Page 95 of Pictures in Blue
We hang up after discussing a few more details and I walk back to Elias and Sky, ready to go home. Taking Elias by surprise, I wrap him in a quick hug. “Thank you,” I say softly before letting go. Glancing at Sky, I add, “Thanks for today. I needed it.”
“So did I,” she smiles. I wave as I turn toward the direction of the cabin, Judy at my heels and start toward Hudson’s.
Once I get backto the cabin, I immediately go upstairs to shower and realize Hudson still isn’t back from whatever errands he had to do. I take my time showering, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel the anxiety that creeps up at the idea of my phone vibrating on the counter wondering if it’s going to be Sharon. Stressing over what she’s going to say to me this time, or fearing how little she’s going to make me feel.
All my life I have felt small and insignificant. I was the size of a citizen from Whoville. When I got here, I became the size of the dandelion and today, I’m Horton. I’m big and loud. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere, at least not yet. I still have a week.
Once I am showered and in comfortable clothes again, I make my way downstairs to find Hudson perched on one of the barstools, coffee from Fran’s and a tray with what looks like lemon bars in front of him. He has a knife in his hand, cutting the bars into squares. He takes a small spatula and tries to lift one out, but it sticks to the bottom and comes up without the crust.
“Shit,” he says, placing the top of the bar on a plate.
I giggle and he glances in my direction.
“Hi,” eyes wide, mouth agape, he just stares at me, surprised I’m out of bed most likely. My wet hair soaking his flannel shirt which is opened, revealing bare skin underneath, my breasts covered by either side of the shirt.
His eyes travel the length of my torso. Up, down, up, down again, until they land on my chest. He swallows and slowly puts down the utensils and turns his body fully toward mine.
“Are you wearing my shirt?”
“Yes,” my voice quiet, but confident. No more soft-spoken little mouse.
“Can you wear nothing else besides my shirts for the rest of your life?”
For the rest of my life.
“Yes,” I respond, ignoring the feeling of trepidation spreading through my skin.
I point to the coffee and tray of bars next to him.
“What is all this for?” I grab for a coffee at the same time he does and our fingers brush for a brief moment. Something about the touch feels different. Something about him feels different.
“You,” he answers, going back to his failed attempt at scraping the lemon bars out of the pan. “Fuck it.” He stands and grabs two forks from the drawer next to the fridge and hands one to me.
I take it and smile at him, settling in the other stool at the island. When the first bite is in my mouth, I moan, a drop of filling landing on my chin. I close my eyes and lean my head back. “I could eat Fran’s lemon bars for every meal for the rest of my life and never get tired of them.”
“Technically Fran’s.”
“Technically?” I mumble, mouth full of food.
“They’re Fran’s recipe, but I made these,” he says sheepishly, like he’s unsure how to admit he did something for me, even though that’s all he does. Like his mother, Hudson is a caretaker to his core. The nickname George gave her suddenly makes sense. Bumblebee. She spends her time caring for other people, going from person to person, child to child, giving pieces of herself to them like bees pollinating flowers. Giving them the things they needed to grow. Always making sure they have everything in each stage of their lives while creating a safe space to come home to.
His eyes are laser focused on the filling still on my skin, and before I can wipe it off with a finger, he reaches out and swipes it off with his thumb. Before he can pull it away, I turn my head and nip at it, pulling it into my mouth, until I feel the warm pad of his finger against my tongue. Mouth open, eyes wide like he’s questioning whether or not to pull me in. I want him to, but instead I slowly take his thumb from my mouth and wrap my hand around his, moving closer so his knees land on either side of my hips.
“What’s the occasion?”
He shuffles in his seat nervously, a child who can’t sit still in school, impatiently waiting for the moment recess comes so he can run out all the energy he’s built up throughout the morning. “I wanted to ask…” he clears his throat and meets my eyes. “Ifyoudgoonadatewithme,” he says, but it comes out a jumble of words tangled together like the Christmas lights you leave yourself to deal with next year. I untangle them and play each word slowly in my head.
“Yes.” I don’t hesitate. “I will.”
As much as the idea of going on a date with him scares me, not experiencing what it’s like tobewith him before I leave scares me more.
“But I don’t have anything to wear. I just packed sweats.”
“Nothing is an option,” he chuckles.
“Not if we are going out in public!”
“Kidding. Plus, no one sees what’s under that shirt but me.” Territorial much? I think I like it. “But, I may have picked up something for you to wear earlier.”
