Page 39 of The Home Grown
“And I did,” I say, my voice raising a notch in volume.
“Well, I obviously you didn’t.”
“So maybe I put in your number wrong. You can’t be angry with me for that.”
She wrinkles her nose. “You knew where I lived. You didn’t even bother to knock when you got home. You just went about your business … getting with the next girl in line… Julie?—”
“I don’t even remember a Julie,” I say, blowing out a breath. “What did you want me to do, Kitch? Knock on your door and ask you why didn’t you answer my calls or texts after I was explicitly told to not call again? I was humiliated. Embarrassed that I let myself think, even for a single second, that I may stand a chance with you.” My breath fogs in the cold air.
“Give it a rest, Mike. You were interested in Julie Goldsworthy, so I can only imagine how humiliated you were.”
I can feel my jaw twitching as the frustration builds.
“I guess I was settling,” I say. “That’s the only thing I can think of. I don’t mean this to sound in any way bad on Julia, but … when you don’t typically get attention, you get excited when someone is interested. And I am, again, embarrassed to admit it. I’ve been doing it ever since. There. I said it.”
She looks at me for a moment and because I’m fucking freezing, I squat down and get to work on the bolts of the flat tyre.
“Settling?” she echoes.
“Forget it,” I snap.
Silence stretches between us, tension crackling like static.
Usually, I’m the one who can’t bear it—I’m the one who caves, who needs resolution. But this time, I’m weirdly relieved when she breaks first.
“Can we call a truce, please? The back-and-forth isn’t helping anyone.”
I don’t answer. I just dig the lug wrench around the bolt and twist hard, channelling everything into the motion.
But then she says my name.
“Mike…”
A single syllable delivered in such an intense softness, I can’t help but pause, keen to hear whatever she’s got to say.
I shift my attention, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye—enough for her to know I’m listening.
“I need a favour,” she says. “I mean—it’s not a favour like thatbut…”
“What do you need?” I bite.
“Greg said the document I had is only part of it. It’s not the full certificate and the solicitor he’s lined up to help me said he needs it to proceed.”
“Full certificate?” I say, standing up.
“Do you remember taking any paperwork home?”
I let out a dry laugh. “Kitch—I don’t even remembergettingany paperwork.”
She frowns. “Well, could you at least think about it? We’re stuck without it.”
“I guess I could look through my old boxes,” I say.
“Right, well, I’ll be grateful if you could … as soon as you can.”
“I’ve got camp this week, so the chances are slim, but I’ll get on to it as soon as it’s over.”
“Okay.”
