MICHELLE
"I got this," I say when we arrive in the soda aisle and I discover that the store brand ginger ale is on sale.
David raises an eyebrow. "You got what?"
"The ginger ale." I swipe a bottle off the shelf and put it in my cart next to the bread, proud to be able to contribute, even if it is in the smallest of ways. All the tweaks to my budget added up to mean my checking account has a little breathing room. I wouldn't go so far as to say that all my financial troubles are solved, but a two liter of off-brand ginger ale? Yeah, I totally got this.
"Oh I see," says David, shaking his head. "The dinner, the flowers, the gift card, the wine, the wine glasses. You're fine to let me handle all that, but when it comes to an eighty-nine cent two liter, you're all over it." David grins at me and the little bubble of pride in my heart floats away like a child's balloon into the sky.
"I'm sorry..." I trail off, unsure how to continue through the huge swell of embarrassment rushing through me.
Leave it to David to read me like a book. He touches a finger to my chin, lifting my gaze to his. "Hey. You have nothing to be sorry about. My sense of humor can be jarring, but I never want it to hurt your feelings." He raises his eyebrows. "Never. Understand?"
I nod. "I shouldn't be so sensitive anyway."
David shrugs. "That's something we can talk about later. In the meantime, if my humor offends you, all you have to do is say something and I'll take it all back. For example—" He drops his chin and presses his hands together. “Please forgive me? That was unnecessarily harsh and not at all funny.”
He looks so genuine, so appalled by the misunderstanding. I should let him off the hook.
But I don’t. At least not right away. I step back and fold my arms across my chest, looking stern. I can’t pull off the deadpan delivery like him though, and I’m giggling within a matter of seconds.
David puts a reassuring arm around my shoulder and we stroll down the aisle towards the checkout lane, our carts bouncing against each other as we take up too much space. I half expect him to offer to pay for the ginger ale, but he doesn't and a tiny blip of the pride I felt earlier returns. It might only be eighty-nine cents, but just the fact that I have the money to spare is a big deal. Which should be sad, but I refuse to let it be anything but a reason to celebrate.
"When should I meet you?" I ask after we've paid and are strolling through the parking lot towards my car.
"Right now." David grabs my bag out of the cart after I pop the trunk. "You can follow me out there."
For a fraction of a second, I consider telling him no. Consider telling him I won't come to dinner. That I won't follow him to his beautiful farm where I'll share his wonderful company and hopefully (okay... probably) partake in more life-altering sex. But one look at his face and all those thoughts fly right out of my head.
The last week has been hard. My shoulders are so tense I wake up with headaches each and every morning. My breathing is so shallow I often have to remind myself to take a breath. I've caught myself clutching my own arms so tightly that my fingers ache from the tension.
And now? Standing next to David? All the things that seemed so big, like danger looming in every corner, they all fade away, muted by his strength and composure. I'm still not sure if someone like him deserves to pulled into a life as crazy as mine, but I haven't heard from Russell since last weekend and I'm really, really tired of doing everything based on what's right for everyone else. I am beyond ready to do something because it feels good. Because I want to. The last time I listened to that desire, David treated me to my first real orgasm and I haven't looked at my dilapidated back porch the same way since. I'd be a fool to walk away from this. From him. From us.
"You sure are bossy," I say to him after he closes the trunk of my car. "Come to my house. Have dinner with me. Tell me your favorite color." I deepen my voice in a cheap imitation of his.
"Careful, darlin'." David pulls me close. "You keep talking like that and you might inspire me to show you what bossy really looks like." He gives me a look that sends my adrenaline racing and my curiosity blazing, and then heads over to his truck—a vehicle that actually looks worthy of a farmer—and brings the thing to life. I follow him down familiar roads that twist and turn past landmarks I used to know so well, but which are now faded and dusty with time. Before long, we turn into a driveway marked by a proud white sign with the words Carmichael Farms scrolled across the clean paint. It's been so long since I was here, and while most of the memories of my time with Sarah have faded into idealized blurs of happiness and sunshine, everything about the place sparks memories. I park behind David's truck and climb out of the car.
"Wow," I say, taking in the grand old farmhouse, the freshly painted red barn standing out against the sky, and the rows and rows of green things stretching out beyond.
David slams his truck door and smiles as his dog comes bolting out of the barn, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and his dog tags jingling. "Hey, buddy.” David crouches to greet the dog, laughing as he gets knocked to the ground.
I grab my single grocery bag out of the trunk and make my way over to him. "It might be even more beautiful here than I remember it."
David climbs to his feet and brushes off his jeans. "I should hope so. Lord knows I've put enough work into it over the years."
"Do you still live in the farmhouse?" I ask, suddenly very afraid that David still lives with his parents and all the wonderful things I imagined happening between us tonight will not be happening after all.
"Yep," he says. "I moved into a smaller house on the property for a while, but after Dad's stroke, we swapped." He places a hand on my low back and leads me up the steps to the wraparound porch and towards the front door. "Although, most days it seems like they haven't quite gotten the message."
I give him a funny look. "What do you mean?"
"You'll see." He pulls open the screen door and the hinges don't squeak, even though I expected them to. I can hear the creak of the door opening and the slam of it banging shut echoing through my memories so clearly that the silence unnerves me. Walking into the place is like the worst kind of déjà vu. Everything is so familiar and so different at the same time.
"Is that you, Davey?" A wonderfully round woman comes around the corner, wiping her hands on a dish towel tucked into the front pocket of her jeans.
David gives me a long look. "See what I mean?" he murmurs before turning back to his mom. "Hey, Momma. Look what I found out on the road." He gestures to me. "She looks hungry so I thought the least I could do is bring her home and feed her before setting her free.”
Annabelle Carmichael—her name comes echoing down to me through the decades—squints my way. "Is that...?" She takes a few steps closer. "Well, I'll be. That isn't Michelle Williams, is it? Sarah's old friend? My goodness, it is!" A grin lights up her pleasant face and she closes the distance between us and wraps her arms around me. "We're huggers," she says when I freeze. "You'll get used to it again."
"Hi, Mrs. Carmichael.” I wrap my arms around her and return the hug. "It's good to see you again."
"You just call me Annabelle." She gives me one last squeeze before letting me go and turning to David. "This is the woman Colton told us you were seeing? Sweet little Michelle Williams?" She turns back to me, her sharp eyes traveling across my features. "You sure did grow into yourself didn't you, dear?" She tries to covertly drop a wink David's way but fails miserably. I see the whole thing and suppress a giggle.
Next thing I know, I'm being pulled down the hallway into a kitchen that barely resembles the one in my memory, thanks to a set of brand new matching appliances and updated cabinets, and then I’m thrust in front of two men sitting at a worn table.
"Dean, Colton, you remember Michelle, don't you? Sarah's old friend?" Annabelle squeezes my shoulders and presents me like a prize. "This is the girl Colton told us about."
"Thanks, Colton." David's wry voice comes from somewhere behind me.
"You know you can always count on me, big brother," says the man at the table who looks nothing like the scrawny kid I remember. And then he smiles and I recognize him instantly. I would remember that shit-eating grin anywhere.
"So, anyway," says David, stepping forward and coming to my rescue. "I'm making dinner for Michelle tonight." He pauses while the Carmichaels stare first at me and then David, and then me again, smiling and looking expectant. "So obviously I'm going to need you to go to your own homes for the rest of the evening..." David trails off, waiting for his family to understand that he wants them to leave.
The scraping of chairs and the clatter of utensils breaks an overly long silence as Annabelle, Dean, and Colton stand, muttering apologies on top of each other. Each of them gives me a big hug before they leave. I do my best to return the hugs with as much enthusiasm as they’re given.
"I'm sorry about that," David says once we're alone.
"Don't be." I laugh. "I can't believe your mom recognized me."
"She has the memory of an elephant, that one." He opens the fridge and puts my bag of groceries on the top shelf. "So, tell me. Are you hungry enough to start dinner now or do you have time to take a tour first?"