Twelve

I saw Hunter when I woke up. I saw Hunter as I ate a bowl of cereal. I saw him in human sexuality, where he seemed to be trying to break a record for most innuendos in one hour. I saw him at work where he assaulted my email. I saw him every night at dinner. I saw him go to and from the bathroom. I saw him at our stupid mediations, which were as pointless as socks with sandals.

I. Saw. Him. EVERYWHERE.

I’d never spent so much time with someone I wasn’t related to, ever. I escaped to Megan’s every chance I could get, even with the smelly boys that were always there. We were too broke to go out, but sometimes we went for walks around campus, or near her apartment.

“My couch is open anytime,” she said when I told her about the newest bet. “I’m sure if you told housing about it that they’d do something.” 

“Been there, done that.” I’d tried again with housing, but they just told me to continue with mediations. They were still dealing with all the freshmen playing musical roommates, so maybe around the end of October I’d be able to do something. 

“Are you sure you want him gone?”

“Yes. The more time I spend with him, the more I want him gone. I just… I can’t.” I kicked at a pinecone and a few steps later, crushed it with my foot to a satisfying crunch.

“I know, I know.”

 We took a few more steps. Megan paused. I knew she wanted to say something else, but she was doing that waiting thing she did when she wanted to pretend she had moved on to another topic.

“I know you’ve been through a lot, and no one would blame you for giving up on men, but have you ever thought that you can’t let one guy ruin all guys?”

“Sure, I’ve thought about it. I don’t know, Meg. I think about it and then I remember that night, and it all comes back to me. I can’t see someone like that without it reminding me of that night.” It wasn’t chilly, but I wrapped my arms around myself and pulled my sleeves over my hands.

“Therapy didn’t help?” She knew the answer, but she had to do the friend thing and ask anyway.

“I had a string of interesting therapists who didn’t really know what to do with me. They tried, but I guess I just couldn’t be helped. Haven’t you heard? I’m a lost cause.”

“No one’s a lost cause, not even you.”

“I don’t know, Meg, I’m pretty fucked up.”

“Have you met my boyfriend? He thinks running around in the middle of the night pretending he’s an elf is a good time. If that’s not fucked up, I don’t know what is.”

“You love him, though.”

 She sighs, a little smile on her face. 

“Yeah, I do love him. I just don’t love his stinky friends. You have no idea how much I spend on room spray and air fresheners. I should buy stock in that stuff.”

“Now I know what to give you for Christmas.”

“Please, the strongest you can find. I don’t care if my house smells like a pumpkin threw up in it.”

“Pumpkin Barf. Got it. Not sure if that’s an official Yankee Candle scent, but I’ll check.”

We laughed and moved on to talk about other things. Megan never harped on things I didn’t want to talk about, which was one of the reasons I liked her so much. She wasn’t pushy or in-your-face. She was sweet and loyal and she’d do anything for her friends. Even her boyfriend’s friends who liked to take advantage. One of these days they were going to push her too far. I’d seen Megan snap, and it wasn’t pretty.

Actually, one of my therapists had found a way for me to deal with some of my issues. All I needed was some watercolor paint, straws and paper. I decided to treat myself and went down to the art section of the school bookstore and splurged on the real deal.

That evening I had the place to myself. Darah was on a date with Mase, and Renee was at the library again. I didn’t know where Hunter was until he walked in on me blowing my brains out through a straw.

“So this is what you do when I’m not around.”

I blew out the rest of the paint drops to the edge of the paper. I was working on a calming blue piece, blending in some green so it looked like the ocean. Some people actually tried to make a picture, but I just liked to mess with the colors to see what I could make and then try to find images in the mess. Like clouds.

“It’s called blow painting,” I said, taking the straw out of my mouth. At the word blow his eyebrows migrated farther up his forehead.

“Is that so?” He dropped his bag and came to examine my work. He turned his head from side to side, as if he was trying to figure out what it was.

“It’s not supposed to be anything,” I said.

“Oh.”

“I just do it sometimes.” Suddenly, I wanted to hide my picture. It wasn’t like it was anything special. Picasso, I was not, but it was a personal thing I did and I didn’t share it with a lot of people.

Hunter looked at it again, after rubbing his tattoo. One, two, three. Someday he was going to rub it off.

“Got another straw?” I handed him one, and he paused over the paint. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, go ahead.” At least he’d asked.

He dipped the straw in the dark blue paint, making sure he had a decent amount before dropping it on the page and puffing up his cheeks and blowing the drop of paint as far as it would go. The drop split out into several drops, and he separated each one with a blast of air, making the paint look like it was exploding. He took the straw out of his mouth and examined it.

“I think you need a little more of the dark blue here,” he said, pointing to a corner I hadn’t gotten to yet. He turned his head, and our noses almost touched. He laughed a little, his breath moving the little wisps of hair that had escaped my ponytail. 

“Go ahead,” I said. He looked shocked for a second. “The paint. Go ahead.” My brain seemed to be only capable of firing a few words at a time.

His mouth opened just a little, and my eyes zoned in on his lips. They were very nice lips. Full, for a guy, but they looked like he slathered them with Chapstick. For all I knew, he kept it in his pocket and only applied it when he was by himself. It seemed like something he’d do.

He slowly drew the straw to his lips. Funny, he didn’t seem to have a snappy comeback, but then again, neither did I.

He was the first to break eye contact, and I felt like all my air had been sucked out when he did. I grabbed my straw and stuck it in the green paint. I did one corner and he did the other, and somehow our paints met. Without hesitation, we put our heads together and went crazy on the paint until we couldn’t get it to go any farther. Our heads knocked together, and we both dropped our straws.

“Ow,” I said, rubbing the spot. 

“Sorry, Missy. You okay?” Jesus, it was just a little bump.

“Yeah, no big,” I said, looking back down at our masterpiece.

“You sure?” He raised his hands, as if he wanted to check and make sure, but didn’t want to touch me for fear I might freak out. He knew me too well.

“Yeah.”

“More blue?”

“You can never have enough blue,” I said, picking up my straw again.

By the time Renee got back from the library, we’d done another painting, this one in autumn tones.

“I think that one’s a keeper. That should go on the back of the door. I can get a frame if you want.”

“It’s not that great, Hunter.” 

“What’s not great?” she called after coming back from the kitchen with a banana, a spoon and a jar of peanut butter. Ugh. I hated bananas with the fiery passion of a thousand suns.

“We made you a picture,” I said in pretend kid-voice. “Here’s me, and here’s you, and that’s Darah and Mase and Hunter.”

“It’s beautiful, darling. That one’s going on the fridge right next to the A you got on your spelling test,” she said, playing along.

Hunter was looking at me like I’d grown an extra head.  

“What?” I said.

“You are so odd sometimes.”

“Says the boy who has a vendetta against werewolves.”

“Hey, they can’t control themselves during the full moon. They’re completely unpredictable.”

“Hey, they look way better shirtless. Also, they still have beating hearts. Having sex with a vamp is like having sex with a corpse. I’m not into that,” Renee said, wiping a glob of peanut butter on the end of the banana. She saw me watching her. “Want some? Oh, right, I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“Tay hates bananas.” 

“Oh, really?” Here we go. The boy I’d done a blow painting with a second before was gone and the boy who was always trying to get in my pants was back.

I didn’t respond, but started picking up the painting stuff. I didn’t like doing it with a lot of people around. It was a personal thing. Hunter was the first person I’d actually done one with, but he didn’t know that. 

 “I’m sorry, but you walked right into that one,” he said.

“You don’t have to make everything into an innuendo, Hunter. Not everything is about sex.”

“Okay, well, I’m going to go eat this somewhere else. See yah,” Renee said, skittering away to her room.

She must have sensed that I was close to another blow up. I hadn’t had one for at least a week. That must be some kind of record.

I gathered the brushes and water cup and threw them in the sink. I didn’t want him to know I was hurt, but it was too late. I turned on the water and started vigorously washing the brushes. I could feel Hunter leaning against the counter. I hated how aware of him I was. If he was in a room, it was like I had radar that went off and tracked his every movement. 

“Taylor, I’m sorry. You should know by now that I’m an ass most of the time.”

“You don’t have to be an ass all of the time.” It wasn’t true. He could be sweet, and funny and charming, and… He could be so much more than a guy who was always talking about getting laid.

“You’re right. I’ll try. For you, I’ll try.”

I nodded and wiped the brushes on a paper towel and threw them in the sink drainer to dry. The counter was covered in our breakfast dishes.

“It’s my turn,” Hunter said, pointing to the chore chart on the fridge. It was my turn for dishes the next day.

“Many hands make light work,” I said, handing him a sponge. “If you promise to not make a pass at me for the rest of today, I will help you do the dishes. If you do, you have to do them tomorrow. Deal?”

“For real? God, Missy, you drive a hard bargain.”

“All I’m asking you to do is not be an ass for…” I looked at the clock. “Less than eight hours. You can do it. I believe in you.”

He looked at the dishes, including the several that were crusted with oatmeal. 

“Deal.”

We shook on it and got started. The sink was small, and the counter made an L, so we were squished in close.  

Hunter started humming a tune as I handed him a cup.

“What are you singing?”

“Well, to distract myself from being an ass, I’m writing another song. It’s called Doin’ Dirty… Dishes.”

“Clever.”

He started beating out a rhythm with his foot and I joined. 

Soap and water and a pretty girl,

We turn on the water and watch it swirl,

We’re… doin’ dishes, we’re… doin’ dishes,

Oooh, oooh, ooohhh,

Scrub, scrub, scrub, yeah,

Scrub, scrub, scrub, yeah,

Scrubby, scrubby, scrubby, scrub, scrub, scruuubbb

He ended the song with a little flourish and a bow. I clapped my wet hands, spraying both of us with soapy water. He was such a dork sometimes. The song was pretty terrible.

“See what you can accomplish when you’re not being an ass?”

“I had more suggestive lyrics, but I decided not to use them. You know, because I’m not being an ass.”

“Right.”

“But I’ll save them and sing them to you at a later point when I’m allowed assery again.”

“Okay.”

That stupid little song got stuck in my head, and Hunter sang it again, with me providing sound effects with pots and a wooden spoon.

“What are you doing out here?” Renee said, emerging from her room with her “study” look: dazed expression, hair in a clip and her ratty old UMaine sweatpants.

“Hunter has decided he’s not going to be an ass today, isn’t that nice?” I said.

“Is that even possible? No offense, dude.”

“None taken. I am fully aware of my asshattery.”

“Oooh, I like that. Asshattery. I’m gonna use that now,” Renee said, going to the fridge for an energy drink. 

“Late night?”

“I have a test on auto-immune diseases. Want to see a picture of dermatitis herpetiformis?”

 She was always trying to get me to look at gross disease pictures.

“Yeah, I think I’ll pass. I don’t know how you can eat and do that stuff,” I said.

Renee shrugged.

Darah came home a minute later, towing Mase by the hand.

“Oh look, it’s the fearsome twosome.” Renee got a little bitter whenever she saw happy couples. I wished she’d just call Paul, forgive him, have some awesome make-up sex, and be done with it. I’d much rather have Paul around and have Renee happy than not have him around and have to deal with crabby Renee.

“Are you doing dishes?” Mase said, gaping at Hunter.

“Why yes, I am.”

 Mase looked at me as if it was my fault.

“Hey, his name is on the chore chart,” I said.

“You have a chore chart?” Mase said.

“It was Darah’s idea,” I pointed out.

“So that no one gets stuck with doing everything, and we’re held accountable,” Darah said.

“Hey, anything that can get this guy to do dishes is okay by me. Good job, Dare,” he said, giving her a peck on the cheek. She smiled in satisfaction. 

“What is it with you people and nicknames? Do you have one for me?” Renee said. Sometimes we called her Nene, because we’d heard her mom call her that once when she visited, and Paul was the only one allowed to use it without getting a glare from Renee.

“How about Re? As in, ray of sunshine?” Hunter said. Smooth. “Or Ne? That’s cute, too.”

She thought about it for a second.

“I’ll take it.”

“So I’m bringing Darah home with me this weekend to meet Mom and Dad, so we’re gonna go together.”

 Darah looked at him with a giddy-nervous smile. Wow, meeting the family was big.

“Wow, meeting the Masons. Big step, Mase,” Hunter said.

“I know,” Mase said, winking at Darah. “She’s going to do great.”

I was painfully curious about Hunter’s family, especially how he hadn’t grown up with his parents. He’d said they were dead, but when had they died? How old was he? Did he miss them? The questions had been running through my mind since he’d first told me they were dead. 

Any way you sliced it, he didn’t want to talk about it. I could respect that, seeing as how I had plenty of things I didn’t want to talk about.

“Got any advice for me, Hunter?” Darah said.

“Just talk to John about technology stocks, The New York Times crossword, real estate, or World War II and you’re good.”

“Uhh,” Darah said, the panic clear in her eyes.

“I’m kidding. Although, you could talk to him about the real estate market. He loves British comedies, the Pats, Asian cooking, and classic cars.”

“Oh thank God. Cooking and cars. Got it. Although, I could have held my own with stocks.”

“You’re gonna do great. Don’t worry so much,” Mase said, flipping her hair.

Hunter’s eyes flicked over me before he lowered his voice. “Have you told her about Harper?” Like I couldn’t hear him. He was standing two feet away.

“Of course.”

Darah, Mase and Hunter all looked at me. Seemed I was the odd one out.

“Who’s Harper?” I said, asking the obvious question.

“My sister. She has cerebral palsy from a fall she had as a baby. It’s not a big deal, but our house is filled with ramps and equipment and stuff, so it’s better to prepare people ahead of time,” Mase said.

“How old is she?”

“Seven,” Mase said. I could feel Hunter watching my face, as if he was anticipating my reaction. How did he think I would react?

“So, anyway, that’s where we’re going to be this weekend. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Mase said.

“Okay,” Darah said, giving him a kiss.

 I could hear Renee rolling her eyes.

“Bye, Dare.”

“Night, John.”

Mase nodded to the rest of us and left.

Darah sighed and leaned on the counter.

“John? Wow, I think you’re the first girl he’s ever let use the first name. You must be doing something right,” he said with a wink.

“Hunter,” I said in a warning tone.

“What? That wasn’t ass-y. It was playful.”

I pointed at him and narrowed my eyes. “You are on thin ice, Mister.”

“What are you talking about?” Darah said.

“Hunter is not supposed to be an ass for the rest of the day.”

She gaped at Hunter. “For real? Is that even possible?”

“Am I that much of a douche?” he asked us all.

“Yes,” we said in unison.

*****

“So, can I be an ass now?” he said at 10:30.

“Nope. You have to finish out the night. When you wake up tomorrow morning, go back to your asshat self. Until then, you have to be nice.”

He’d been surprisingly nice, letting me go first for the shower, and he’d put up our blow paintings on the back of the door. He’d even made me a cup of tea and brought it to me. It was like he was buttering me up, but I couldn’t figure out why. 

“Nice is boring.”

“Nice is nice,” I said, not looking up from my e-reader. Hunter was busy with his guitar, just plucking random strings.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“So, what’s your meeting with Joe about?” I tried again. I’d been trying to squeeze it in, hoping to catch him off guard.

“Nice try, Missy. Just because I’m supposed to be nice, doesn’t mean I’m going to be a doormat.”

“It’s not being a doormat. It’s telling the truth.”

“Sometimes people don’t want the truth. Sometimes the truth is worse than a lie.” He set his guitar aside and climbed under his covers. Any moment now the boxers were coming off.

I had to agree with him on that. We’d been doing this dance around our separate secrets, getting close and then moving away. I didn’t know which one of us was going to slip up first.