Page 17 of Barefoot Dreams
Ninasunshine:I’m not going senile yet. You just didn’t let me finish. Griffin Owling is back in town.
Cookiej:Oh, boy…it’s even worse than last time. Now she’s repeating the same thing in the span of one minute. Willa, can you get that brew ready now? Nina, hold on, don’t do anything! Don’t even move, I’ll be there in a second. God knows you don’t need a hip replacement before our naked and free rally.
Fforall:Good call, Jenny, I’m on my way too.
Ninasunshine:You all need help. I’m totally fine! Like I was saying, Griffin Owling is in town.
Ninasunshine:Hello? Can anyone hear me?
Ninasunshine:Where did you all go?
Ninasunshine:For Pete’s sake! I’m not losing it. Again. But since you all refuse to listen to part two, bring Izzy and Lily with you. It pertains to them as well.
4
Griffin
“The heart wants what it wants, or else it does not care.” – Emily Dickinson
“Honey, could you please hold the yarn straight?”
“I wasn’t aware there was a wrong way to hold yarn.”
“Oh, yes, there is. See, if you move it just a tenth of a centimeter to the left, the stitch will come out crooked and then instead of a heart, it might look like unshaved balls.”
I’ve always thought choking on your own spit was a myth and the most stupid notion ever, until this moment.
“Jesus Christ, Mom,” I groan out, slapping my hand against my sternum.
“What?” she asks innocently, as if there is absolutely nothing wrong.
“There won’t be a day when hearing something like that come out of your mouth won’t be weird.”
“Griffin Owling! You’re well aware there’s no cussing in our home,” Mom reprimands, and I decide just running my tongue over my teeth is the best response right now because all others will inevitably lead to meactuallycussing.
And yes, in case you haven’t figured it out yet, the word “weird” is considered inappropriate over here.
No comment.
“Mm-hmm, but do you think we can stick to knitting without talking?”
“Well, if you’d hold the yarn straight, I wouldn’t have to visualize hairy balls on my blanket.”
Count to ten, Griffin. Just breathe and count to ten. It should been easy, especially since I’ve been trained to stay calm in dangerous situations for half of my life, however none of those trainings prepared me how to deal with my mother who’s been driving me up the wall.
It’s been a week since I returned, and four days since I left the house again.
After my last fiasco, it hasn’t seemed to be worth the risk.
I don’t even know what possessed me to run the way I did, only that knowing if I stayed I was facing multiple years behind bars because someone else was touchingmyJulie.
MyJulie…yeah…running was the best option no matter what. Because I not only have no claims to lay on her, but it’s also stupid to even entertain those thoughts. Callum would fucking skin me alive.
Will he skin the Viking dude?And why do I have a sudden urge to call up my best friend and tattle on his little sister. I think I must’ve sustained a lot more damage in that mission than the doctors initially thought because clearly, I’ve had a brain malfunction.
This is Julie. Just Julie. The silly little girl with flaming hair, hand-sewn skirts, running barefoot. She isn’t my dream girl. She isn’t mine, period.
But damn it, the memory of her in that guy’s arms, of her fairy-like eyes gazing up at him as she graced him with one of her sunshine smiles still stirred something inside me, something I fought very hard to erase from existence, yet no luck, and it clearly showed on my face.
