her tools.
She gathers up her long, straight dark hair and ties it up on top of her head in a huge bun.
“Nope. Because we can’t stop being ourselves. Just because you’re not like everyone else, doesn’t mean there’s a single thing wrong with you. You’re perfectly made.”
I can’t speak around the tears clogging my throat, my heart feels too big for my chest. No one has ever spoken to me like this.
“Okay, you go to do your homework while I get to work. I’ll have tons of clean up for you by the time you’re done.” She points me in the direction of a dark corridor but doesn’t even spare me a glance as she dons her crisp white apron and gets to work.
“Are you sure you don’t mind me being here?”
She shakes her head, her bun bobs as she ties the strings around her waist. “After living with my two brothers, hanging with boys is my forte. You couldn’t possibly annoy me half as much as they do.”
She cocks her head to look at me, that half smile on her pretty mouth, and my stomach feels weird, like I’m on the Texas Cyclone at Six Flags. I’m afraid that I’m gonna fall off the stool, so I stand up and grab the counter. “Give it a couple of days. My mother says I could try a saint,” I warn her.
“Well…I’m made of sterner stuff than some old saint. Besides, you’re like me…a giver. And I’ve heard it said somewhere, that when two givers get together, it’s like…alchemy.” Her eyes twinkle and this body that's always felt too small for the soul inside it, relaxes and I draw in a deep lungful of air. And then she says the words that, later on, I’ll recall as the ones that made my heart hers forever. “I water you, you water me. Together, we’re going to grow.”
“You did good. Cleaning up my colossal messes just might be your calling.” It’s a few minutes past midnight and Regan just locked up the store.
“As if it takes any talent to wash dishes,” I grumble, glad the dark is hiding the blush that blooms at her praise.
She nudges my shoulder as we make our way down the main street of Rivers Wilde. “I don’t know if it takes talent, but it certainly takes determination to scrub every last burned-on crumb off those cookie sheets. I used to think spotless baking pans were the sign of a dispassionate baker. Now, I’ll think of them as fruits of a committed dishwasher’s labor.”
We walk in silence the rest of the way to her blue Mustang and she pops the trunk for me to drop my BMX inside the surprisingly roomy compartment. When she starts the car, music blares from the speakers so loud that it rattles the windows. She winces and turns the volume down to just above audible.
“Sorry, I listen to it like that when I’m alone.”
“It’s cool,” I shrug and stare out into the night, still lost in my thoughts as we make our way toward the exit of Rivers Wilde.
She didn’t go easy on me tonight. She gave me all the work she would have done if I wasn’t there. And I loved every minute of it.
I’d never washed a dish in my life before – I’ve been missing out. It feels good to see that sparkling, empty sink after it was with dirty whisks, mixing bowls and measuring spoons.
In fact, the whole night was nice. Everyone else treats my enjoyment of hard work as a flaw. “Chill, kid,” or some variation of that sentiment is a common refrain from my brothers, parents and teachers.
“I failed second grade.” Her unexpected statement draws my eyes to her. She’s got her eyes on the road, but her jaw flexes in sync with her hands’ grip on the steering wheel.
“Why?” I ask.
She shrugs, but her jaw is still tense.
“I failed math, social studies, and science.”
“Yeah but, why?”
“According to my report card, I didn’t grasp the material.” She glances at me again; her expression has gone from embarrassed to assessing.
“But that can’t be why,” I press because I can’t believe she’s ever failed to grasp anything.
She shakes her head and chuckles. “You're the first person to ever say that. So, I’ll tell you why, but you have to swear that you’re not some sort of spy for your family.”
Family. How I wish. Longing twists like a hook in my heart. “Hayes and my little brothers are my only family