she blinks quickly before she lifts her coffee cup and takes a long drink.

“That’s great news, buddy. That’s got to be great for your career,” Josh says with a smile, looking genuinely pleased for me.

I glance at Avery again. She’s not looking at me. “Yeah. It’s a good opportunity.”

Excusing myself yet again, I climb the stairs to take that shower, and end the conversation. But before I make it to the bathroom, I hear Avery call out, “I’ll be up when you’re finished to cut your hair.”

Dylan sits in front of me on the kitchen stool I brought up to the bathroom, as I run the clippers through the overgrown undercut of his damp blond hair. It’s soft and silky against my fingers and smells clean and fresh from his shower. I watch it as it falls in clumps onto the tiled floor and slowly exposes the intricate tribal pattern that adorns the lower part of his skull.

He doesn’t speak to me at all, and I wonder what I’ve done to him to make him feel angry with me. I thought we were friends. I was beginning to see him as my best friend. I felt so close to him and right now, I feel so far away that it makes my heart ache.

Using a soft brush, I flick away all of the loose hair when I’m finished, then I brush my hand over his scalp feeling the smooth skin beneath my palm. Then I pause and slowly trace my finger along the thick black lines of his tattoo design.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” I ask, when I reach the end of the pattern. I unclip the cape around his shoulders and place my hand on his bare shoulder, firm and broad. I trace my fingertips over the tattoo design there as well; a black and grey, gladiator style battle scene on one side, then on the other, there’s a colorful Japanese koi design with moving water and floating lilies to complete the scene. Each is vastly different in style but they’re both perfect works of art on his skin.

His well muscled back is still a blank canvas, as is his chest, however, he has some script written on his left ribs that is being obscured by his arm so I can’t read it. I take a crazy long time inspecting his tattoos, knowing I shouldn’t, but wanting to anyway because I’ve always wondered exactly what they looked like without his t-shirts obscuring them.

I look up at his face where it’s reflected in the mirror, and I see that his eyes are closed, as if it hurts him when I touch him. So I pull my hands away.

“Why won’t you talk to me? Have I done something? Are you angry with me?” I ask, keeping my eyes on his. He opens them, his green eyes meeting mine via our reflections and just staring at me for a moment.

“Don’t forget who you belong to, Avery” he says, before he stands and pulls his tee over his head. “Thanks for the haircut.”

Then he brushes past me and walks straight out of the bathroom, leaving me wondering what the hell happened between yesterday and today. I know he held my hand when we were with his Grams, and maybe I shouldn’t have let him. But, he seemed to need me, and I wanted to be there for him. I thought we cared about each other. I thought he cared about me.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I see the worry in my eyes and the anxiety in the pink of my cheeks. I won’t let him do this to me. I won’t let him take away the only real friend I’ve ever had…