Beg, Borrow, or Steal (When in Rome, #3)(25)
Why didn’t he wear them anyway? Why is he always so damn nice to everyone? And why doesn’t he treat anyone else like he treats me? I mean, he’s had no trouble pissing me off all week by waiting to start construction until right after I turn off my light to go to sleep. Or intentionally taking my corner table again last Saturday.
I’ve been retaliating in kind, however. The bike lock on his breaker box was my favorite. But sneaking into his house while he was gone the other day to steal all his nails was a close second. And I even managed to talk Phil into moving all of his boxes of nails to the back and claim they were out of stock when Jack came sniffing around for more.
It’s killing my poor town to ostracize Jack, though. I don’t know how much longer I can ask them to keep it up. They like him—and of course they do because everyone loves Jack. He’s charming like my sisters—which makes him so much harder to compete with when charm doesn’t come naturally for me. It makes me wonder how long it will take for him to sweep everyone off their feet entirely—until they like him better than me.
“Where’s Will today?” I ask to distract myself.
Usually Will loves to help Annie any chance he gets. It’s rare for her to ask me for anything instead of him these days.
Annie sets another bucket of flowers on the trailer and wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. “He’s studying for a test tomorrow.”
“Ugh—I do not miss those days.”
Annie looks at me with a knowing smile. “Yes, you do.”
I laugh. “Fine. I do. Actually, does he need any help? I have excellent study techniques that are just going to waste.” Back in college, the only other person I found in the library as often as me was Jack. We were usually the ones closing down the place. I remember how sometimes, when it would get exceptionally late, the empty library would pulse around me. I would feel so alone and sometimes even nervous, until I’d look around and find Jackson several tables away, his nose in a textbook. He never left until I did, and sometimes I wonder if—
“He’s thriving actually,” says Annie, snapping my attention back into the garden. “I knew he was smart, but it’s been incredible to see just how intelligent he really is.”
Will has recently had a massive life change. Before he was Amelia’s bodyguard, he was in the Air Force. But what he’s really always wanted to be is a teacher. Apparently he’s always been academically gifted and was even accepted into MIT after high school but chose the military instead as a way to get out from under his toxic parents. But with Annie’s support, he decided to finally go for those dreams and enrolled in our nearest private college (my alma mater, I might add). I tried to talk him into working with me at the elementary school, but he’s pretty set on either junior high or high school.
Annie and I finish up our work and when all the flowers are snipped and buckets are loaded, she grabs two water bottles from the back of the four-wheeler and gives me one. We both take a minute to cool off—and in these still moments, I can’t help but feel nostalgic.
“It’s wild to think Mom started this, isn’t it?” I say, looking out over the rows and rows of budding flowers—a vast aquamarine sky with dabbles of puffy cotton-ball clouds above. Even this little corner of Rome feels like home. My parents not only worked on this farm but were best friends with the owners (James Huxley’s parents). Mom talked them into letting her have a little plot of it for a cheap price to use for her roadside flower business. She always intended to grow it into a brick-and-mortar flower shop in town, but she died before she ever got the chance. Which is why Annie did it for her.
“It is.” Annie stares out at it like she’s trying to see what I see. “Do you have any memories of them here?”
I have to clench my teeth to stave off the tears. “I do—but . . .” It’s hard to get out this next part. “They’re getting fuzzier and fuzzier with time.”
“Tell me one,” Annie says with a soft plea in her voice. She was really young when they died, and I know it hurts her to not have had the chance to know our parents like Noah and I did. Maddie remembers more than Annie, but not by much.
“I’ll tell you my favorite memory.” I clear my throat and point to the left corner of the flower patch. “Right over there, they had the biggest fight.”
Annie’s head swings to me—a concerned frown etched between her brows. “Not really the memory I was hoping to get.”
I laugh. “They bickered because Mom swore she told Dad they were spreading sunflower seeds on that row, and he swore she told him they were spreading dahlia seeds instead . . . which is why they both had planted two different types of flowers in the same row.” A small laugh bubbles out of me when I remember how angry my sweetheart mom was at my dad that day. “She was livid because apparently sunflowers and dahlias are incompatible flowers. Neither will grow well if they’re planted together because of something sunflowers do to the soil. Anyway, she felt like all their work for the day went to waste and she just dissolved into tears.” I remember Mom always being a big feeler. Like Madison. My gut tugs and it’s going to be a struggle to get it out. “But Dad pulled her into a hug and reminded her the two of them were incompatible too, but so far they had gotten along okay.” I remember her playfully tickling him after that, which led to a sweet kiss. And when she found me watching, she told me to find someone someday who will hug me when I’m sad and then help me look on the bright side of things when all I can see is the dark.