Grey Skies

Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

When I think about the things that I hate, a short list comes to my mind. It's a real list, not some concoction where I mentally scribble each thing that manages to yank at the deepest strings inside me. It's a list I created in middle school and reads as follows:

1. 7th grade: John Edwards - took the last grilled cheese sandwich

2.  7th grade: Ms. Bell - called home and smelled like bad eggs

3. 9th grade: chocolate milk - spilled it on your white shorts and had no change of clothes

4. 11th grade: Carly - the devil- no further explanation needed

5. 12th grade: Davis - whatever the hell is worse than the devil 

Some things I've forgiven. Davis I think is alright now. I found out Ms. Bell was stricken with pancreatic cancer and died shortly after we had graduated. I couldn't eat eggs for a good month after that. I decided to give chocolate milk a second chance, but only when I was in clothing that wouldn't give the impression that I lost control of my bowels if it was spilled on me. John Edwards, well he can go choke on a grilled cheese sandwich, wherever he is, unless he's with Ms. Bell. Anyway, today I'm digging up my list as soon as I get back to my room and adding morning lifts as the highly-esteemed-and-difficult-to-earn sixth spot. 

There aren't many things I would be willing to do at four in the morning. In fact, the only thing that comes to my mind is my beautiful bed, my warm sheets, and my fluffy pillow conforming to the shape of my head. What doesn't come to mind is Coach Serris and an endless land of weights. Oh, and to top it all off, number four, the infamous number four, she was also there, prancing around like she owned the place and the team. 

"Uh--Iris. You passed our street." 

Max snaps me out of my vengeful mental state and reminds me that I'm driving. He's fresh from practice and smells like a bag of dirty pinnies and a group of sweaty teenage boys. I lower the windows and turn back around. We pass the cemetery and then I pull into the driveway.

"Do you ever visit grandma's grave?" I ask him. 

He grabs his bag from the back and shrugs his shoulder. "I sometimes stop a little when I'm driving around in my bike. Mom always goes to plant flowers. Dad buys the flowers."

"Sometimes I feel bad thinking about how lonely it must get."

"She's dead, Iris."

"No shit, dork." 

 We walk into the house and Davis is sitting in the living room with both of my parents. Dad and him are watching a game and Mom is being Mom, gathering a bunch of snacks and covering every inch of the table with them. When she turns her back, Max grabs an entire bowl of potato chips and dashes off to his room. Mom turns back around and stares at the empty spot and then looks at me. 

"Max," I say, and she shakes her head and places her bottle of water in that spot. 

Then I look over at Davis and she says, "I called him over for dinner." I walk with her to the kitchen and watch as she opens the oven door to check on the food.

"It's really nice that you guys are including him. It was pretty weird last time."

"If I'm being honest honey, I didn't think this thing was gonna last. Don't look at me like that. you know how you used to talk about that man. I'm surprised you've put up each other for this long. Anyway, dinner will be ready in half an hour." 

I go back into the living room and sit next to Davis. He looks over at me and smiles. I smile back and lean in to give him a kiss. My hand falls in between his shoulder blades and slowly glides down his back. When I reach the hem of his shirt, my hand dips underneath it and follows the outlines of his muscles.