Page 63 of Infinite as They Come
“He’s a little quieter and shy, but so, so sweet,” I said. “He doesn’t really have a lot of friends. It might be nice for him to hang out with someone his own age.”
Clara hummed. “Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“They’ll be at that fair. The one that’s in town for a couple weeks?” My brows pulled together, trying to remember the name that had been sprawled across the flyer Linda gave us. “Central County Fair. That one.”
“Oh, yeah, me and Tommy go every year,” she said. “That sounds cute. Tommy would like that.”
“Me and Sawyer were planning on meeting his mom there next Friday.”
She blew out a little puff of air. “How’s that going?”
“Uh… It’s getting there. Slowly, but I don’t think rushing it was ever going to help. I guess it’s better this way. Safer, you know?”
Clara gave me a slow nod. “It’s good to be safe. Where is Sawyer? I haven’t really seen him around lately.”
“That’s a good question,” I said, looking over my shoulder and through the diner windows like I’d find him there.
“Gotta do some refills.” Raising a big, full pot of coffee, Clara gave me awink. “I’ll be back!”
I nodded, watching as she took off to my right, strolling down the counter. My eyes fell back to my laptop, distracting myself with some emails. I went through the useless ones. Promotions, stuff from stores I didn’t even remember signing up for, Columbia reaching out to keep me updated on alumni events. My tongue clicked as I scrolled further down, my eyes narrowing when I saw something from The New York Observer. I gave the email a careless click, giving the first couple lines a quick once over.
We’ve been reading through your portfolio and are looking to reach out. Please let us know the best time to call you so we can discuss a role we think—
I clicked out of the email at that. All I could envision was me at the desk, fingers pressed to my temples as I fought off my millionth headache forming that day, loud voices in my ear, deadlines consuming me. The New York traffic. Shoulders bumping as I moved down the street. The long cab drive back home where I finally got to see Sawyer: and that, him, was the only source of color in that fantasy—if you could call it that. Everything else felt so grey and gloomy and forced and boring.
I twisted around in my stool, finding Clara in the corner of the diner. Hand on her hip, her head was thrown back, her laugh loud and warm. She always seemed so at ease, so relaxed. I admired that about her. That she never let life make her feel all tangled up. I wished I could be more like her. Then there was the old couple sitting in the corner booth: white haired and bright eyed, their hands clasped together on the table. I had seen them around the diner a few times now, and they looked more in love with each passing day. There was the trucker—Mike—who I had spoken to earlier when I had sat down at the counter with my laptop and notebooks scattered around me. He was long gone by now, apparently making his way all the way to California. He had seen a lot over the years, had a bad back and tired hands, but he showed me what motivated him, what got him through the day. Just before he left, he pulled out a photo out of his wallet: his wife on their wedding day, her bright white dress contrasting against her ebonyskin, her eyes twinkling so much I could see it through the photo. It was her that made him happiest, he said. Her that he always drove home to.
Everyone seemed so at peace here. It was the simple life I had never had but craved so badly. The country club affairs and the Michelin star restaurants and the too extravagant galas all had a special way of feeling superficial and flashy just for the sake of it. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t warm, it wasn’t Sawyer. Sawyer, who was so honest, so giving. Sawyer, who gave me moments I couldn’t even find in a fairytale. Sawyer, who didn’t care about impressing me with stupid shallow gestures that I’d forget in a week and instead gave me memories that made me feel his love all over.
I paid for my meal and left Clara a tip before saying goodbye to her. It was about time I got out of her hair, anyway. It was a slow walk to the motel, but I liked taking my time. After being in New York for three years, it was nice to be able to do that.
The motel room was empty when I got back, and I found myself sighing. Places just always felt better when Sawyer was there. I busied myself with tidying up my notes from today, from my interview with Mike. He said it was fine to go ahead and write something about him—he was kind of amazed anyone was interested at all which I thought was sweet. I had seen up close what people with wealth were like. They had surrounded me my whole life, and I had never found them the least bit fascinating. There was something to learn in the lives of small town people, though.
The sound of the door creaking open caught my attention, and my eyes drifted up to see Sawyer. Brows furrowed, jaw tight, eyes all tired, and a plastic bag withMary’s Art Supply Storewritten across the front. My head tilted as he let the bag hit the floor and threw his keys to the nearby table with a sharp clanking noise.
“Hey. You look exhausted.” I patted the spot on the bed next to me. “Come sit down.”
He did just that. He was right next to me in what felt like a second flat, groaning as he pulled me against him. Shutting my laptop, I tossed it gently to my side as I felt Sawyer’s arms wrap around me. He was pulling me in closer, my head resting there on his chest, that woodsy scent mixing in withjust the faintest sign of cigarette smoke. It made my eyes close, comfort taking over.
“Had a long day,” he muttered. “Did you have lunch? You hungry?”
“Yeah, I saw Clara down at the diner. I got to talk to a guy down there and interview him,” I said softly, my fingers gently tugging at the collar of his T-shirt. “It was fun. There’s a lot of interesting people around here.”
“Yeah, I bet.”
“You’re my favorite person to interview, though. I kinda wanna do that again…” Shifting that little bit so that I could look up at him, I watched as his eyes moved to mine. “What’d you get up today?”
“I was just checking the place out. Never been here before, right? Thought I’d wander around. Got some paint and some brushes as well.”
I pressed my lips together before deciding to just say it. “Is this about your mom? You can talk to me. Whatever you’re thinking, whatever you’re feeling, you can tell me. Please don’t keep it all to yourself.”
“Holly,” he whispered, brushing gentle fingers along my hair, “it’s not that. I mean, I am… That whole thing has been a lot. A hell of a lot, and I’m taking it one day at a time. I trust you. You know I do. It isn’t that.”
“What is then?”
He said nothing. Just kept his eyes locked to mine, fingers moving oh so slowly, so carefully. He could be so cautious with me sometimes, like I’d shatter into pieces if he didn’t treat me with the safest of hands. “Nothing you have to worry about.”
That made me a little more worried, though, but I didn’t want to tell him that. There was already too much on his mind, and if it was space he was seeking, then I couldn’t force him into a box. I wouldn’t do that.
