Page 63 of Beautiful Desire
What the hell are they doing here?
“Sorry for dropping by unannounced.” I watch in horror as Denise pulls her son in for a hug, hoping like hell she can’t smell sex on him. “But I know your presentation is in a few days, and I’ve got a pretty busy week coming up, so I wanted to make sure I dropped these off to you beforehand.”
That’s when I notice the basket in my dad’s arms.What the hell is with this family and making baskets for everyone?Clearing his throat, he hands it to Fletcher, all without making eye contact.
“Oh, you didn’t have to do this, guys,” Fletcher says awkwardly.
“I know that, honey,” Denise says sweetly. “We wanted to.”
Then I remember we’re still standing in the entryway. “Let’s go sit in the living room,” I offer. As I’m walking past Fletcher, his eyes widen, and he rolls his lips together but doesn’t say anything.
Fletcher and I each take one of the recliners while our parents sit on the couch. The tension in the room is so thick, you could slice it with a butter knife.Jesus Christ, this is bad.
After several long seconds of uncomfortable silence, Denise says, “Well, open it, dear!”
It’s a rather large basket filled with several different things, and my heart squeezes at how thoughtful everything is. There’s a four-pack of blackberry lemon mini muffins from Grace’s bakery, a new Nike muscle tee and shorts—too short, just like Fletcher likes them—some of his favorite snacks, a mini foam thumb in the school colors that says,You’re #1, a tiny crochet cow holding a motivational sign that reads,Positive Moo. Don’t underestimate yourself! I believe in you. Keep moo-ving forward, no matter the challenge!and a handful of other miscellaneous items.
“Wow, thanks, you guys,” Fletcher murmurs, and there’s a tinge of pink to his cheeks. Who knew Fletcher was such an awkward gift receiver?
“It isn’t much,” Denise says, waving him off. “I’m just so proud of you and how far you’ve come.” Her voice cracks at the end.
“Don’t cry yet, Mom,” he says. “I haven’t passed yet.”
“But I know you will! You’re such a smart boy. And Georgia”—she flicks her gaze toward me, making my pulse race for some unknown reason. “Thank you for all that you’ve done for Fletcher?—”
Before she can continue, Fletcher barks out a cough, whacking his fist to the center of his chest. All eyes turn toward him. “Sorry,” he mutters in between coughs. “Swallowed wrong. Keep going.”
Real nice, Fletcher.
Clenching my jaw, I turn back toward our parents, and my heart thumps against my ribs when I find my father’s gaze already on me, his brow furrowed. As soon as he realizes I’m looking in his direction, he clears his throat and looks over at his wife.
Jesus Christ, this is bad.
Denise breathes out a giggle. “As I was saying, thank you for helping Fletcher and for letting him stay here. I know it wasn’t the most ideal arrangement, but please know, your father and I appreciate it very much.”
“Oh, it’s no big deal,” I murmur. “It hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be. Just glad I was able to help.”
Clearing his throatagain, my dad chimes in. “So, what have y’all been up to today?”
Fletcher and I glance at each other briefly. They know… Theyhave toknow, right? It’s why my dad’s being so weird.
“Uh, not much,” Fletcher offers with a shrug.
“We went rollerblading on this trail Blakely told me about at the state park,” I add. “It’s beautiful out there and wasn’t too crowded.”
“That’s nice, honey,” Denise says. “Sounds like fun.” She looks over at her son. “I bet you’re excited to get back home in a few weeks.”
My stomach bottoms out at the reminder that this arrangement is coming to an end. Ishouldfeel relieved. Ishouldbe looking forward to it, counting down the days. But I’m not. The more time Fletcher and I spend together, both in and out of the sheets, the more uneasy I become at the thought of him going back to Charleston. Which is nuts…right? This isn’t anything serious; it’s always been temporary, and when he first got here, I was so ready for him to go home.
So, why do I feel this way? Why does even talking about it make my throat ache, and why does it leave a sour taste in the back of my mouth?
What’s going on with me? I need to snap the hell out of it. This isn’t who I am, and that’s not what this is.
Fletcher huffs a laugh, but it sounds forced. “Yeah, for sure,” he says flatly. “Can’t lie, though. Parts of this town have actually grown on me. So, I don’t think it’ll be as easy to leave as I assumed it would be.”
Pressure builds behind my eyes at his words, but I don’t understand why. Feeling attention on me, I drag my gaze over to my dad, finding him watching meagain, with another perturbed expression. Correcting my face, I offer him a small smile as the conversation continues around me, but I’m finding it hard to partake in it, because I’m too far inside my own head.
All of this is feeling a little too real for my liking, and I need to get myself in check.
