Chapter 10A: Change

Apparently when you're out of high school, things like social cliques, who's making who jealous, and worrying about why someone would want to make someone else jealous were things that you were supposed to stop caring about, according to my brother.

Sunday morning after homecoming, I'd gone to an early lunch with my Chad after church, at the same greasy hamburger place I'd taken Milo to. I told my brother everything that had happened the night before, and when he wasn't rolling his eyes at me, he was telling me that I should take it easy when it came to Milo. Chad was under the impression that a lot of things that I was worried about, such as worrying about proving to Milo that things could work between us, given the circumstances, was not something that should be occupying my mind. Chad reasoned that if Milo kept coming to me, and said himself that we were together, things were already working out. His advice was to be myself, go with my gut, and take things one day at a time. I guess that was easier for him to say than for me to do.

I hadn't really felt like myself for the last week. Not with the confusion of trying to figure out where we were going, or what Milo wanted from me. The jealousy I'd experienced at the dance the night before hadn't been pleasant, either. It wasn't just seeing Milo with Teresa. It had taken a while for me to realize it, but I was jealous of Jame, too. I guess in a way, Milo asking me to leave in front of him like that, and then what Milo had said when he showed up at my house the night before, gave me the impression that if he had to make the choice, Milo would choose Jame over me, and that was something that he'd been trying to point out. Admittedly, I'd been put out by that until Chad asked me what I'd do if Milo asked me to choose between him and Caleb. Since I could say with a great amount of certainty that I'd tell him to shove it if that ever happened, I guessed that I could understand where Milo was coming from. But I still felt a little better when Chad mentioned that it was a pity that it was Jame who Milo had to be friends with. My brother had never really liked Jame, either. As far as I was concerned, that was saying a lot because generally, Chad liked everyone, and everyone liked Chad.

As far as my gut went, I had no idea what it was telling me to do. All I knew was that lately, it was twisted into either knots or butterflies because all I ever really thought about was Milo Trust. I found myself wondering if that was the feeling I'd longed for when I had no possibility of having it, or if this was something entirely different. It was hard waking up every morning, wondering whether or not I'd see him, and worrying over whether or not he'd be happy about it if I did. And there was so much frustration there, too. Sometimes I'd wonder why I even bothered with him, but then he'd do something as silly as smile in my direction, and all I wanted to do was get to know him better. Or touch him. I felt like I couldn't get enough of either.

I wanted to take things one day at a time. I'd been accomplishing that, I guess. But, I'd never really had someone to take things one day at a time with before. Even if I was succeeding, though, it still didn't stop me from crawling into bed every night wondering if today was the day that Milo was going to decide that he was going to stop talking to me because trying was too hard for him.

But I wanted to try. If we were together, I wanted to try. I wanted to act like it, and stop worrying about what happened next because in all actuality, that really wasn't like me. Be myself. Chad was right, being myself had gotten me this far with Milo. That's where I needed to start, I thought.

So, on Sunday afternoon when I received a surprise phone call from Milo, I took the very short phone conversation in stride as he nervously asked me if I wanted to meet him at Hangman. I decided it was very foolish if he ever thought I'd say no to him. I didn't even ask why when he told me to bring a sketchbook, or grudgingly point out that it was ten degrees with the wind-chill that day. I simply bundled up in two sweaters, my heavy blue coat and beanie--all over my long underwear--and headed down to Hangman Cove as requested, where I met Milo, forced myself to relax, and did my best to be myself.

We were sitting away from the water, beneath the trees in moist piles of leaves that had been stomped into the ground; but at least we were out of the wind. It was the first time in a long while that I'd been to the Cove when there was actually no one there. And no one, meant no one. It seemed that only Milo was crazy enough to be there, in the shade, on a pile of wet leaves with the white sand blowing and waves hitting the shoreline that seemed too big for any lake to have, beneath a dark, overcast sky. And me. I was probably crazy to be out in this weather, too, but I'd wanted to see him, even if it was just to watch him draw. He'd brought his sketch pad, too, and he'd barely looked up from it when I'd found him beneath the trees. I'd spent the first five minutes being there complaining that it was too cold to be outside, and expressing how horrified I was that Milo wasn't even wearing a proper coat. Just a faded gray t-shirt, worn at the seams, and a matching beanie that held his hair down around his face. He'd definitely been there for some time before I arrived. His nose and lips were red, and his eyes looked watery from the wind, but he didn't seem at all ready to leave as his hand moved busily over his paper, drawing everything that he saw. When I asked him to let me buy him some hot soup or something, just so we could get out of there, he'd finally just told me to leave if I wanted to. I gave up and dropped my jacket over his shoulders, deciding that I was better protected from the weather in my layers than he was in that worn-out sweater.

He hadn't objected to that. He'd even pulled the coat further over his shoulders; and as silly as it seemed, the small gesture had me feeling pretty good. Good, but cold, as I finally took a seat next to him and leaned into his side, against the arm that he wasn't using to draw with. It was odd, but it was the first time that I realized Milo was left-handed, all because I had no problem doodling in my own book being so close to him.

While he sketched the terrain, I of course, took the opportunity to draw him. Only, my drawings were more cartoonish and I'd envisioned him without his hat, the sky warmer, and the wind blowing through his hair. I didn't draw for long. It was too hard to draw with my thick gloves on, and too cold to leave them off. So, I started talking. About anything, really. Nothing about the night before was even mentioned, but that could have been because Milo wasn't very talkative at all when he was sketching. For a while I didn't even think he was paying attention to me until I made a comment about it being so cold that I was pretty sure my dick was inverted from shrinkage and he laughed out loud. We'd been there for an hour before his hand finally started to slow over his sketch pad and I took to doing anything that might irritate him enough to get him to hurry up and finish.

"Just say it," I insisted.

"No," he responded flatly, glancing at me sidelong before his green eyes were back on his work.

"It's just two little words," I stated. "Boy-friend." I leaned closer to him, so that my breath hit his neck when I spoke, causing him to shudder as I lowered my voice. "You're my boyfriend."

I was being corny. Disgustingly so. But, it was fun imagining that he was blushing beneath his already red cheeks.

"Says you," he responded quietly, but I saw a slight smile curling the corner of his mouth.

"Says me," I agreed. "Now you say it." I clapped my hands for emphasis, and Milo laughed, finally closing his book and tucking his pencil away as he tilted his head in my direction.

"I'm going home," he announced, and I frowned at that. "If you're not busy, you can follow me."

I raised a frozen eyebrow at him. "I can follow you home?"

Milo just rolled his eyes at me as he stood up, passing back my coat as he collected his things; but he was still smiling, and I did, in fact, follow him home. His house was dark as usual, but warm. The entire way there I'd had my heater running, and I was still frozen solid as I followed Milo--to his kitchen this time, rather than his room. Like the rest of his house, it was rather plain, white in color, and seeming as sterile as my dentist's office. There wasn't even an appliance left out on the counters, except for the microwave. I made myself comfortable on one of the four black bar stools surrounding the island counter at the center of the room, which seemed to serve as the Trust's kitchen table; and when Milo mentioned that he could use a hot shower, I told him that he could go ahead and take one, so long as I could watch. It was easier to see him blush now that he was warming up.

There was no shower, to my very voiced disappointment, but I didn't mind watching as Milo rummaged around the kitchen, obviously having no idea where anything was. I was amused by this as he explained to me that it was Juanita's territory, and with her around he rarely needed to know where anything was, anyway. At least, not a pot that he wanted to heat up some soup in because he swore it tasted better that way, instead of heated in the microwave. I became even more amused that he started heating up two portions even though I kept telling him that I wasn't hungry. It didn't really seem like Milo to push anything. That was my job, so it was an interesting change of pace when he talked me into trying a soup that Juanita made that he called Gazpacho. It looked red and chunky, and less than appetizing, but as it heated, it at least smelled good.

"Is your dad still gone?" I asked Milo as I watched him use a sponge to clean up a few drops of soup that had spilled over the stove.

"He got back this morning. Emily talked him into looking at some wedding stuff," Milo replied, glancing over his shoulder at me as he pulled off his beanie and shook his hair out.

"So where's Juanita?" I asked.

"Her mom's in a nursing home," Milo explained. "On Sundays she goes to read to her."

"Oh... so, what's her deal, anyway?"

"Juanita's?" Milo replied as he slid onto a stool across from me.

"Yeah, like does she really not understand anything I say? What's the deal with that?" I asked as I pulled off my own hat and ran my hand over my hair, not really caring that from the feel of it, it was sticking up in places.

"If you talk slow she usually understands," Milo replied, shrugging. "I mean, she knows enough to get by."

"So why doesn't she speak enough English to get by?" I asked. "Wouldn't it be easier?"

Milo smirked at that. "For who?" he replied. "She figures it would be easier if everyone learned Spanish."

"Right," I said, rolling my eyes. "So, you've known her a while? I mean, you said she's not the housekeeper, so... what does she do?"

"She's just part of the family," Milo said simply. But when I continued to stare at him, waiting expectantly, he continued, "My mom hired Juanita, about two years before my parents divorced. At first it was because my parents were both working all the time, like my dad does now. I remember my mom was always home in time for dinner, but I kinda started hating all of the after-school programs they kept placing me in. My mom got Juanita to sit with me--she thought it would be a good idea to introduce me to a foreign language, and Juanita was really nice..." Milo paused, taking a moment to glare at me, as if he'd predicted the way that my nose turned up at that last statement. "She is nice. And anyway, she started doing other stuff around the house, cooking meals, or staying longer than she had to. My parents started paying her for that, too, and then when my mom got pregnant... well, Juanita was around all the time."

"I thought you were an only child," I interrupted.

"I am," he said quietly. "My mom lost the baby..." I frowned over at him, watching as he scratched at the counter in front of him with his index finger. "I don't remember a whole lot, just, that's when my parents started fighting a lot. Everything was just... sad, for a while. Then my mom just left."

"She didn't even say anything to you?"

"No. She did," Milo replied. "I mean, I think she tried to make me understand... At first she just moved out of the house and I was moving back and forth... but then she started traveling. My dad kinda took the whole thing pretty hard. He'd take off for weeks and leave me with Juanita. One day he came home from his office and said we were moving to promote this neighborhood, but he was never around to help with any of it. Juanita took care of it all, and when we got into the new house, she just picked a bedroom and moved in with us." Milo laughed to himself, and looked up to meet my eyes, seeming amused. "When my dad asked her what she was doing, she just told him that he was too stupid to live by himself. But I think... she was sticking around for me. Back then, she and my dad always pretended that they couldn't stand each other, but when I got older, and didn't need her as much, he kept looking for reasons to keep her around--it's the only thing I ever wanted to thank him for," Milo finished, sounding bitter.

"You really don't get along with him?"

"I do when he leaves me alone," Milo remarked, and when I regarded him inquisitively, he explained. "After my mom left, it was like he just didn't care. I mean, he never really even took the time to... to do anything. It's like, he wants to forget that he's supposed to be a dad except for when he sees I need to improve with something, or when he's telling me that I shouldn't be picking up a paint brush when I could be studying. I mean, he didn't even tell me that he was going to ask Emily to marry him. I found out when the announcement showed up in the paper."

"Ouch," I said, and Milo nodded. He seemed troubled, maybe even a little angry, which was interesting to see because for once it wasn't directed towards me. But he masked the look with indifference just as quickly as it had appeared.

"I think the soup's ready," he announced, suddenly standing up. "Um... you should really try it."

I explained to Milo that I'd only eaten a few hours ago with my brother and really wasn't that hungry; but when he'd pointed out that the soup was hot and my lips were still blue, I gave in, only to find that looking at the concoction was hard enough. I wasn't sure I actually wanted to eat it. It looked like a bowl of tomato chunkyness. Only, none of the chunks looked like actual tomatoes. Usually I was up for trying new things, but since I wasn't particularly hungry, and this looked less than appetizing, it seemed to be a struggle as I stirred the steaming mix with a spoon. It was then that I was introduced to a much more playful side of Milo than I'd ever seen in class when he moved behind me to cover my eyes with his hands, telling me that I should try it without looking at it. I'd laughed, and did as he said, deciding that this gazpacho wasn't so bad, and most of the chunks were just vegetable, although I was pretty sure that I tasted a hint of seafood every so often as Milo finally took a seat next to me and we slowly ate.

I was the one who led our conversation for the most part, teasing him about how crazy he was to sit out in the cold for so long, just to draw, and asking him about other things that he liked to do for fun. He mentioned swimming, or just being on the lake during the summer, which wasn't something unusual for people in Heywell. And it didn't really surprise me when Milo explained that he had a better time on Saturday nights home alone and watching movies, rather than going out with his friends, but I still found myself paying close attention as he explained that he never really liked crowds. He liked things quiet, and simple... and maybe even a little boring. I was nothing like that, I knew. At least, on most weekends I couldn't sit still, knowing that there was a crowd out there waiting for me. But, I thought, I might just enjoy a quiet, boring night alone with Milo Trust.

I left his house around the time Juanita showed up, feeling a little annoyed with myself because we'd been alone for quite a while and I hadn't even tried to kiss him. But, despite missing that, I left smiling. I hadn't known what to expect when Milo had asked me to meet him. At the very least, I thought the issues we'd confronted the night before would have come back to haunt me, but they never even came up. I hadn't even kissed him, but for the first time since meeting Milo Trust, I felt like we really were... together.

It was just beginning to get dark outside of the large windows in the kitchen, but there was enough light to see that the wind was still attacking the dried grass in the field, and the now-barren apple trees. I could see my dad outside, too. He had a lead around the goat and was trying to get it into the shed for the night. There was the sound of the piano coming from the family room, the parrot squawking along with it as my mom played, and the house was warm with the sweet scent of freshly baked sugar cookies and the more earthy scent of pumpkins. It was the latter that more strongly flooded my nostrils as I used my fingers to scrape out the last of the six pumpkins Chad had picked out.

Usually, my brother and I would do our annual pumpkin carving about two weeks before Halloween. But since homecoming had come late this year; Chad's schedule was busier with his college courses; and I'd been preoccupied as of late; we found ourselves over the long table in the kitchen three nights before the holiday, which was this Wednesday. But then, it had only been this morning that my parents had decorated our front porch with the ghost lights, fake cobwebs, cackling witch and the pop-open vampire coffin that no longer actually popped. It just kind of sat there.

My brother was across from me, looking focused as he finished carving out a cat wearing a witches' hat pattern into one of the larger jack-o'-lanterns. Chad had a new dye job in his hair. It was still pink, but looked darker than it had when I'd had lunch with him.

He was definitely the better pumpkin carver, which is why he did the actual cutting while I stuck to drawing the patterns for him and cleaning. Of course, most of what I cleaned ended up on me, I noticed, as I looked down at my pumpkin-stained t-shirt and hands. He kept telling me to use the spoon--every year, in fact. But somehow, that had always felt like cheating to me.

I'd just finished telling Chad about my day with Milo. I was definitely in a better mood than I'd been in during lunch, and it didn't go unnoticed by him as he teased me the way I'd teased him every time he'd ever had a new girlfriend. I'm sure he considered it payback, but truth be told, I kind of liked it.

I went to the sink to wash my hands before I lifted a black marker and drew a skeleton-head pattern onto the last pumpkin, which was more watermelon shaped than anything, before I passed it to Chad, all the while telling him how I was skipping dinner tonight to go catch a movie with my friends. They were all still a little put off that I hadn't joined them at Hangman the night before, and I figured that going out with them would assure everyone that there was nothing wrong with me. Besides, I hadn't talked to Caleb all day, and I wanted to make sure that he wasn't still too upset over seeing Ronnie and Jame together. When the doorbell rang just as Chad started to carve into the last pumpkin, I found myself groaning, having just dipped my hands into the slimy, stringy mush that I'd been digging out of our jack-o'-lanterns for the last hour. Chad and I always picked out the seeds and roasted them. No one really ate them but my dad, but it was tradition, nonetheless.

It was my brother who looked in the direction that the piano music was coming from. "Mom!" he called, likely hoping that she was around to answer the front door. I just shook my head, dropping all of the pulp onto a paper plate in front of me.

"It's okay," I insisted. "I'll get it."

I washed my hands again, this time making sure to get the gunk off my forearms, too, and as I headed through the house to answer the door, the bell rang twice more, making me wonder if Caleb had shown up early. He was the only one who'd really ring repeatedly if it was cold. If it was really cold, he'd just walk in. No one minded, and I was pretty sure the door was unlocked, so I had no idea why he wouldn't be doing that now. But when I opened the door, it seemed to make sense that Caleb wasn't walking into my house because Caleb wasn't there at all.

There was a woman on our front porch, no longer ringing the bell, but inspecting the ugly, green cackling witch hanging to the left of the door. She'd figured out that there were motion detectors connected to the witch's sharp laughter, and she'd taken to waving a thin, manicured hand in front of it, seeming strangely amused.

I cocked my head at her. From the side, she looked somewhat familiar and for a long moment I struggled to remember where I'd seen her before. She was a petite woman, wearing high-heeled boots that gave her an extra three inches, and she was bundled in a long, black wool coat that matched a more stylish beanie-type hat over her head, covering shoulder length dark hair. It was when she turned her dark eyes, sharp eyebrows and enthusiastic smile on me that I suddenly remembered who she was and straightened, quite frankly shocked to find this particular woman standing on my front porch. She seemed equally surprised to see me as she released a small gasp and her smile became even wider over her pearl-white teeth.

"Bobby!" she exclaimed.

Well, that was just lovely, I thought as I forced a tight smile in her direction. I'd only met her once, it was months ago, and she had to go off and remember my name. Or rather, the one I'd given her. I tried to correct this--somewhat.

"Oh... it's Nelson," I told her, and when she looked openly confused by that, I added, against my better judgment, "Bobby Nelson... people usually call me Nelson. Or Nels... uh... Bobby's okay, too. I guess." I inwardly cringed, wondering if she was actually going to let me continue rambling like an idiot as she stared at me inquisitively. Finally, she just smiled again.

"You're one of Milo's friends, right?"

"Yes, yes I am," I said quickly, hoping to God that that moment of awkwardness had passed permanently.

"And you live here?" she asked me curiously.

"Um... yeah."

She beamed at that, seeming delighted over the idea. "Well isn't that something!"

"Yeah, that's something," I replied, nodding as I continued to stare at her.

"I'm here to look at the property," she said, as if I was supposed to know exactly what she meant by that. Obviously confused, I raised an eyebrow.

"Huh?"

"Who's at the door?" my mother's curious voice came from behind me, and I looked back at her, dressed in her thick plaid sweatshirt with her hair pulled back into a bun, still feeling rather taken off guard.

"She is," I said stupidly, pointing at Emily Hill.

My mom took one look at Emily and then frowned at me. "It's freezing out there. Are you going to move so she can come in?" she wanted to know. I blushed at that, looking at our guest sheepishly as I moved aside.

"Oh, thank you," Emily said, still smiling as she stepped into our house and held out her hand for my mother. "You must be Mrs. Nelson."

My mother blinked at that, and then regarded me suspiciously. I did my best to look like the picture of innocence. It was a good thing that my mom wasn't one for asking questions when a certain amount of prudence was required. She smiled back at Emily as she took her hand. "Pamela," my mom insisted. "And you are?" My mom threw me another disapproving look after that question; obviously, she thought that my manners had left something to be desired this evening.

"Emily Hill. Our boys are friends," she explained, sending a friendly look in my direction. I found myself unable to return it, suddenly put off by how she put that. I couldn't help thinking that Milo wouldn't be very happy if he knew that she was referring to him as her boy, and for that reason, it bothered me.

For my mom's part, she looked confused, so I pulled myself together and did my best to explain. "She means Milo," I said. "Um... Mrs. Hill is... Mr. Trust's fiancée."

My mom's eyes widened slightly at that, and this time when she looked at me it was for an explanation. All I could do was give a quick shrug because I was just as confused as she was.

"Oh, well, come in," my mom insisted, ushering Emily into the house. "Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee, maybe? Nelson, close the door, you're letting a draft in."

I did as I was told, and moved quickly to catch up with my mom and Emily, ready to trail along behind them so I could figure out exactly what was going on.

"Coffee sounds great," Emily replied. "Thank you."

"May I ask what brings you out here?" my mother asked curiously, glancing back at me again. She probably assumed that it was something to do with Milo.

"Well," Emily explained, "Evie Cane from the florists' gave me your address. She mentioned coming to a wedding here and said that your property's just beautiful, and since Thom isn't interested in a chapel wedding we've been looking at alternative locations all day. So far nothing's been large enough and I was hoping to take a look at your property."

"Oh," my mom replied, less excited about this than I would have expected her to be. In fact, she seemed a little intimidated. I could understand intimidation. There was no way in hell I wanted to explain to Milo that a woman he didn't care for had stopped by to talk about the wedding that he so obviously detested. "My brother had his wedding here," my mother explained. "Sheriff Ray Bennete?" The look on Emily Hill's face suggested that she didn't know him, so my mother continued, "Also, a friend of mine, Jessica Strocker had hers here... I'm not sure what you had in mind, but I don't think..."

"Oh, my!" Emily suddenly cut in as we reached the kitchen and she caught the view out the windows. Chad looked up from where he was placing t-lights in our pumpkins and raised his eyebrows. "It's huge... I'll bet it's gorgeous in the summer!"

"Well, yes it is," my mother replied, just as Emily finally noticed Chad. He was short, but kind of hard not to notice if you asked me. "This is my oldest son, Chad," my mom introduced. "Chad, meet Emily Hill, soon to be Mrs. Emily Trust."

Emily looked pleased with that introduction and reached out to shake Chad's hand, after which my brother looked to me curiously. I shrugged at him as Emily asked my mom just how many boys she had.

"Just these two, and they're enough," my mom assured her, while looking between Chad and me fondly. "Nels, do you mind putting on some coffee?"

Yes, I minded. Especially since my mom was leading Emily to the back door, and if they were going outside, I wanted to know what was being said. But once again, I did as I was asked while my mother did, in fact, escort Emily out the back door where she introduced her to my father. I did my best to eavesdrop as the three of them stood out in the cold for several minutes with the door cracked open. My brother proved to be productive. Rather than distracting me with questions, he eavesdropped, too, and even plugged in the coffee maker, which I'd neglected to do.

Emily Hill. I wasn't sure what to think of this at all. I knew I didn't like it, though, when she started talking about a summer wedding and asking about available parking near our house. Milo wouldn't like this, and that's what bothered me. Honestly, Emily seemed like a very personable lady to me, but obviously he disliked her. I'd just started to get him to meet me outside of school. Boyfriend. Mine. That's what he was, as far as I was concerned. It was a new concept, one that I liked very much after spending time with him today. I hated to think about how he could very well shy away from me and my home if my family got involved in this wedding. I kept shaking my head, wishing I could flag down my parents, until Chad finally dragged me away, ordering me to relax as we set up our carved pumpkins on the front steps. By the time we got back inside, Emily was in the living room with her coffee, talking to my parents as if they were old friends. She was talking about introducing them to Thompson Trust; and by the time I changed my clothes and reluctantly left to meet my friends, I was not at all reassured by the fact that she was still there.

Sometimes it was better to avoid a problem, I decided. On Monday, I only saw Milo in school, but didn't bother to mention Emily to him at all. I convinced myself that it wasn't necessary--yet.

Last night after getting home, I'd mentioned to my parents that I wasn't very comfortable with Mr. Trust having his wedding in our backyard. But apparently, it would be rude to tell them no if they wanted to use our field. According to both my mom and my dad, there was nothing to worry about right now because Emily would have to discuss things with Mr. Trust. Plus, they were still looking at locations. So... there was nothing to worry about. Yet. I figured it was a good enough reason not to give Milo news that he wouldn't want to hear. Besides, how could I, when on Monday he didn't scowl at all when he found me waiting at his locker throughout the day? In fact, he looked happy to see me. Even the one time that he had Jame with him. Which brought me to a more urgent dilemma that needed tending to.