Page 22 of The Tattered Gloves
“Fine,” he said angrily. “I didn’t figure you were someone who made such quick judgments about others… but then again, that’s the tricky thing about first impressions; they’re usually wrong.”
He stormed away into the sea of shelves, and those were the last words he said to me for the rest of the day.
Seems like the only jerk in the store that day… was me.
I’D BARELY SAID two words to Addy since I arrived home.
Although I wasn’t known for being overly chatty, I had been loosening up a little in my new home. So, by nine o’clock, the silence had become evident.
“Something happen today?” Addy asked as she sat on the floor between the coffee table and the couch, a hot glue gun in hand. She was working on her latest craft project — red and green felt roses that she was eventually going to turn into Christmas ornaments.
I didn’t bother reminding her that Halloween was still a month away.
“No,” I answered shortly.
“Why don’t you come sit by me and help me glue?” she suggested.
I’d just finished wiping down the table after dinner, and I was itching to disappear into my room for the evening.
Addy had made good on her promise and cleaned out the spare bedroom over the weekend. Half of the closet was still occupied with fabric, glitter, and other various art supplies, but for the most part, it was mine.
It was the first time I had a space of my own that didn’t feel like a prison.
My room back in DC had been out of necessity. If my mom could have found a way around giving me my own space, I was sure she would have. But it was a convenient place to hide the kid no one wanted to see.
Reluctantly, I put the towel down on the counter and found a spot next to Addy. She turned the TV on, the volume so low that I could barely hear it. I’d watched her do this on several occasions as she worked on crafts. I thought she enjoyed the chatter because she hardly ever paid attention to any of the shows.
A couple was shopping for a starter house on the screen while Addy taught me how to create a felt flower. It was amazingly simple really, and once I was finished, I was kind of proud of the little red rose staring up at me.
“Good. Now, put a bit of glue on the bottom here.”
I tried to follow her directions, but somehow, I ended up making a mess.
Hot glue was stuck to my gloved fingers and the bottom of the flower. As I tried to yank myself free, the flower fell apart, unwinding into a large mass of felt on the table below.
Looking down, I sighed, trying to pick off some of the glue that had accumulated on my fingers. But it was no use. Yarn and hot glue did not mix.
I noticed Addy intently watching me before rising from her spot. She disappeared into her room down the hall before returning a moment later. In her hand was a pair of gloves, dark blue with tiny snowflakes on the back.
“Here, try these,” she simply said before walking into the kitchen.
I sat there, on the floor, slightly stunned, staring at those blue gloves.
“You don’t have to use them,” she said, a warmth to her voice that hadn’t been there before. “But they’re yours to keep either way.”
I nodded, still staring at the tiny snowflakes. Part of me wanted to rip off the gloves and toss both pairs in the trash. But I knew I wouldn’t. I knew the nice pair with the snowflakes on them would end up in a drawer, never to be seen again.
Because I couldn’t — no, Iwouldn’ttake them off.
Not now.
Not ever.
LIFE SLOWLY BEGAN to settle into a different kind of normal in Sugar Tree.
Addy, determined to get me into clothes that actually fit, took me shopping the next weekend and managed not to say a single word when I came out of the store, carrying two full bags of boring long-sleeved T-shirts and jeans.
“At least they fit,” she muttered.
