Page 63 of Mr. Picture Perfect
“Oh, you know what I meant!”
“What you meant by ‘never mind’ and leaving …?”
She lets out an exasperated sigh, takes a breath, then grabs a glass out of the cupboard and goes to the sink for some water. “I’m just wonderin’ how she’s doin’ is all. Is that a crime? It’s been … a long time since her and I have talked, too long.”
“Sheand I,” I mumble, then turn to my mom. “So it’s true that you used to be friends? ThatColeand I used to be friends?”
“Cole andme,” sheincorrectlycorrects me, just to spite me.
I steamroll on with a touch of irritation. "Is this why you’re being so nice to him? Baking those cookies, smothering him with sweetness, and asking about his mother over and over? Because you’re trying to make up with her through him?”
My mom snaps. “Oh, can’t I just be nice for no good reason? I like to be nice! And I like to bake things! And all I want to do with all the rest of my days on this earth is be nice and bake things! Why must you make it so difficult, sweetie?” She downs her water in one gulp, sets the empty glass down too hard, quietly apologizes to the glass, then heads out of the kitchen.
I frown for a moment, unsure what to make of her explosion, then decide not to poke the hornet’s nest any further. I can’t trust how I feel at the moment, anyway. Everything is upside-down and my nerves are bounding around like rubber bands. I gently put her glass in the dishwasher, dry my hands, and quietly walk away.
My quiet feet only seem to take me from one odd situation to another, as I end up at the door to the guestroom and find Cole at the card table with my excitedly talking father, who is telling him about each and every part of his train town in excruciating detail.
But Cole doesn’t look bored at all. In fact, he seems entirely engaged in my dad’s stories. He even asks questions, appearing to be curious about every little thing. My dad is happy to oblige as he shares the (made-up) history of his train town called Windville. “If you look here,” he says in his jolly voice, “you’ll find the Windville windmill. Isn’t that funny? Mayor Windville is a funny guy, he is. Has himself a sense of humor. Big mustache, wiry guy. You might say he looks suspiciously likeme…”
I’m completely baffled by my family right now. How they’re gobbling Cole up like a free dessert they never ordered. Like they are starved for the outside world, happy to show off their interests and hobbies to anyone foolish enough to get caught in the trap.
Or maybe it’s Cole who’s gobbling them up, having the time of his life somehow, appreciating them in a way I never could.
I feel so strange right now.
It’s an hour later when my parents finally go to bed, leaving us to our night. The kitchen and living room go dark, and the only light (or life) in the house seems to be me and Cole, down the short hallway where my bedroom resides.
“I left you a towel and washcloth,” I explain to him, “as well as a pair of shorts and a shirt to wear after your shower. I’m not sure if they’ll fit you. If they don’t, I can dig around my closet for, um, maybe something bigger, or …”
I run out of words.
I keep finding myself lost in Cole’s eyes, the way he stares at me as he leans against the doorframe to the bathroom, a playful smirk on his lips.
I frown. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Cole shrugs. “Your parents are in bed. We’re alone again. Just you and me.” He tilts his head as he gazes at me. “I really like you, Noah. I meant what I said. Back at the restaurant. And what I was trying to communicate during our interview. I … really, really like you. A lot. I’ve liked you for a long time.”
I stare back at him, my face as blank as a wall.
He can tell me that a hundred more times. A part of me still won’t believe it. A part of me will forever question him.
I fidget. “Cole, they’re going to run the story tomorrow. Like I said. And a whole lots of things are going to happen quickly.” To that, he just shrugs, as if not following. So I spell it out further. “It means that very soon, you’re going to have a whole lot of men and women throwing themselves at you. You’ll have the pageant at the McPhersons’. Everyone will be there. And that’ll end with auctioning you off to someone for a … adate.”
“What’s your point? I don’t want any of them.”
“It won’t matter who or what you want. Everything is going to happen, and you don’t know what you’re going to feel like, and …” I cross my arms. “Maybe it’s smarter for us to just …”
“To just what?”
After a moment, I realize I don’t have an answer that sounds good. Or feels good. I drop my gaze to the floor, unsure.
What am I so afraid of…?
The touch of Cole’s hand on my cheek startles me. I look up to find him gazing into my eyes. “Noah, I’m not sure how many ways I can say this, but I don’t give a rabid raccoon’s ass what happens. I don’t care how many articles are run, how many big showy shows Mrs. Strong wants to do … none of that can possibly change how I feel about you.” He smiles. “Haven’t you enjoyed tonight so far?”
I can’t pull my eyes away from his. “Yes.”
“So have I.”
