would burst through the wall of sarcasm with guns blazing?
“A good guess,” I say grudgingly because hey, when you’re right you’re right. No sense is getting angry about it. Zing! The barricades have been tunneled under. “What did you do when your cousin died?” I ask him.
“Started wearing sweater vests and glasses,” he says.
The laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. “That is so weird.”
“No weirder than filling my face full of holes and changing my hair color. Why’d you do all that, anyways? I do like your star tattoos, though,” he says as an after thought. “Very cool.”
We both stop. Sam leans against the railing on one side of the walk way and I lean against the other. We face each other, but we don’t look at each other. My gaze lifts to the tops of the pines trees while his floats somewhere around my chest. I’m pretty sure he thinks he is looking me in the eye, so I don’t punch him in the gut.
I think about his question, rolling it back and forth in my mind. If anyone else would have asked it – which they have – I would give my usual response of ‘mind your own damn business’. But sweater vest Sam deserves more than that. He deserves the truth, or at least as close to the truth as I can get without having some kind of seizure.
“I guess it’s because…” I start to say. Pause. Backtrack. “People always used to say my mom and I looked identical. My dad called us twins. He used to make us dress alike to take pictures.” I smile unconsciously at the memory. “It drove me nuts. So I guess I did all this because… because when my dad looks at me I don’t want him to see her.” I glance covertly at Sam, waiting to see what he will say, hoping it’s not something stupid.
“I would like to see a picture of your mom sometime, if that’s okay. She must have been really pretty if you look just like her,” he says simply.
It is silly and cute and a little embarrassing. It is also the exactly right thing to say. Cue barricade reinforcements before I do something really unforgivable, like cry or try to hug him. “For God’s sake put on your glasses, Sam. You’re staring right at my boobs.”
“I am?” he asks guiltily.
My eyes narrow. Maybe Sam isn’t as blind as I thought. I push away from the railing and continue walking. Sam follows me after fumbling around in his pocket to retrieve his glasses. They slip easily over the bridge of his nose like they’re meant to be there and I decide he looks much better with his glasses on. My lips quirk at the realization that I am developing a little crush on sweater vest Sam, dork extraordinaire. It’s too bad I live five hundred miles away. I could use a friend like him.
“So,” I say when we reach the end of the walkway. The front entrance of the lodge looms in front of us, temptingly warm and cheerful with all the lights lit up and smoke curling from the twin chimneys.
“So,” Sam says.
I cross my arms. Uncross them. Put my hands on my hips. Put my hands in my sweatshirt pocket. Every attempt at cool casualness feels more awkward than the last. Finally I just let my arms hang down by my sides. Stiff, but effective. “Do you… uh… want to come in or something?”
“I would really like too.”
“But…” I say the word that lingers in the air.
“But I can’t.”
Disappointment flutters in my belly. “Why not?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Sam looks down at his feet. “I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Is it because of me?” Jeez, Winnie! Just. Stop. Talking.
His chin lifts. Gray eyes lock on mine with alarming intensity. “No, no, nothing like that. I would love to go inside with you. Really. I just… I just can’t.”
“Uh, okay.” I am stunned by the strength of my reaction to his refusal to come inside, and instantly I go on the defensive. “Like whatever. I have shit to do anyways.” I stomp past him towards the sliding glass doors. With a quiet whoosh they split apart,
“A good guess,” I say grudgingly because hey, when you’re right you’re right. No sense is getting angry about it. Zing! The barricades have been tunneled under. “What did you do when your cousin died?” I ask him.
“Started wearing sweater vests and glasses,” he says.
The laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. “That is so weird.”
“No weirder than filling my face full of holes and changing my hair color. Why’d you do all that, anyways? I do like your star tattoos, though,” he says as an after thought. “Very cool.”
We both stop. Sam leans against the railing on one side of the walk way and I lean against the other. We face each other, but we don’t look at each other. My gaze lifts to the tops of the pines trees while his floats somewhere around my chest. I’m pretty sure he thinks he is looking me in the eye, so I don’t punch him in the gut.
I think about his question, rolling it back and forth in my mind. If anyone else would have asked it – which they have – I would give my usual response of ‘mind your own damn business’. But sweater vest Sam deserves more than that. He deserves the truth, or at least as close to the truth as I can get without having some kind of seizure.
“I guess it’s because…” I start to say. Pause. Backtrack. “People always used to say my mom and I looked identical. My dad called us twins. He used to make us dress alike to take pictures.” I smile unconsciously at the memory. “It drove me nuts. So I guess I did all this because… because when my dad looks at me I don’t want him to see her.” I glance covertly at Sam, waiting to see what he will say, hoping it’s not something stupid.
“I would like to see a picture of your mom sometime, if that’s okay. She must have been really pretty if you look just like her,” he says simply.
It is silly and cute and a little embarrassing. It is also the exactly right thing to say. Cue barricade reinforcements before I do something really unforgivable, like cry or try to hug him. “For God’s sake put on your glasses, Sam. You’re staring right at my boobs.”
“I am?” he asks guiltily.
My eyes narrow. Maybe Sam isn’t as blind as I thought. I push away from the railing and continue walking. Sam follows me after fumbling around in his pocket to retrieve his glasses. They slip easily over the bridge of his nose like they’re meant to be there and I decide he looks much better with his glasses on. My lips quirk at the realization that I am developing a little crush on sweater vest Sam, dork extraordinaire. It’s too bad I live five hundred miles away. I could use a friend like him.
“So,” I say when we reach the end of the walkway. The front entrance of the lodge looms in front of us, temptingly warm and cheerful with all the lights lit up and smoke curling from the twin chimneys.
“So,” Sam says.
I cross my arms. Uncross them. Put my hands on my hips. Put my hands in my sweatshirt pocket. Every attempt at cool casualness feels more awkward than the last. Finally I just let my arms hang down by my sides. Stiff, but effective. “Do you… uh… want to come in or something?”
“I would really like too.”
“But…” I say the word that lingers in the air.
“But I can’t.”
Disappointment flutters in my belly. “Why not?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Sam looks down at his feet. “I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Is it because of me?” Jeez, Winnie! Just. Stop. Talking.
His chin lifts. Gray eyes lock on mine with alarming intensity. “No, no, nothing like that. I would love to go inside with you. Really. I just… I just can’t.”
“Uh, okay.” I am stunned by the strength of my reaction to his refusal to come inside, and instantly I go on the defensive. “Like whatever. I have shit to do anyways.” I stomp past him towards the sliding glass doors. With a quiet whoosh they split apart,
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