"She was a sweet lady. I went to stay with her most summers and then, like I said, when my mom went to rehab. She taught me things." I was silent for a minute, picturing her, hearing her voice in my head.
"What kinds of things?" she asked gently.
"All kinds of things. How to mow the lawn, how to sneak up on a grasshopper, how to choose a cantaloupe at the store." I grinned down at her. "Completely worthless things to a kid from L.A. It wasn't what she taught me so much as that she cared to do it."
She nodded up at me like she totally understood what I meant. I thought she probably did.
"She had a sadness about her too though, because of how my mom turned out." I was silent for a minute. "She never talked much about my mom, but I could tell there was lots of regret there."
"Where does your mom live now?" she asked.
I glanced down at her, surprised by her question. I didn't usually talk much about my mom–even to my closest buddies, but I had already shared things with Grace that I hadn't shared with anyone else. Any question she asked felt comfortable now, normal. I trusted her.
"My mom still lives in L.A.," I answered. "Not too far from me."
She nodded. "Do you have a relationship with her?"
I sighed. "Yes and no. I talk to her every once in a while, but we're not close. She's gotten her life together more than she had when I was a kid, but there's just too much water under the bridge now. We don't really know each other. Being around her is just awkward."
She looked sad, her eyes moving away from mine for a couple seconds as she looked like she was thinking. "She doesn't… "
"Make films anymore?" I finished for her. "No. She lives with some guy. He's a jackass. We got into it one time about eight months ago when I went to see her and I haven't been back. But at least she's off the prescription meds now–or at least as far as I know."
She looked sad. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know what it's like not to have a mom–or at least, not one you can count on. But at least I had mine for the first eleven years of my life."
I thought about that. "Maybe that makes it harder, not easier, Buttercup."
She tilted her head slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I just mean that maybe having something good and then having to let it go is more painful than never knowing what you're missing."
She looked thoughtful. "Yeah, maybe," she said.
We were both quiet for a few minutes. I looked down at her and put a piece of hair behind her ear. "So pretty," I murmured.
She smiled a shy smile. "Do compliments make you uncomfortable?" I asked. She always looked just a little uncertain when I gave her one. Surely, she had to know how beautiful she was.
"They usually do, but I love hearing them from you," she said quietly. "I grew up with a dad who was a guy's guy, the 'strong, silent type.' He was a great dad, but he didn't ever tell us girls we were pretty. He wasn't the type to dish out compliments on any subject really." She looked thoughtful for a minute. "If he was happy with you, you knew it by the silent, prideful look in his eyes and maybe a chin lift in your direction. I learned to get that look and that chin lift with my accomplishments, never my looks." She shrugged slightly.
I nodded, thinking that in that regard, we were probably polar opposites. I got by on my looks, rarely the things I did, or didn't do. "Well, just for the record, you're beautiful. A beautiful little Buttercup." I smiled at her and she smiled back at me.
"And you're a beautiful desert hyena," she teased back.
I laughed. "I've been given a lot of compliments in my time, but I think that may have been the best one," I said.
She laughed back and then was quiet for a few seconds. "Tell me about your first time," she grinned up at me.
I put both hands up behind my head and gazed at the ceiling, faking dreamy recollection.
"Sandra Daniels. We were fifteen. I liked her, a lot. We spent one beautiful afternoon together at my apartment." I grinned down at Grace and then tilted my head. "The next day at school, as I was walking up to her locker with her favorite breakfast bagel in hand, I heard her telling her friend that now that she had gotten rid of her virginity, she could move on to someone serious who was more suited to a relationship, not just sex. I was crushed."
I grinned down at Grace, but Grace was the one who looked crushed. "Carson–"
"Oh no, no, don't get that look on your face. I was fifteen, Buttercup. I'm over it. Scout's honor." I held up two fingers in the Boy Scout salute.
She didn't smile and instead blinked at me and then looked down. When she finally looked up at me again, her eyes were filled with regret. "It's exactly like my stupid plan, isn't it?" she breathed. "It's awful. I'm awful."
"Whoa. Wait. I didn't tell you that story to try to compare you to her. I swear. You asked and that's how it happened. Like I said, we were fifteen. It's different."
She nodded, but then was still and quiet, a small frown on her face. "Carson, I want you to know something. I know that our little 'arrangement' this weekend started out like that, but well, I don't consider you 'Guy Number Two' anymore, and I never will. You're more than that to me. To me you're Carson, my special desert hyena." She attempted a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. She was being way too hard on herself–we had arranged this together. She didn't have anything to feel badly for, at least not in my book.