after
twenty-two
Its dusk by the time I return. I took my time after the interview and ended up walking back. Not the best idea given my shoe choice, but I'll survive.
I did have one small victory.
I got the job.
I twist with the idea of celebrating by climbing on the roof. I doubt Anaca would appreciate that, given that a new roof was put just a few weeks ago, according to Ian. The siding would be next.
The garage in the back is open and I know he's in there. As if I had anywhere else to look at as I walked up the drive, I did my best to keep my eyes glued to the ground.
"Woody."
My name carries through the air. He didn't yell, simply spoke as he stepped out from under the door.
I am hesitant to raise my gaze, but I do.
Of course, I do.
His lips form a line, unsure what to say now that he has my attention. My legs still carry me, only to stop when I reach the side steps. They form an invisible line between us. One that must stay intact.
He has a shop rag in his grasp, rubbing on a hand that is covered in speckles of paint. A few of those cover his clothing as well.
"What is it, Anaca?" I inhale, pushing my hands into my pockets. I desperately want to take these sandals off and I'm about two seconds from ordering the biggest pepperoni pizza I can find on GrubHub.
"You plan on walking everywhere while you're here?"
No.
"Does it matter?"
His jaw tightens as I echo his words from all those years ago.
His legs stride backwards till he reaches around the central work bench. Tossing the rag on top of it before the sound of metal and rubber turning caught my attention.
My entire body goes frigid as I recognize the object, he is wheeling over to me.
"I told Willow I would sell it," he has yet to meet my gaze, staring at my newly restored cruiser. "But I... I hadn't gotten around to doing it," he clears his throat, finally glancing up.
It has brand-new tires, the basket doesn't have a weave out of place and the rusty metal has been painted over. It's a flat muted blue gray. To anyone else it might seem to be a glum color but to me, I know instantly, it's Eeyore gray.
"It's not a car but..." he begins to ramble. I don't intake any of the nonsense he's spewing because I am too busy staring at him.
He kept my cruiser.
He'd not only kept it, but he restored it.
He painted it.
Not a bright color or a pastel like tradition but my color.
A color he knew only I would understand the meaning behind.
"Anay."
He's still babbling.
"Anay," I say once more with more force.
He finally shuts up and kicks down the stand, letting the bike stand on its own.
"Why?"
Those pale, pale eyes of his shimmer under dusk as he attempts to hide the truth behind them.
"Why hold on to it?"
Again, his eyes speak volumes while he remains silent. He must have ran completely out of words with his nonsense.
YOU ARE READING
𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬
Romansa"You were never supposed to be hers," I sob. "You were mine. You were always supposed to be mine, Anay." I tug my fists to my chest. "Since I was fourteen years old..." my voice cracks, stomaching the truth, of what's always been there. "You've been...
