Page 128 of The Home Grown
His half-crooked smile falls into a frown. “Why not?”
“I’m not even asking how much they cost you, but it’s too much—I mean, this isn’t—I just?—”
Frustration fills my chest. I can’t find the words. I can’t find any words to explain how I’m feeling right now.
Mike takes a step towards me.
“Hey, have you ever heard the term, ‘if he wanted to, he would’? Because I wanted to get these for you, so I did. Honestly, Kitch, all the other rings in the cabinet looked like crap compared to these. I saw the set, and I knew these were meant for you.”
I stare at him, letting my mouth hang open in complete disbelief. All I ever wanted was to be seen, to be something to someone—and in comes Mike, showing me that hedoessee me and he probably saw me all those years back too. I mean … these rings. These rings arefamiliar.
“I need to finish getting ready,” I say, “I need to finish my hair and touch up my makeup and?—”
“Yeah, no problem,” he says, clearing his throat.
Then I spot the silver band he’s wearing on his left hand.
He catches me looking, then sets the ring box down on the coffee table, holding his hand out.
“I just figured it’d make sense if … you know.”
I push down the emotion that’s building, excusing myself and rushing upstairs on the premise of getting ready, but instead, I dig through the bottom of my wardrobe, pulling out my memory box, the sight of the rings reminding me of something I think I have.
I rummage through various items. Old notes, old postcards, ticketstubs, receipts.
Then I find it. Tucked in the very bottom of the box.
How did I forget this existed?
A Polaroid photo of me and Mike on our wedding day—or whatever you want to call it. Our teenage selves not quite understanding the pivotal point that moment would play on our future. We weren’t posing as newlyweds but as a couple of friends who weren’t actually friends, making the best of an adventure.
I stare at the photo, taking in the smiles we both wear, and with it comes the memory of the events that followed shortly after. The phone calls I never got. The texts I never received. And then there’s the bridal set downstairs—so similar to the one I had shown him as we gazed through the window of a jeweller, hours before the ‘wedding experience’.
I really fucking hate my sister.
I look at myself in the mirror, half-ready and heart literally aching from the whirlpool of emotions, trying to stop the tears as I pull the rollers out of my hair. Instead of running a brush through the length, I reach for a hair tie and pull it back, setting it into a ponytail before pulling on a pair of leggings and a baggy jumper.
Then I descend the stairs to tell Mike there’s something I need to do.
Chapter Twenty-Six
ELLIE
After convincingMike I’ll be as quick as I can and I definitely don’t need his help, I head to my sister’s house, cranking up the volume on a ‘Power Ballads’ playlist to help build up courage. I don’t proclaim to be a decent singer, but there’s something about the protective bubble of my car which makes me feel invincible, even more so when the crescendo builds and I pull off a high note.
She won’t answer any of my questions. She won’t admit she sabotaged my chances with Mike all those years ago. She won’t come clean about the money she owes me. So, why do I think she’s going to be any different tonight?
She’d probably do something crazy, though. The mirror in the salon would be just the start for her. Maybe I should take a leaf out of Kathryn’s book. Because if she can play games, so can I.
I shake my head, upping the volume on the stereo, trying to distract myself, but it’s no use. Because she wouldn’t think twice. In fact, she doesn’t think at all. Not really, anyway. Not when it comes to anyone else.
I come to a stop at the crossroads. Typically, I’d continue straight on, but something’s pulling at me to turn left. Maybe it’s the courage acting. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve had enough.
As the lights flick from red to amber to green, I signal left, speeding off towards the salon, wondering if this reallyisa good idea.
Five minutes later, I conclude it’s absolutely not a good idea, and by the time I pull up outside the salon, I’ve decided it’s the worst idea I’ve ever had, but I’m going to do it anyway.
I owe this to myself. And to Mike.
