I Hated You First by Rachel John

Clay

 

 

 

I was happy for Parker and Lauren. Over the moon happy for them. They were family. I was not. I would not be one of those resentful long-time employees who tried to undermine things from the inside out, who let hurt feelings canker until all I saw was my own insecurities and jealousy. John already paid me more than I’d make anywhere else. He had paid for all of my certifications and kept me up-to-date on new ones. Yes, I had a business degree in addition to being a master mechanic, but that didn’t mean I needed to own my own company. Not at twenty-five.

I think what was giving me hives was the thought of Parker and Lauren trying to negotiate that world without me as a buffer. I now had less clout to tell them when they were wrong because… technically they’d be my bosses.

All these thoughts were running through my head, and I couldn’t let any of it show while I was sitting here with everyone. Well, everyone except Lauren. I wanted to bolt, too. But if I did, I was afraid someone would suspect what I was feeling.

So I chatted with Connor and Melissa about the Phoenix Suns and their recent trades and the upcoming season. I was what I would call a mild basketball fan, while they were slightly below rabid, where they had season tickets, and mentioning the L.A. Lakers in a positive way around them was a great way to start a fight.

Charlotte finished with Parker’s haircut and brushed off his shoulders before shooing him away so she could clean up the mess. I helped her carefully pick up the four corners of the drop cloth she’d used to catch all the hair and then offered to take it outside and shake it off.

The street was quiet. Not so much as a leaf moved on the trees in the yard. I’d gather my things and go. I had a whole season of Pawn Shop Warriors I hadn’t watched yet. Sometimes it was ridiculous what was trending on Netflix. I had a load of socks and T-shirts in the dryer that would not sort themselves. Yep, my life was pretty darn exciting.

Back inside, Charlotte took the drop cloth from me and handed me a glass dish with a matching plastic lid. “This is Lauren’s, and it’s the third time she’s forgotten to take it on her way out. Parker’s refusing to stop by and bring it to her.”

“She doesn’t even want it,” Parker hollered from the kitchen. “Why do you think she left it here? She doesn’t cook. Just keep it.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Anyway, you live close to her. When you go, will you drop this off to her?”

“Of course.” Anything for Charlotte. This had nothing at all to do with seeing Lauren again tonight. Because I didn’t want that. No, I did not. I could just leave it on her doorstep with a note sure to tick her off.

I took the glass dish, waved goodbye to everyone, and whistled on the way to my truck. I wasn’t feeling relaxed, but there was power in acting relaxed while everything inside you churned like butter. All my life I’d been an outsider looking in on all the things that mattered most. Family, career, love. Someday, I’d get it all figured out. It didn’t have to be right now.

I was glad the status quo had been reaffirmed. If Parker was fine with me dropping a dish off to his sister, he obviously didn’t suspect that there was anything going on between us. And there wasn’t. Crisis averted.

I pulled into Lauren’s apartment complex and parked before jogging up the stairs to her apartment. Lauren’s red-headed roommate was standing on her tiptoes attempting to hang a spring wreath on the door. For anyone else, the job would have taken five seconds tops, but she kept turning it one way or another and then stepping back to study it, as if some flowery angles were better than others. Maybe they were. I stomped my feet harder to alert her to my presence.

She turned and grinned very big when she saw me. “Clay, right?”

“Yep.” I held out the dish. “Will you give this to Lauren?”

“Give it to her yourself.” Suddenly satisfied with the wreath placement, she opened the door and gestured for me to come inside.

I’m not sure what I expected to see Lauren doing after a breakup. Eating ice cream, burning love tokens, crying. But no, she was sitting on the floor putting on running shoes with her earbuds in, singing off-key to a Shadow Behind the Sun song. She did a combination grunge-rock head bob and air guitar move, obviously psyching herself up for a good workout.

I stepped into her line of vision before we reached blackmail level, where she’d pay me a million dollars to never tell anyone what I’d just witnessed.

Lauren startled, landing back on her hands before pulling out her earbuds. “What are you doing here?” She turned to look at her roommate. “Jenny Lynn Baker, why is he here?”

Jenny rolled her eyes. “She’s normally nicer than this.”

“I feel honored knowing I bring out the worst in her.” I held out the dish from Lauren’s mom with my note taped on top. I had been planning for her to read it when I wasn’t in grabbing distance.

But no. She took the pan and ripped off the note, unfolding it and reading it to herself before a hint of a smile played across her face. I’d initially planned to go with a dig at her lack of cooking skills, but that was Parker’s idea of a joke so I just wrote: Consider this another favor owed. I accept cookies.

There was a long silence, and then Jenny clapped her hands together and tucked them under her chin. “I just forgot I have to run an errand.” She grabbed her keys off the hook by the door and escaped before we could react, making it pretty clear she’d made up an excuse to leave us alone together. Maybe she lived in mortal fear of awkward pauses.

I scrambled for a conversation thread. “Going running?”

“Yep.” Lauren ran her hands over the top of her hair, messing up her ponytail before she pulled out the rubber band and fixed it. Her legs looked especially long and shapely in the black leggings she was wearing, but I only allowed myself a quick glance.

“Where do you go?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Nope. It’s my spot. I don’t want you showing up there and ruining it.”

I crossed my arms, channeling an attitude of deep offense. “How would I ruin it?”

“With your presence. I thought that was obvious.” She got to her feet and moved to the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle off the counter. “Time to go, intruder.”

She opened her door for me and gestured for me to leave, which I did. I wasn’t nearly as annoying as she thought I was.

“I bet my running spot is better than yours.” I threw it out casually as I started to walk away. Amble would be a better word. I was ambling away, which basically meant I’d taken about three slow steps.

“You think I’m tempted by that?” She followed me out and turned to lock her door.

“Maybe. Does your spot have hurdles you can jump over, just for the fun of it?”

“Are you hoping for an invitation so you can tag along with me?”

I made a face. “No. I’m trying to get you to tag along with me. Because my running spot is better than yours.”

“Because of the hurdles?” She shook her head, trying not to laugh before looking me up and down. “Are you sure you’re up for that? I don’t think you should attempt to leap over hurdles in jeans. Unless you’d like to sing soprano from now on. And let me just say, I’d be okay with that. I fully support you in your choices.”

“I’ll be fine. My jeans are relaxed, unlike those uptight ones your boyfriend was wearing today.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Too soon. Sorry.”

She took off past me down the corridor to the stairs, making her keys jingle in her hand.

“So, is that a yes?”

“To what?” she offered over her shoulder.

“To check out my running spot. This is a limited time offer. If you reject me, I’ll go home and eat Oreos while lying on a pile of clean laundry I’m not folding and watch TV. My fitness and life skill goals will be completely wasted for the day. All because you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. Mostly.” She reached the bottom of the stairs and let out a long, exasperated breath. “Okay, let’s be real here for a second. I know I have long legs, but I’m a slow runner. Like fifteen-minute-mile slow. And my face gets all blotchy and red. I also keep tissues in my pocket because sometimes my nose runs when I’m breathing hard. Still want to flirt it up with me?”

“I want to be friends. We’re adults now. Isn’t it about time?” It was time. For once, I wasn’t joking. Something had to change, even if it was just for today. I wanted to be around her as much as she’d let me, and I was tired of fighting that instinct.

She shrugged. “I’ll follow you to your special running spot. We’ll see about the friend thing.” There was some bitterness clinging to the word ‘friend,’ but I’d take the slightly wilted olive branch she was offering and go with it.

I got in my truck and drove slowly enough that there was no way she could claim she got lost on our way to the middle school. And I prayed the hurdles were still set up. They were left out more often than not. They really did make running more fun. There was something about rounding the track and knowing you could go all gazelle for thirty seconds that was extra motivating.

Perfect. They were still there, and Lauren was right behind me. She pulled into a parking spot about a hundred yards away, as if my truck had a disease she didn’t want to catch. But at least she came. I quickly changed into the running shorts I kept in my gym bag from back when I had a gym membership. The jeans thing was a bluff. She was right. There was no way I’d be jumping hurdles in jeans.

I got out in my socks, holding my Nikes, and sat down in the grass to put them back on. I’d almost worn boots today too. That would have been a deal breaker.

Lauren plopped down next to me and rested her arms across her legs. “I was looking forward to watching you split your jeans when you jumped hurdles.”

“I bet you were.”

She shoved my arm. “John should be leaving the company to you, too, you know. You’re as much family as the rest of us.”

Where had that come from? “No, I’m not.” I didn’t want to get into it with her. For some reason, hearing her say it was making my throat want to close off. I was filled with elation at her acknowledgement of what I’d never be free to say, but the anger and frustration kicked in too, and I wouldn’t go down that road again, not tonight. I’d already stuffed those feelings down where they couldn’t bother me. I wanted them to stay there.

I jumped to my feet and walked over to the track, not looking back to see if she planned to follow, wind-milling my arms in a show of stretching out, although when I ran alone I never stretched first.

Lauren’s feet came plodding up from behind, and when she passed me up and turned to face me, I couldn’t help laughing. Her face was full-on grouch. As much as she hated being teased, being ignored was way worse in her book.

I’d dismissed her when she thought she was being thoughtful and inclusive. All that good-intentioned crap that led to unintended consequences. Bringing up something that couldn’t be changed was not helpful. Not to me, not to anybody.

“You’ve worked at Sun Valley longer than me, and just as long as Parker.”

Great, she wanted to keep talking about it. “So has Herbert. By those rules, shouldn’t he get a cut too?”

She stopped trying to walk backwards and fell in step next to me. “Don’t be dismissive of who you are, Clay. You’re one of us. Herbert’s an old guy who happens to know a lot about engines and is so set in his ways he’d still show up even if we tried to fire him. And if you recall, John’s tried. It’s easier to just let Herbert come and occasionally screw stuff up.”

“I don’t need validation for who I am. I’m not worried about this, so please stop trying to create a problem where there isn’t one.”

“I’m not creating a problem. You’re afraid to say something.”

The pain in my neck had returned, caused by my other pain in the neck. I took Lauren’s arm and turned her towards me, letting her see the frustration coursing through me. “Yes, I’m afraid. I’m afraid you’ll say something and make this awkward for me. We’re talking about my career, and you can’t micromanage it. You don’t get a say in it just because you want to call me your brother when it’s convenient for you.”

Her mouth dropped open and she huffed a little. “It’s not micromanaging to point out the obvious.”

There was only one way to make her shut up about this. Okay, two ways, and I wasn’t about to kiss her. This was one of the few times I wasn’t tempted. I was that irritated. So, I defaulted to the one I did best.

I reached out and tucked a lock of her hair back behind her ear that had come loose. “I was already aware your skin gets red and blotchy when you exercise. Especially your neck. It happens when you get mad at me too, like right now. I don't get under your skin. I get on your skin.”

Her lips pinched together, and I took that cue to start running. This time I wouldn’t let her catch me. The hurdles were coming up. Even better. I imagined her zig-zagging around them to keep up with me and a mad laugh burst out.

“Clay!”

Oh, good. She’d heard me laughing. I leaped over the first hurdle. Amazing. The best feeling ever. Being a middle school and not a high school track, the hurdles were shorter. I got great height over the second and third ones. Seven more to go.

I made the mistake of looking back at her, and the top of my foot connected with the bar of the forth hurdle. Everything went wrong from there. I was in the air, and then I was down on the ground, one with the rubberized asphalt. It must have looked epic.

“Clay?” Lauren ran and knelt beside me, her fingers moving over my arms and legs and head, like a butterfly not sure where to land.

I groaned and laid my face against the warm track. “Karma is on top of things, as usual.”

She snort laughed, the kind that sneaks out when you’re desperately trying to hold it in. “Are you okay?” She laid down next to me and turned her head so we were eye to eye.

“Never been better. I’m excellent.” I was pretty sure I had a skinned knee and elbow, but all things considered, the worst of it was my bruised ego.

“I’m starting to see why this running spot of yours is so special.” She smiled, looking especially pleased with herself.

“Anything for you, Lauren. I’m glad you’re enjoying this.”

“I really am.” She reached out and ruffled my hair. “They’re called hurdles, but I don’t think you’re supposed to hurtle yourself over them.”

“How long have you been holding onto that gem?”

“About thirty seconds. You ready to get up and actually do some running with me? This might be the last really nice weekend before it gets too hot to run outside, and I hate treadmills.”

“I’m ready.” I lifted myself up and flipped my legs around to inspect them. A little bit of road rash on one knee. Nothing a good shower couldn’t take care of.

She got to her feet and held a hand out to help me up. I imagined tugging on it and letting her land right back down with me. Holding her. Making her laugh. Kissing her lower lip and watching her eyes flutter closed. I tucked those images away in a practiced compartmentalizing of my feelings and let her help me to my feet. Friends didn’t imagine crossing boundaries that weren’t welcome.

She set the pace, which was, as she’d warned, really slow. But I didn’t care about a good workout, and I’d taken my teasing far enough. Instead, I just listened.

I learned more about her in the next half-hour than I had in several years of catching bits and pieces. Lauren had problems with insomnia and bought used paperbacks to read when she couldn’t sleep. Reading on her phone kept her up. She worried about her roommate because some guy at work had backed out of a date with her for mysterious reasons. Most of her stories involved Jenny. The two of them had been roommates for almost a year.

“Where did you meet Denver?” I asked, weaving through the hurdles as we came around the track again. We’d jumped over them on the first two go-rounds, but after that, we treated them like pathways.

She looked at me funny. “Why do you want to know that?”

“I don’t know. I’m curious, I guess.”

“I met him at a restaurant. I was with Jenny. It was crowded, with a long wait, and he and the friend he was with offered to share a table with us.”

“Hmm.”

“No jokes?”

“What’s there to joke about? The dude’s got game. I’m impressed.”

Lauren slowed to a walk, and I matched her pace.

After a minute of silence she asked, “How come you don’t date? Or do I just not hear about it?”

“I’m picky, I guess.” I could practically feel her roll her eyes in reaction, but she was the one who asked. What did she expect me to say?

“And what’s your type? What are you looking for?”

“Tall blondes with brown eyes. Feisty. Speedy in a truck but slower on foot.” I turned, as if surprised to see her jogging next to me. “Oh, look. There’s one right here.”

She slapped me away good-naturedly, but I saw the question in her eyes. She didn’t want to believe there was truth in my teasing, but she still… wondered. Good.