{"id":3994,"date":"2018-04-06T15:46:30","date_gmt":"2018-04-06T15:46:30","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/?p=3994"},"modified":"2018-04-06T15:46:30","modified_gmt":"2018-04-06T15:46:30","slug":"love-and-other-words-chapter-4","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/2018\/04\/love-and-other-words-chapter-4\/","title":{"rendered":"Love and Other Words – Chapter 4"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Happy Friday! Here we are with yet another chapter, and only 4 days from on sale. Someone hold us. If you’ve missed any of the other updates, go back to the BLOG tab<\/a> and click on the one you need. Once again, thanks for following along with us and be sure you preorder<\/a>. Preordered books are like a little a little surprise party for your kindle. Happy reading!!<\/p>\n

then<\/strong><\/p>\n

Friday, October 11<\/p>\n

Fifteen years ago…<\/em><\/p>\n

The entire Petropoulos family was in their front yard when we pulled up in a moving van two months later, after doing a big UK house move<\/a>. The van was only half-full because Dad and I had both thought at the rental counter that we\u2019d have more to bring with us. But in the end, we\u2019d bought only enough furniture from the consignment store to have somewhere to sleep, eat, and read, and not much else.<\/p>\n

Dad called it \u201cfurniture kindling.\u201d I didn\u2019t get it.<\/p>\n

Maybe I would have if I\u2019d let myself think about it for a few seconds, but the only thought I had during the entire ninety-minute drive was that we were going to a house that Mom had never seen. Yes, she wanted us to do this, but she hadn\u2019t actually picked it out, she hadn\u2019t seen it. There was something so horribly sour about that reality. Dad still drove his rumbling old green Volvo. We still lived in the same house on Rose Street. Every piece of furniture inside had been there when Mom was alive. I had new clothes, but I always felt a little like Mom picked them out through some divine intervention when we shopped, because Dad had a way of bringing me the biggest, baggiest things, and invariably some sympathetic saleswoman would swoop in with an armload of more suitable clothing and a reassurance that, yes, this is what all the girls are wearing now, and, no, don\u2019t worry, Mr. Sorensen.<\/p>\n

Climbing from the van, I straightened my shirt over the waistband of my shorts and stared up at the crew now assembling on our gravelly driveway. I spotted Elliot first\u2014the familiar face in the crowd. But around him were three other boys, and two smiling parents.<\/p>\n

The vision of the bursting-at-the-seams family there, waiting to help, only magnified the ache clawing its way up my throat from my chest.<\/p>\n

The man\u2014so clearly Elliot\u2019s father, with the thick black hair and telltale nose\u2014jogged forward, reaching to shake Dad\u2019s hand. He was shorter than Dad by only a couple of inches, a rarity.<\/p>\n

\u201cNick Petropoulos,\u201d he said, turning to shake my hand next. \u201cYou must be Macy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCall me Nick.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, Mr.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. Nick.\u201d I had never in my life imagined calling a parent by their first name.<\/p>\n

With a laugh, he looked back to Dad. \u201cThought you could use a hand unloading all this.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dad smiled and spoke with his trademark simplicity: \u201cThat\u2019s nice of you. Thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAlso thought my boys could use some exercise so they don\u2019t wallop each other all day.\u201d Mr. Nick extended a thick, hairy arm and pointed. \u201cOver there you\u2019ll see my wife, Dina. My boys: Nick Jr., George, Andreas, and Elliot.\u201d<\/p>\n

Three strapping guys\u2014and Elliot\u2014stood at the base of our front steps, watching us. I was guessing they were all around fifteen to seventeen, save Elliot, who was so physically different from his brothers that I wasn\u2019t sure how old he was. Their mother, Dina, was formidable\u2014tall and curvy, but with a smile that brought deep, friendly dimples to her cheeks. Other than Elliot\u2014who was the stick-figure version of his father\u2014all of her sons looked just like her. Sleepyeyed, dimpled, tall.<\/p>\n

Cute.<\/p>\n

Dad\u2019s arm came around my shoulders, pulling me close. I wondered if it was a protective gesture or if he, too, was feeling how listless our tiny family seemed in comparison.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t realize you had four sons. I think Macy already met Elliot?\u201d Dad looked down to me for confirmation.<\/p>\n

In my peripheral vision, I could see Elliot shifting on his feet in discomfort. I gave him a sly grin. \u201cYeah,\u201d I said, adding in my best who does this? tone: \u201cHe was reading in my closet.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. Nick waved this away. \u201cThe day of the open house, I know, I know. I\u2019ll be honest, that kid loves a book, and that closet was his favorite spot. His buddy Tucker used to come here on the weekends, but he\u2019s gone now.\u201d Looking to Dad, he added, \u201cThe family up and moved to Cincinnati. Wine country to Ohio? The shits, right? But don\u2019t worry, Macy. Won\u2019t happen again.\u201d With a smile, he followed Dad\u2019s stoic march up the steps. \u201cWe\u2019ve lived right next door the past seventeen years. Been in this house a thousand times.\u201d A stair creaked beneath his work boot, and he toed it with a frown. \u201cThat one\u2019s always been a problem.\u201d<\/p>\n

Even at my age I saw what this did to Dad\u2019s posture. He was an easygoing metro guy, but Mr. Nick\u2019s casual familiarity with the property immediately pushed some macho rigidity into his spine.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can fix that,\u201d Dad said, voice uncharacteristically deep as he leaned on the creaky step. Eager to reassure me that every tiny problem would be corrected, he added quietly, \u201cI\u2019m not wild about the front door, either, but that\u2019s easy enough to replace. And anything else you see, tell me. I want it to be perfect.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDad,\u201d I said, nudging him gently, \u201cit\u2019s already perfect. Okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

While the Petropoulos boys wandered down to the moving truck, Dad fumbled with his keys, finding the right one on a ring heavy with keys for other doors, for our other life seventy-three miles away from here.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not sure what we\u2019ll need for the kitchen,\u201d Dad mumbled to me. \u201cAnd there\u2019s probably some renovations to come\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked at me with an unsure smile and propped the front door open. I was still evaluating the wide porch that wrapped around to the side, hiding some unknown view of the thick trees beyond the side yard. My mind had drifted to goblins and tromping through the woods looking for arrowheads. Maybe a boy would kiss me in those woods someday.<\/p>\n

Maybe it would be one of the Petropoulos boys.<\/p>\n

My skin flamed with a blush that I hid by ducking my head and letting my hair fall forward. To date, my only crush had been Jason Lee in seventh grade. After having known each other since kindergarten, we\u2019d danced stiffly to one song at the Spring Fling and then awkwardly burst apart, never to speak again. Apparently I was fine on a friend level with nearly everyone, but add in some mild romantic chemistry and I turned into a spastic robot.<\/p>\n

We created an efficient line of arms passing boxes, and quickly emptied the truck, leaving the furniture to the bigger bodies. Elliot and I each grabbed a box labeled Macy to carry upstairs. I followed him down the long hallway and into the bright emptiness of my bedroom.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can just put that in the corner,\u201d I said. \u201cAnd thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked over at me, nodding as he set the box down. \u201cAre these books?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n

With a tiny look toward me to make sure it was okay, Elliot lifted the flap on the box and peered inside. He pulled out the book on top. Pay It Forward.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve read this?\u201d he asked dubiously.<\/p>\n

I nodded and took the beloved book from him and placed it on the empty shelf just inside the closet.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s good,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

Surprised, I looked up at him, asking, \u201cYou read it, too?\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded, saying unselfconsciously, \u201cIt made me cry.\u201d<\/p>\n

Reaching in, he grabbed another book and dragged a finger across the cover. \u201cThis one\u2019s good, too.\u201d His large eyes blinked up at me. \u201cYou have good taste.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stared at him. \u201cYou read a lot.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUsually a book a day.\u201d<\/p>\n

My eyes went wide. \u201cAre you serious?\u201d<\/p>\n

He shrugged. \u201cPeople come to the Russian River on vacation and a lot of times they leave their holiday reads here when they go. The library gets a ton, and I have a deal with Sue down there: I get first crack at the new donations as long as I pick them up on Monday and bring them back on Wednesday.\u201d He nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose. \u201cOne time, she got six new books in from a family that was visiting for the week, and I read them all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou read them all in three days?\u201d I asked. \u201cThat\u2019s insane.\u201d<\/p>\n

Elliot frowned, narrowing his eyes. \u201cYou think I\u2019m lying?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think you\u2019re lying. How old are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFourteen, last week.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou look younger.\u201d \u201cThanks,\u201d he said flatly. \u201cI was going for that.\u201d He blew his breath out, puffing his hair off his forehead.<\/p>\n

A laugh burst free of my throat. \u201cI didn\u2019t mean it like that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow old are you?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cThirteen. My birthday is March eighteenth.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nudged his glasses up. \u201cYou\u2019re in eighth grade?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah. You?\u201d<\/p>\n

Elliot nodded. \u201cSame.\u201d He looked around the empty space, surveying. \u201cWhat do your parents do? They work in the city?\u201d<\/p>\n

I shook my head, chewing my lip. Without realizing it, I had really enjoyed talking to someone who didn\u2019t know that I was motherless, hadn\u2019t seen me broken and raw after I lost her. \u201cMy dad owns a company in Berkeley that imports and sells handmade ceramics and art and stuff.\u201d I didn\u2019t add that it all started when he began importing his father\u2019s beautiful pottery and it sold like crazy.<\/p>\n

\u201cCool. What about your\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do your<\/em> parents do?\u201d<\/p>\n

He narrowed his eyes at my outburst but answered anyway. \u201cMy mom works part-time in the tasting room at Toad Hollow. My dad is the town dentist\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d<\/p>\n

The town dentist. The one dentist? I guess I hadn\u2019t realized how small Healdsburg was until he said that. In Berkeley, there were three dentists\u2019 offices on my four-block walk to school.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut he only works three days a week, and you can probably tell he doesn\u2019t like to stay still. He does everything around town,\u201d Elliot said. \u201cHelps at the farmers\u2019 market. Helps with operations at a few wineries.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, wine\u2019s a big deal around here, isn\u2019t it?\u201d I realized as he spoke about it how many wineries we passed on the drive here.<\/p>\n

\u201cWine: it\u2019s what\u2019s for dinner,\u201d Elliot said with a laugh.<\/p>\n

And there, right there in that second, it felt like we had something easy.<\/p>\n

I hadn\u2019t had easy in three years. I had friends who stopped knowing how to talk to me, or got tired of me being mopey, or were so focused on boys that we no longer had anything in common.<\/p>\n

But then he ruined it: \u201cAre your parents divorced?\u201d<\/p>\n

I sucked in a breath, oddly offended. \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

He tilted his head and watched me, unspeaking. He didn\u2019t need to point out that both times I\u2019d visited this town, I\u2019d come without a mother.<\/p>\n

I released my breath what felt like an hour later. \u201cMy mom died three years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n

This truth reverberated around the room, and I knew my admission irrevocably changed something between us. The simple things I was no longer: his new neighbor, a girl, potentially interesting, also potentially uninteresting. Now I was a girl who had been permanently damaged by life. I was someone to be handled carefully.<\/p>\n

His eyes had gone wide behind his thick lenses. \u201cSeriously?\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded.<\/p>\n

Did I wish I hadn\u2019t told him? A little. What was the point of a weekend retreat if I couldn\u2019t actually retreat from the one truth that seemed to stall my heartbeat every few minutes?<\/p>\n

He looked down at his feet, toyed with a stray thread on his shorts. \u201cI don\u2019t know what I would do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI still don\u2019t know what to do.\u201d He fell quiet. I never knew how to reel a conversation back after the Dead Mother topic. And which was worse: having it with a relative stranger like this, or having it back home with someone who had known me my entire life and no longer knew how to speak to me without false brightness or syrupy sympathy?<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s your favorite word?\u201d<\/p>\n

Startled, I looked up at him, unsure I\u2019d heard him right. \u201cMy favorite word?\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded, slipping his glasses up his nose with a quick, practiced scrunch of his face that made him look angry and then surprised within a single second. \u201cYou have seven boxes of books up here. A wild guess tells me you like words.\u201d<\/p>\n

I suppose I had never thought about having a favorite word, but now that he asked, I kind of liked the idea. I let my eyes lose focus as I thought.<\/p>\n

\u201cRanunculus<\/em>,\u201d I said after a moment.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRanunculus. It\u2019s a kind of flower. It\u2019s such a weird word but the flowers are so pretty, I like how unexpected that is.\u201d<\/p>\n

They were my Mom\u2019s favorite, I didn\u2019t say. <\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a pretty girly answer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I am a girl.\u201d He kept his eyes on his feet but I knew I wasn\u2019t imagining the gleam of interest I\u2019d seen when I said ranunculus. I bet he had expected me to say unicorn or daisy<\/em> or vampire. <\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about you? What\u2019s your favorite word? I bet it\u2019s tungsten<\/em>. Or, like, amphibian.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

He quirked a smile, answering, \u201cRegurgitate.\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n

Scrunching my nose, I stared at him. \u201cThat is a gross word.\u201d<\/p>\n

This made him smile even wider. \u201cI like the hard consonant sounds in it. It kinda sounds like exactly what it means.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAn onomatopoeia?\u201d<\/p>\n

I half expected trumpets to blast revelatory music from an invisible speaker in the wall from the way Elliot stared at me, lips parted and glasses slowly sliding down his nose.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not a complete idiot, you know. You don\u2019t have to look so surprised that I know some big words.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI never thought you were an idiot,\u201d he said quietly, looking toward the box and pulling out another book to hand to me.<\/p>\n

For a long time after we returned to our slow, inefficient method of unpacking the books, I could feel him looking up and watching me, tiny flashes of stolen glances.<\/p>\n

I pretended I didn\u2019t notice.<\/p>\n

AHHH MORE SOON!<\/p>\n

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Purchase it today<\/h3>\n