The Weight of Rain (37 page)

We find two large flashlights and a much smaller one with a keychain that I consider leaving before I flip it on and notice the beam hits halfway down the hall. I pocket it and push the button on each of the larger flashlights to find that both are thankfully working.

“Let’s go make some dinner, and then we’ll play a game or something.”

“You totally think the power is going out, don’t you?” Mercedes doesn’t even look to me for a response. We both seem to realize this storm is going nowhere anytime soon.

“I don’t know.” My shoulders bunch and my eyebrows rise to reflect how unsure I am. “I just think that if it does, it’s probably a better idea that we get some food cooked. Unless you want to test out that magical wand I found.”

“Funny, Lo. Very funny.” Mercedes’ mouth is pulled down in a frown and her eyes shut before she shakes her head. A few months ago I would have found this reaction to be rude and annoying. Now it makes me laugh and reach forward to tickle her.

“I’ll show you funny.”

“No, Lo! Don’t! I’m sorry!” she squeals, grasping my arms with both of her hands. “I’m sorry!” A soft laugh follows her words and has me staring at her features, seeing both Kash and King in her high cheekbones. I have only seen a few pictures of her mom, but I know that her green eyes and lashes that seem impossible with how long they reach, are from her. Mercedes’ smile spreads wide and then she falls against my side, wrapping both her arms around my waist and hugging me tightly.

I’m the youngest in my family of non-expressive lovers. Hugs were rarer than the occasional ‘I love you’s,’ yet holding her to me like she’s mine to shelter and care for is natural and even feels good.

“What should we make?” I ask.

“What will you not burn?”

“Hey!” I protest, snaking my hand to her armpit. “I haven’t burned anything in a few weeks! Give me some credit!”

She giggles as my fingers find their target and wiggles to get free.

“How about that pasta you made last week with the weird green stuff?”

“The pesto and sundried tomato
stuff
?”

“Yeah.”

I don’t make any attempt to hide my smirk as she looks at me and then nods. “Yeah, we can make the weird green stuff again.”

Mercedes makes herself comfortable in the living room as I scour the fridge, pulling out the ingredients I used last time and some new ones that I think may be a good contribution.

I’m adding the cheese to the sauce when the door shuts with a cough of complaints and the rustling of fabric. Without thought, my hands release the grater and cheese, my feet migrating to the quickest path to the door where Mercedes meets me.

“King!” She throws herself against his chest, though he’s visibly wet. “Where’s my dad?” She pulls her head back, desperate for assurance.

His eyes scan over her, a hand settling in the middle of her shoulders. “He’s at Summer’s. Roads are closing. He’ll be back in the morning.” King scans the room as he finishes assuring her, settling on me. He’s staring at me, searching for something

“He’s not answering his phone,” Mercedes objects without wasting a moment.

“They’re starting to re-route calls. I’m sure it’s in case anyone needs help, but I’m positive he’s there.” King moves his hands to her shoulders and squats in front of her, waiting until she meets his gaze. It takes a few seconds, but slowly Mercedes’ head turns to face him. “He’s going to be okay, monkey, I swear.”

Slowly, she nods her agreement.

“Come help me finish the sauce. You can tell me if there’s enough cheese.” She turns to me, revealing the frail measure of strength she’s struggling to maintain. I don’t smile because I know she would find the gesture to be patronizing rather than supportive, so I tilt my head back toward the kitchen and lead the way with the hope that she’ll follow.

Thankfully, she does.

“You cooked?” King’s question plays through my head a few times. It isn’t filled with sarcasm or shock, but pride that has me ducking my head a little farther as I return the last of the ingredients in the fridge.

“Sort of. It’s more like my usual assembling because I mixed premade stuff together, but we made it last week while you were gone, and it was pretty decent.” King’s infamous uneven grin has me staring at him for several seconds though I’ve sketched this same expression so many times, I know the right pressure and angle to use.

“It’s fab! You’ll love it, Uncle King,” Mercedes chimes, her mood slightly uplifted, giving me hope that she’s going to relax as I move back to the stove to stir the sauce and pasta together.

“This looks and smells amazing, Lo.” The sincerity in his voice makes me want to turn and face him again, to smile with his praises. To laugh with some absurd joy he’s instilled in me. How can I feel so weak and ridiculous while also being so happy and content?

I drop the ladle on the spoon rest and turn to face Mercedes. “Positive thoughts. Remember, everything is going to be fine. I will see you tomorrow, okay?”

Her eyes grow wide with objection.

“You can’t leave. Didn’t you hear me say they’re closing the roads? I’m sure the buses are all stopped. I’ll take you home tomorrow once it quiets down,” King says.

I shake my head before I can formulate the right words. “No, I’m not sleeping over.”

“You can sleep in my room.” Mercedes states her offer like a well-thought-out plan, her eyes growing with ideas.

“You’re like sleeping with an octopus with a vendetta,” King says, pulling Mercedes’ back to his side and putting her in a playful headlock.

“I am not.”

“You are.” King’s tone is missing the teasing inflection, and his eyes barely acknowledge either of us, conveying something is bothering him. Whether it’s my lack of interest in staying or his disinterest in me being his girlfriend is the question burning in my mind.

“We left the shop open,” Mercedes cries after another burst of thunder reigns the night skies.

“The shop’s open?” King asks, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he looks to the large picture window. “Where are you going?” he calls, but I’m already pulling my jacket on. “Lo, you can’t go out in this.”

“I didn’t check to make sure any of the bikes used went back, and they went out in the yard for a while.”

“I’ll go. Stay here.”

“It was my responsibility.” I have no desire to go out in this weather, but the idea of King cleaning up a mess that was a part of my job grates on my nerves.

“You need to learn to accept help from others.”

“I don’t
need
help.” I don’t mean for my words to be defensive, but my voice has deepened, and my eyes have narrowed.

King opens his mouth, I’m sure with a retaliation, but I don’t hear it. I’m already heading toward the shop, using the small flashlight I discovered in King’s desk drawer that I had pocketed. The rain is coming harder and faster than I think I’ve ever seen it, hitting every surface with so much force that it bounces back into the air as if doing a choreographed dance that makes my shoes squish and squeak with each step.

“You’re so damn stubborn! I would have done this and you could have stayed warm and dry. Your pride wouldn’t have been touched.”

“I’m not worried about my pride.”

“Bullshit! Since the first day I walked into this house, you’ve worried about your pride. There are times you try to fight with it and let me see sides of you, but let’s face it, Lo, you are so caught up with not needing help from anyone, you become a liability to yourself.”

My head snaps back. The lights from the house and shop cast just enough light for me to see King and the reflection of thousands of raindrops continuing their torrential dance. We’ve stopped, and the fact surprises me. I can’t recall making the conscious decision to face him and listen to his accusations.

King lowers his eyebrows and runs a hand along his jaw before clasping the back of his neck. “Why are you so damn afraid to ask for help?”

My eyebrows slant together, slitting my eyes. “I’m not. I just don’t need it. If you want to talk about being a liability to oneself, you need to look in the mirror! You people are all crazy!”

King’s chin dips toward his throat, lowering the bill of his baseball hat so I can hardly see his face. “Us people?”

My hands swing around the empty yard. “Yes,
you
people. You guys are all adrenaline junkies. You think that by being crazy and reckless you are being an individual. Someone true only to yourselves. Newsflash: It’s not unique! People have been being stupid long before you guys started.”

“Just because you’re too afraid to be yourself, afraid of who might judge you, doesn’t give you the right to point your damn fingers at others. I don’t give a shit if people know who I am.”

“You just lie about your first name to everyone you meet, right?”

King’s eyes narrow. “Why in the hell are you so pissed off at me?”

“Why am
I
so pissed off?” I ask incredulously. King nods, rain dripping down his face. “I’m trying to do my job and you’re accusing me of being a fraud.”

“I’m not accusing you of being a fraud.”

“You did! You are! By saying I’m afraid to be who I am. Do you understand what it took for me to move out here? My dad has basically written me off. My brother—who didn’t like me to begin with—now loathes me. They feel as though I’ve betrayed them because I chose my dream over theirs. I live with … God, I live with your sister of all people, who, let me tell you, just in case you aren’t aware, is a giant pain in my ass! On top of that, I’m losing one of the two friends that I am closest to, and just learned through hearing you tell someone else that you don’t want me to be your girlfriend.”

“You heard what?”

I don’t see what reaction accompanies his response. I’ve turned, moving closer to the shop again, refusing to go down this road and admit just how sour my mood became after overhearing his words. Granted, how could I not have? It seemed almost as though he intended for me to hear them.

“Is that why you’re so pissed?”

“This isn’t all about you!” I screech, turning on my heel and nearly running into him, approaching me with long strides to keep up.

“Titles are stupid, Lo. They mean nothing! That’s like having to deem someone your best friend. Your best friend could change tomorrow, next week, or in ten years, but likely, it won’t be who it is today, so why bother with such pettiness? To make them feel better? To make you feel better?

“Why do you need to call me your boyfriend? Will it change your feelings toward me? Will it make me more attractive? Or does it simply justify you sleeping with me again?”

My eyes are flaring with anger, I’m sure of it. I want to slap away his expression that’s waiting for my reply as though it’s a valid and appropriate question. “Do you know what I call my mom?” I shake my head to reflect I don’t want him to even attempt to answer. “Linda. I call my mother Linda because shortly after she had me, she decided she was done being a mother. She doesn’t want to be a mother. She doesn’t want to be my mother.

“It doesn’t matter if the person that is your best friend today isn’t your best friend in ten years, because right now they are, and ten years from now, they still would have been. You’ll still think back and most of your stories will include them. You’ll still have pictures with them by your side. And who knows, maybe that person would be your best friend still if you took the time to appreciate them and not write them off as just another person because of the chance that you might grow apart. That’s like refusing to call Mercedes your niece just because one day you may not live under the same roof and be her favorite person.” I shake my head again, frustration rolling off me, making my muscles ache with tension. “Sometimes I feel like you understand me so well. Like you’re looking at me and hearing everything that I don’t know how to explain, and then other times you come out with bullshit like this, and I feel like I don’t know who in the hell you are, and I feel confident you don’t know who I am either.”

“That’s because you want me to give you everything to give me anything!”

“You’re impossible!”
And flipping crazy!
It takes so much willpower to not throw those words into the fire we’ve built, that it makes me feel physically weighted with exhaustion as I turn around and head toward the shed once again. I hear his steps matching my anger as they splash against the sodden ground. The fact that he seems angry at me for initially being angry makes my blood boil, warming me though the temperatures are low enough I can see my breath linger with the rain.

I spin on my heel, making my hair whip and slap my neck. “I can’t believe you think you’re justified in being upset and don’t think I should be. This is so hypocritical.”

“I don’t even know why we’re fighting. I had to take twenty detours to finally find a route that allowed me to get here because I thought you would be freaking out, and I get home and you’re chomping at the damn bit to leave.”

“Horse jokes aren’t cute. They’re insulting.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“Yes you did. It’s you, King. You always mean something with your words. We both know that.”

“Are you only pissed because of the comment I made to Spencer?”