Page 48 of There's Pumpkin About You
I attempt a dispassionate shrug. “Only when I know it’ll rile you up, sweetheart.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s no real malice behind it.
A swell of pride puffs out my chest as I realize that I knew that straightaway. I’m usually so bad with figuring out people’s facial expressions and vocal tones. One behavior, one tone can mean a hundred different things and it throws me off. I allocate one emotion to one movement, that’s it. Add in any more and I’m lost. And yet with Wren, figuring out her emotions when she’s arguing with me is almost as simple as breathing. When we’re talking to one another normally, then I’m a bit lost. Wren’s different shades of anger and annoyance are black and white to me.
“Any luck with the party planning?”
My question throws her off. She can’t seem to comprehend how I’ve gone from being annoying to conversational at the switch of a button.
“You actually want to know?” she asks warily.
“Why would I ask if I didn’t want to know?”
She shrugs as she perches herself at the end of my bed, her eyes darkening as her gaze lands on my bare chest. “My ex used to ask me, but he never really cared. When I would come to him with good news, it somehow seemed to make him angry, as if my success was an inconvenience to him.”
“What a fucking asshole,” I say, and I mean it. Who the fuck looks down on someone else’s success?
She shrugs once more and this time she just looks defeated, her eyes blank as she seems to relive each and every time her pathetic ex-boyfriend would shut her down.
“Tell me,” I press, wanting her to be able to open up to someone about the good things.
Her entire face brightens, appreciation swimming behind hazel eyes that I’m starting to have dreams about. Like a kid at Christmas, she hops up, crawling up the bed until she’s sat beside me. Her smile is even more dazzling up close, a gift to someone as grumpy as me.
“Okay,” she begins, and I make a show of putting down my papers, shifting to face her even more. Her smile softens. “So, I’ve got Lori from the bakery doing a bunch of cakes and stuff for me thanks to you, and she’s doing Oakleigh’s birthday cake. I tried one of her strawberry tarts and I almost died, it wassogood.”
“She does make good tarts. Her lemon ones are my favorite.”
She nods in agreement. “And apparently a good Samaritan by the name of August Finch asked someone named Colin to spot the drinks and Mickey to do the food.”
“Colin loves a party, so the chances of him saying yes are high.”
“Is he your friend?”
“No. Friends have never really been my forte. But I went to high school with him. He was in my grade. By the time we made it to senior year, he was the one known to throw these insane parties every weekend.”
“Did you ever go?” she asks.
“I went to a couple, but I never really fit in. Eventually the music would get to me, or I would snap if someone merely brushed past me. I learned early that that kind of environment wasn’t for me.”
She looks deep in thought and I’m wondering what could possibly have her so. Is it something I said?
She says, “Do you think you’d be okay at Oakleigh’s party?”
I watch her. “I wasn’t aware I would be wanted there.”
“August, you’re one of the planners. You’ve put in the work for it as well. It’s only right that you’re there, too. If you want to be.”
I try my best to ignore the disappointment that sets into my chest. I think a part of me expected her to say that she, herself, wanted me there. I also think that Iwantedher to say that she wanted me there. It would have been nice to have someone proud to be in that kind of environment with me. Alas, Wren is someone with whom my relationship thrives on anger, not pride.
I change the subject, afraid that my despondency will be reflected in my tone. “Did you want me to ask Colin for you?”
“You already did, didn’t you?”
“Not yet, no.”
Her eyes widen. “And you would do that for me?”
All of this shrugging is starting to really hurt my shoulder. “It’s not a big deal.”
