West asked if he could drive my car, telling me it would be weird if anyone saw him being driven around by a woman. I laughed and handed him my keys. Guys! I swear. My excitement grew as he pulled into a parking space at the Fundae Sundae ice cream parlor, one of my most favorite places in our small town. But as I open my car door, I look over at him and find his face unreadable. Apprehension? Disappointment? Fear? So hard to tell. What would make him feel this way, unless he’s worried about being seen with me? My hearts drops, stuck in my throat. “You okay?” I ask, pulling my door closed again.
He doesn’t tear his eyes away from the shop, swallowing hard. Finally, he looks over at me, giving a small smile. “No. I’m good. You ready?” Well, I am but I’m not so sure you are. I nod and we both open our doors and get out. He pushes his hands down into his front pockets as we start walking to the door.
“Yo! West!”
He freezes. His body stiff. I stand beside him, watching the scene unfold in the most uncomfortable way.
“Man, I didn’t know you’d be back. How is it out in the sticks?” The sticks? “When you comin’ back and getting that pro-card?” I hold back rolling my eyes. Obviously, these are some of the “friends” that only hung around him due to his popularity and football skills.
“Yeah, man,” another guy shouts. “Don’t you think it’s time to end your vacation and go into the profession you were meant for?” He didn’t.
They kept up their tirades. West never relaxing or saying anything. He just stared at them but I can tell he’s definitely not excited about this encounter. Of course, the entire time no one has even looked my way. Normal.
“Okay, guys. That’s enough,” West finally says. Then he does something totally unexpected. He puts his arm around me, bringing me into his side. I can feel his hand on my shoulder… those long fingers I’ve watched strum his guitar firmly holding me. A waft of his scent infiltrates my senses. Woods. Musk. Or maybe that’s just him. The heat of his body along with his arm around me, making me feel a little lightheaded.
The guys briefly look my way and mumble a “hey” then look back at him, making me feel insignificant and bringing back so many memories. “I think we should go. I’m not feeling so well,” I whisper as I look down at the ground. I feel him look down at me, sensing his apology.
“Yeah, we need to go,” he tells the guys. They give him back and arm slaps and words of being glad he’s back as we turn around and walk back to the car. Instead of releasing his hold on me, he walks me around the car and opens my door then gets in the driver’s seat. Uncomfortable silence becomes thick. “I’m sorry.” Those words flitter around us, trying to slice through the heaviness.
Finally, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I turn to him and try to put on a smile. “It’s okay. I’m used to it.” I did really want a pineapple sundae though. Even after all that.
His fist hits the steering wheel, causing me to jump. “No. It’s not okay.” I don’t want him to feel sorry for me, but I really don’t feel that he is. After everything he’s told me he’s been through, it’s like he’s just mad at those guys for not even acknowledging me. That actually makes me feel all warm and toasty inside. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s sticking up for me that makes me feel that way too. No one’s ever done that before. Not really cared. That makes me feel… good. “No one should treat anyone like that.” His fist hits the seat between us, and I do the only thing I can think of. I cover his hand with mine.
“Thank you,” I whisper. I don’t want to tell him how much I hated what happened or what it made me feel like. How all the memories flooded me from high school. I could tell he hated being around them in the first place, hated how they made him feel.
He squeezes my hand, turning to me with a smile. “How about we just go through the drive-thru?” He’s a genius! I nod and smile back, noticing he hasn’t let go of my hand. What does that mean? As he pulls up to the speaker, he orders himself a fudge sundae and orders my pineapple sundae without me even reminding him what I like. He never lets go of my hand until he’s forced to in order to get out his wallet to pay at the window. My skin feels cool without his around it. It’s such an odd feeling for me, one that I’m not sure how I feel about. He drives back to my house and after carrying our sundaes inside, we go up to my bedroom as we find the house quiet. We sit on the floor, facing each other, laughing and talking as we eat. I think this is the most favorite time in my entire life. I try not to dwell on how sad that sounds.
The next day, the house fills with the familiar smells of Thanksgiving. Turkey cooking in the oven, potatoes boiling in a pot of water on the stove, and the pumpkin pies setting out on cooling racks. This is one of my favorite holidays. I’ve watched West all day, studying the inter makings of our dinner and comradery. He’s smiled and even laughed, at times, but I can tell he’s sad. By the way he talks about his parents, I don’t think he’s ever had a really good Thanksgiving before and that makes me sad. Mom and Dad pull out all the stops. Even after we are full to the brim with such great food, we all went outside and helped decorate her house for Christmas, our tradition. Again, I could tell West has never done this before. Sigh.