All It Takes (17 page)

I look at him, wondering just what the hell I could be right about. The corner of his mouth quirks up and he shrugs helplessly.

“It sucks,” he says, and burrows his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunching down again, and all at once I’m struck by how fucking
young
he is. How young they both are. And he’s right. This really fucking sucks.

We stand there awkwardly for a minute until the silence gets so fucking loud that the kid apparently can’t stand it anymore. “I’m going to go return the truck,” he says, bouncing on his heels and looking at me like he’s waiting for me to say something. Finally I realize he’s waiting for my permission or say-so or some other dumb shit, so I nod at him and he’s out the door like a flash the second my head stops moving, leaving me standing there in their living room wondering how the hell is this my life?

But still, it could be worse. I could be living where they are, a kid myself with a baby on the way, stuck living in a shitty trailer on the bad side of Avenue. But they seem to be making the best of it. The trailer is . . . Well, it’s better than I thought it would be, I’ll admit it. On the outside, it looks pretty run down, but compared to the inside, it’s like night and day. The place is neat and tidy, even if it’s barren of pretty much anything personal. I can’t help but wonder just how fast Maisie’s parents kicked her out when she told them about the baby. There are a few warm touches here and there, but nothing that could really identify it as belonging to either her or York. To be honest, it looks like they left in a hell of a hurry. And as nice as they’ve tried to make it, just looking at it causes a pit to form in my stomach. At least my parents packed my shit up for me. At least they didn’t kick me out at eighteen like Maisie’s parents. Yeah, she has her brother, and York apparently doesn’t care that his big sister had gotten herself up the duff, not when he’d followed after her. I don’t know how they did it. At eighteen I was a fucking dumbass. I would have died.

For the first time since I got out of prison, I realize just how worse off some of the other people in Avenue are than I am. At least I have my stuff. And Bruiser.

And Star.

Thank fucking god for Star.

But even though it makes me sad, the place is decent, for a trailer. There are little blue checkerboard curtains hanging in the windows, a couple of mismatched pillows on the sofa they got from us, and an ultrasound photo taped to the fridge. It’s definitely better than what I’ll have once Star leaves.

Shit.

I don’t even want to think about that. Not yet.

I’m not ready.

And the really fucked up part? I don’t think I ever will be.

Shit.

I shift the stack of boxes I’ve been building, so that the tower of diapers isn’t in the way if Maisie or York need to get at anything in the kitchen. One of the old guys in the trailer park had let them borrow his pickup truck to get the sofa, and we’d been shuttling it back and forth all day, bringing over everything we thought they could need. I settle the last box onto the stack and wipe the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand before heading over to take a seat at the table, listening with half an ear to Star and Maisie chatting away in the back bedroom. Hauling out one of the mismatched chairs I settle in to wait until they’re done, but as I do my eyes catch on the bowl in the middle of the table. It’s filled with cherries, ripe and red and awesome-looking. It’s also absolutely fucking
huge.
It’s like if someone had asked the freaking big friendly giant if he wanted some cherries, and then had to keep filling the bowl until the fucker said
when.

The door to the trailer jerks open with a clang and York bounds up the stairs. He must catch me staring at it, because he laughs and settles into the seat across from me. “I wouldn’t touch those if I were you, man,” he says, nodding toward the bowl. “They’re Maisie’s. She’s been craving them like mad ever since the start of her pregnancy.”

“Seriously?” I’ve heard of pickles and ice cream and crap for pregnant women. But cherries?

He nods, all grave and shit, but his eyes are full of mischief. He reaches out and kind of spins the bowl around, showing off the fruit. Watching it is almost hypnotic. I’m fucking starving. Hauling stuff around all day is hard work.

“It was all she talked about for ages, man,” he says. “Cherries. She didn’t want anything else, but they were super expensive and the grocery store ones were terrible since they were out of season.”

“These ones look pretty good,” I say, mouth watering, and he nods.

“They are. Season just started. But man, it’s not worth it. I tried to steal some the other day, and I swear to god, I thought she was gonna cut me.” He looks up at me and grins. “I’m kinda thinking I might steal some now, and blame it on you, though.”

“Fuck, throw me under the bus, why don’t you?” I laugh as he spins the bowl around again. “I’d rather not be the focus of a pissed-off pregnant chick, if it’s all the same to you.”

“And why would I be pissed off?”

York and I both jerk violently in our chairs at the voice, and I spin around. Maisie’s standing in the hall, hands on her hips, belly sticking out, eyes darting back and forth between me and York, but she doesn’t look mad. Not really. Instead she look like she’s caught halfway between glaring and laughing at us. Star, on the other hand has gone straight to laughter. She’s standing directly behind Maisie and she looks like she’s about to piss herself, she’s trying so hard not to laugh.

Guess she doesn’t want Maisie pissed at her, either.

Little Mama’s gonna be a force to be reckoned with,
I think, and grin as Maisie steps forward and scoops the gigantic bowl of cherries off the table and cradles it to her chest like a bear protecting her cubs, glaring at each of us in turn as we burst out laughing.

***

It is weird, but after that, cleaning out her mom’s stuff seems to be less of a chore for Star, and more of a treasure-hunt. All of a sudden, it became less about getting rid of stuff, and instead turned into searching for stuff to give to Maisie and York and the baby.

“York could use this to fix up the trailer.”

“Oooh, Maisie would like this, don’t you think?”

“This would be great for the baby,”

I hear it a thousand different ways about a thousand different things that Star collects and puts aside, and every couple of days we take a new load of stuff out to the trailer park for them. They are always thrilled, and that makes Star grin like a kid at Christmas.

“You know,” I say, as she drags another box with the word
baby
scrawled on the top flap across the room, heading for the front porch. “You can’t save
everything
for York and Maisie. Otherwise their trailer is going to end up looking like this house. Or worse, considering the fact that this place is a hell of a lot bigger than theirs.” I light my smoke and breathe it in, mentally grinning at the thought of their tiny trailer literally bursting at the seams. But Star isn’t laughing.

Instead, silence fills the space like a balloon, and I look back over my shoulder at Star. She looks absolutely
wrecked.
“What?” I ask, panicked. “What is it?”

She’s not even touching the box anymore. It’s sitting on the porch, abandoned, as she backs away from it like it’s on fire. She’s got her hands over her mouth, and her eyes are
huge.
She’s freaking out, and I have no idea why. “Star?” I ask, moving toward her. “What’s the matter?”

As soon as I touch her, she breaks. Her hands drop from her mouth and she’s reaching for me. “Oh god,” she says, and I drop my smoke and wrap her up in my arms. She buries her face in my neck. “I’m turning into my mother.”

What?

I pull back enough to see her face, but she’s still burrowed into my neck. “Hey,” I say, and reach up to tilt her chin so that she’s facing me. “What are you talking about, baby?”

“I’m turning into her,” she says. “I’m doing the same thing she did.”

“Baby,” I say, reaching up and cupping her face in my hands. She’s actually
shaking
in my arms, and it’s freaking me the fuck out. “You’re not turning into your mom. You’re trying to get rid of stuff. That’s the opposite of what she did.”

“You don’t understand.” There are tears in her eyes now. “I’ve done research into this, okay? Into hoarding. It’s a mental disorder, and it all starts with the mentality. The idea of saving stuff that isn’t useful, but convincing yourself that it is. It’s saving stuff even if it’s not useful to you, you convince yourself that it can be useful for someone else.”

“Hey.
Hey,”
I say, leaning over to press a kiss against her mouth before she can say anything else. “Listen to me.” I rub the tears that have leaked from her eyes away with my thumbs as I look down into her eyes. Goddamn, she’s beautiful. “You’re
not
like your mom, okay? This stuff you’re giving away? It’s good. You’re doing good. Maisie and the baby need this stuff. It’s not like you’re going out and buying everything and keeping it forever. You’re trying to get rid of stuff, and you’ve found someone that needs what you have. This is fucking generosity, baby. It’s not hoarding. And trust me—” I give her a little smirk because I know she fucking loves it “—after working on this with you, I’m pretty sure I can pick out the signs of hoarding. If you start showing them, I’m going to fucking tell you, okay?” I tug her close again, rubbing my hands up and down her back.

She nods against my shoulder. “Okay,” she whispers.

“Okay.”

Chapter 17

Ash

H
oly shit.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

It’s a car.

And it’s not just any car. It’s a fucking 1967 Pontiac Le Mans Coupe.

I’m in love.

I don’t care what anyone says. The 1967 Pontiac Le Mans Coupe was the shit, and yeah, this one is barely a skeleton of one, but it has the potential to be amazing if someone put a little effort into her. God, I can just picture it. Clean up that engine, new tires, fresh coat of paint. Cherry red. Or maybe blue. Damn, this thing would be amazing.

I can’t believe it’s just been sitting here, all this time.

I’m still holding the edge of the tarp in my hand when Star sidles up behind me. Her brow’s all furrowed, little wrinkles between her eyes.

“What’s the matter?” she asks.

Matter?

Oh. Right.

So maybe my mental outburst wasn’t as strictly mental as I thought.

“Sorry. Nothing’s wrong. Did you know about this?” I can’t imagine she did, or she would have put the garage at the top of her little list. Even without fixing it up, this thing’s probably worth some money.

“What is it?” she asks, and takes a step closer. I pull the tarp up higher so that she can see. But when she looks, there’s no recognition playing across her face, so I’m gonna have to fill in the blanks.

“This,” I say, tossing the tarp back to reveal as much of the car as possible, “is a 1967 Pontiac Le Mans Coupe.” My voice gets louder and louder with every word, but I can’t seem to stop it. I’m just so fucking excited. This is an amazing find. I can’t believe Star’s mom had this in here.

“You’re really excited about this,” she says, a little smile spreading across her face.

“This is a fucking cherry ride, babe,” I tell her. “This is amazing.”

“Do you think it’s worth anything?” She looks back down at it, but she’s pressing her tight little body up against me, and I grin and wrap my arm around her and tug her closer. She’s all warm, and my fingertips sneak under the hem of her tank top, stroking the smooth skin of her belly. She twists a little under my hold, squirming against me, and I grin. My girl is ticklish. Good to know.

“It’s gotta be,” I tell her. “I don’t know how much or anything, but I think I can find out.” I might be able to track down Mr. Bremner, my old auto-shop teacher. Everything I knew about cars, I learned from that man. He might even be able to help Star find a buyer. The thought of letting such a sweet ride go kind of sucks, but what can I do? It’s not like I have any money, and I know Star’s bank account is pretty much burned out. So even though I have visions in my mind of fixing it up myself, when it comes down to it, it’s her car. And it’s her choice. So I tell her I’ll try to give Mr. Bremner a call. She smiles at me in return, and presses her lips against mine before turning and heading back into the house.

I watch her go, her hips swaying to and fro as she moves, and all I can think about it how hot she’d look sitting in the Le Mans after it’s all fixed up.

Not gonna happen,
I remind myself, and turn back to the open garage.
You’ve got less than a month left with that girl, then it’s gonna be a wave in the rearview mirror and a
thanks for the memories.
She isn’t gonna stick around and wait for your dumb ass to be able to treat her right. You’re lucky you got as far with her as you did.

Grimacing, I kick out in frustration and send a grocery bag full of grocery bags out of the way.

I only have a few weeks left with Star
max.
I have to make them count.

Now I just have to figure out how the fuck to do that.

Star

I
had to go all the way across Avenue to find the tea shop Maisie had told me about when we’d dropped off the diapers, the one with the good Wi-Fi. But it’s
so
worth it. I have my laptop out, full bars on my Wi-Fi, and a steaming hot cup of caramel-flavored tea by my side, so decadent and rich that I think Maisie was right about the whole tea-is-just-as-good-as-coffee thing after all. I take a sip and the warmth flows through me, and I sink down into my seat happily, letting my eyes flutter shut.

I feel like I’m back at college.

I’ve missed this feeling so much.

But at the same time, it just reminds me how soon the summer is ending. How close I am to losing Ash.
God,
I think, reaching up and running my hands through my hair,
what the hell am I going to do?

I miss college like crazy, and I have to go back. But leaving Ash behind . . . Just the thought of it makes my chest ache.

I need to figure out what I am going to do. What even are my options? Do I just go back to school? Do I try to transfer somewhere closer? Do I ask Ash what he wants? I want to stay, but I don’t even know if that’s possible. I can’t take time off without losing my scholarship. And without the scholarship, I can’t finish college.

Does he even want to continue with . . . things? I don’t even know what to call it. We’ve barely talked about it. Our relationship has changed surprisingly little. It’s the same as before, that easy friendship, that underlying attraction. Except now, there’s sex. And not only that. There’s . . . affection. There’s a warmth to how Ash treats me, and it builds something up inside me. I’m not sure I can let that go.

I only have a month of the summer left. I need to figure things out. And honestly, I have no idea what I’m going to do.

It’s like I’m balancing my heart in one hand, and my future in the other, when in fact I don’t want to be balancing them at all. I want to grab on to both and hold on to them for dear life.

I’m screwed.

Sighing, I take another sip of my tea and bask in its heat. I came here to email Autumn, to explain what has happened between me and Ash, to ask for her advice. But now that I’m sitting here, laptop out in front of me, my mind is blank. How am I supposed to ask someone else to help me decide the course of my life? Would that be fair to anyone? The cursor on my blank email just blinks at me. No help there, either.

It’s funny. I’m surrounded by people. I have more people in my life, who care about me, than I’ve ever had at one time before. But at the same time, I’ve never felt so alone.

Somehow, I am going to have to decide what I want. And I am going to have to do that all on my own. And I am going to have to do it soon. I need to be back at school in less than a month. If that’s what I choose. I just don’t know anymore.

Giving up on my email to Autumn, I close that window and open another. Click by click, I navigate over to the hoarding website that had been my oasis in the span between my mother’s death and meeting Ash. It has been nearly two months since I’ve been on it, and it feels strange to be browsing through the once-familiar links and logging into my once-avid profile.

YOU HAVE
3
NEW MESSAGES

Brow furrowing, I click on the message folder and I’m accosted by a wave of guilt as I realize that all the messages are from LuckNGlass, the girl who’d been so helpful when I first realized that I had to clean out my mother’s hoard.

TO: Star2274

FROM: LuckNGlass

June 2

Hey, haven’t heard from you lately. How’s the cleanout going?

I can’t believe so much time has passed. It’s gone by like a whirlwind. Feeling bad for leaving my hoarding-buddy hanging for so long, I click on the next message.

TO: Star2274

FROM: LuckNGlass

June 29

Hey, I know you’re probably super busy, but when you get a chance, I could use an ear. My parents’ house is getting out of control.

That had been almost a month ago. Biting at my lip, I click on the last unopened message.

TO: Star2274

FROM: LuckNGlass

July 23

Sorry about the other messages. I know I’m being pushy, but I’m going crazy here. I think I have to move out. I don’t know what else to do. My dad’s hoarding is out of control. He’s spent all the money we have.

I don’t think I’m going to get to go to college anymore. Not the way I planned to, anyway.

Look, if you get this, can you please please reply? I’m losing my mind.

I hope cleaning out your mom’s house is going well.

All the best,

Glass

Shit,
I think, and toggle the mouse over to the reply button. I’m about to click it when I hear a familiar voice, and my spine turns to steel. I look up from the screen and there, walking in the front door, is Lacey. Luckily, she doesn’t see me. She’s chatting away into her phone, grinning widely as she makes her way toward the line, looking like she’s on her way to spend the day at the beach. She’s got her long hair loose, falling in big waves around her shoulders, and a pair of what look like designer sunglasses perched on her nose. I can’t help but wonder how she can afford to look like that on a waitress’s salary, but there’s no way I’m going to ask. For one bright moment I think I’m in the clear. But then I realize that the line just happens to go right by my table. I stifle a groan and sink down in my seat. Maybe if I just don’t look, she won’t see me. Maybe she’ll just walk right by.

No such luck. Even with the sunglasses obscuring her eyes, I can tell the instant she sees me. Her entire body flinches and she stutters to a stop and goes silent. I can hear the sound of the person on the other end of the call asking in an annoyed tone if she’s still there, even from half a dozen feet away. She grimaces as she mutters, “I’ll call you back,” and ends the call, making a beeline toward me.

“Listen,” she says, plopping down in the seat across from me. I’m starting to think that this is
kind
of a thing with her. This aggressive no-introduction form of communication. She reaches across the table and grabs my hand. It takes actual physical effort not to jerk away like I want to. But we’re in a public place—
extremely
public, considering the way people are starting to turn and sneak peeks at us from the corners of their eyes—and it’s not like I’m the town’s favorite resident right now. Or ever, really. Actually, I’m pretty sure that I’m currently occupying the second-to-last spot in the popularity contest, as far as the town of Avenue is concerned. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

I blink at her, confused.
What the hell is she talking about?
“For what?” I ask.

“Well, for the car, of course.”

What?
I blink at her for a few seconds, certain that my confusion is clear on my face, but she doesn’t say anything further.

Okay, subtlety isn’t going to work on this girl. I lean forward and try to keep my voice low, so I don’t attract any more attention than we are already getting. “What are you talking about?”

She pulls her hands back from mine, eyes widening.

“You don’t know?” she says. “Oh my god. I thought for sure he would have told you?”

“What are you talking about, Lacey?” I ask. I don’t like the sound of this.

“Your friend’s car,” she starts, and then suddenly stops talking. She looks away, appearing to gather her thoughts for a moment, and then blows out a deep breath and looks back at me. “Preston and the guys. They were the ones who messed up your friend’s car.”

What?

“What?” I snap.

“Listen, it’s not what you think,” she says hurriedly, as though talking faster is somehow going to make me
understand.
“Preston was just worried about me.”

“How the
hell,”
I say, “can you say that? What the fuck does one thing even have to do with the other?”

“Oh god,” she says, reaching up and covering her mouth with her cupped hands. As I watch, her fingers curl in, and she’s pressing her fists against her lower lip. “Preston was just looking out for me, okay? He saw that your friend was always hanging around me, and he got scared. He wanted to scare him off before he did anything. To me.”

What.

The.

Fuck?

That’s
it.
I’ve had it with this fucking town. I shove back from the table, my chair making a god-awful screeching noise as it scrapes against the floor. People are turning in their seats to look at us. I don’t give a shit.

“And you actually bought that? That’s a load of crap, Lacey. First of all, Ash
barely
goes into the diner
just because
of the shit he’s gotten from people like your asshole boyfriend—”

“Hey!”

“I’m
not finished!”
I yell.
Everyone
is looking at us now. Good.

Good.

“First of all,” I repeat, more slowly this time. I lean forward, planting the palms of my hands against the table, to get in her face. “Ash never fucking goes near you. Second of all, Ash is not fucking dangerous. He made a mistake. He got in a car when he shouldn’t have and he drove when he shouldn’t have. He’s not a murderer. He didn’t go out there
intending
to hurt anyone. He made a
mistake.
And yeah, it was awful. It was heartbreaking. But that’s life. But you, little miss perfect, and your boyfriend wouldn’t know a thing about that, now, would you?”

Lacey’s sitting there, dumbstruck. Her mouth sort of sags open as she stares at me. But then she pulls in a breath, and starts to push forward, moving as though she’s going to respond. But I’m not done.

“Finally,” I snap before she can say anything.
“Finally,
how the hell do you get from your stupid boyfriend thinking that Ash could possibly be threatening to you, to him and his buddies beating the shit out of Ash’s car?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the three teenagers behind the counter hovering together, whispering. One of them kind of sighs and then his eyes dart over to me, and when he sees me looking at him, his entire body actually
jerks.
Great. Now I’m the crazy one. Those poor kids are probably over there drawing straws for who has to ask me to leave. Fantastic.

I turn back to Lacey, but my eyes can’t even focus on her. I’m just looking through her, like she doesn’t matter to me anymore.

And as I take a deep breath and force myself to calm down, I realize that’s exactly it.