Chelsea Cameron - My Favourite Mistake

“Hey, Kid, how’s the moving going?” Tawny’s voice brought instant calm, as did her use of my nickname. Everyone in my family had always called me Kid.

“You would not believe the day I’ve had.”

“Tell me,” she said without hesitation.

I proceeded to give my version of the day’s events, including punching Hunter. I had to hold the phone with my left hand because my right had started to swell from its encounter with Hunter’s jaw. I was going to need some ice soon.

I was surprised no one chased after me, but Darah and Renee knew about my freak-outs. They knew to leave me alone and give me my space. It hadn’t been the first time they’d seen me like that. I tried to keep most of it under control, but Hunter had pushed my buttons. No one ever cornered me in a tiny space and got away unscathed.

“Aw, Kid, why did you do that?”

“He cornered me, what was I supposed to do?” My hand was red and starting to turn a lovely purple shade.

“You could have told him to back off. That would have been the logical thing to do.”

“You know I’m not a logical person.”

“No shit.” She sighed, and I could hear her munching on something. “Don’t you think you should talk to someone again?” She’d asked me the same thing at least a thousand times.

“Because that worked so well before. No, thank you.”

Tawny sighed again. I finally found my car, Sassy, a red Dodge Charger, in the lot and hit the unlock button. I sat in the driver’s seat with the door open, chatting with Tawny about moving in and stupid stuff. Anything but Hunter.

I could talk to her for hours every day and still find something to say. We were six years apart, and we were as close as two people could be without being twins. Not that our personalities were similar, because they weren’t. Tawny was prettier, smarter, more well liked. I was shorter, not as pretty and angry. I didn’t try to be so angry, and I wasn’t most of the time, but sometimes it just happened. Hunter had made it happen today.

“When are you coming up to see me?” I asked.

“Probably this weekend. Lunch date at Margaritas?” It was one of our favorite semi-chain Mexican restaurants.

“You’re on. Hey, I completely forgot to bring that cute pair of pj pants and the top that goes with it. Can you stop by the house and get them for me?”

“I guess so. You gonna buy my lunch?”

“I guess so,” I said.

“Hey, I have to go, but call me tonight. Call me before you punch someone again, okay? You’re going to have to rein it in if you’re going to live with this guy. Also, you should probably ice your hand.”

“I’m not living with him.”

“Yeah, babe, you kinda are. Unless you win that bet. How the hell are you going to get out of that one?”

“I have no fucking clue. I didn’t technically agree to it.”

“I think you punching and kicking him in the balls was sort of a handshake.”

“Whatever. I’ll call you later. Text me if you want.”

“Bye, Kid.”

“Bye, Tawn.” I clicked my phone off and rested my head on my steering wheel. What the fuck was I going to do?

I didn’t go back inside until my hand hurt so much that I desperately needed ice. The living room was quiet when I snuck in. Most of the boxes were gone, and Darah was unpacking her pots and pans in the kitchen.

“Hey, are you okay? We were kinda worried about you. Hunter, Renee and Mase went to get pizza.”

“I’m fine. Just need some ice,” I said, holding up my hand, which was purpling all over my knuckles.

“Oh my God,” she said, running to the freezer. Luckily, someone had left an ice pack in the freezer that maintenance had forgotten to clean out. She wrapped it in a dish towel she took out of one of the boxes and handed it to me.

“How’s his face?” I kind of wished I’d messed it up, just a little.

“You got him pretty good. He’s already getting a bruise.” Score.

“Did his nuts recover?”

“I think he’ll be able to have children someday,” she said, studying me as if I was going to freak and do it again. She leaned on the counter, her organizing abandoned for now. “What happened? All he’d tell us is that he said something that pissed you off and that he deserved it.”

“He said that?” I winced as the cold ice met my burning hand. I was surprised. I thought he’d blame everything on me and call me a psycho bitch. In the back of my mind I’d had a tiny ray of hope that my display of violence had freaked him out so much his stuff would be gone when I got back. No such luck.

“Yeah, he did.”

“Huh.”

Voices drifted down the hall. Familiar voices. I turned around, and they stopped when they saw me. Hunter had two pizza boxes, and Renee carried two bags with chips and soda. Mase had what probably was some beer, cleverly concealed in two layers of shopping bags.

“Hey,” I said to all of them.

They entered cautiously, in a way that was almost funny. I was both the shortest and youngest person in the room, but they were wary of me.

“How’s your hand?” Renee said, setting the bags down on the dining table.

“Fine,” I said. She started examining it anyway, and I looked at Hunter. “How’s your face? And your balls?” I cracked a smile, hoping it wasn’t too crazy looking.

Hunter grinned back at me.

“Both will recover, I think. You’ve got a hell of a hook, Missy,” he said, touching his jaw. There was an impressive-looking bluish mark starting. Nice.

“I misjudged you, I think. Respect,” Mase said, coming over and holding his hand up for a fist bump. I gave him one with my left hand, and he gave me a wink. Guess the cocky behavior was genetic.

“I got this one with all the veggies. Wasn’t sure what you liked,” Hunter said, holding out one of the pizza boxes toward me. Everyone held their breath as I took the box from Hunter. Hell, it was more delicious than an olive branch.

“Olives,” I said. “I hate olives. Everything else is fair game.”

“Shall we?” Renee said, now that the tension was broken.

“Sure,” I said, cracking open the box.

The heavenly scent of Pat’s pizza filled my nose. It had been the same recipe for however many years it had been open, serving hungry, hungover or stoned college students for decades. Somehow they had found the perfect ratio of cheese to sauce to thin crust to toppings. A perfect ratio, which was why they’d survived for so long in a town that had at least twelve pizza places per college student.

“Have you unpacked the plates yet?” Renee said to Darah.

Rummaging for plates, napkins and cups ensued, and somehow we all ended up on the living room floor with paper plates, paper towels and Solo cups with soda or beer. I wasn’t a big beer fan, so I stuck with soda. Darah, Renee and Mase were all twenty-one and joked about me and Hunter being underage. Hunter was only a few months older than me at twenty, while I was the baby at nineteen.

Turned out Hunter was also a business major; what a surprise. The only other major I would have picked for him would have been broadcasting so he could be a sports reporter and watch as many games while getting paid to do it. Mase was the biggest surprise. His major was international relations. Apparently he wanted to go work overseas as a diplomat or something. His real name was Johnathan Mason III, which explained the nickname.

“What’s your major?” Mase asked, winding some cheese around his finger.

“How about we guess?” Hunter said.

Didn’t I just punch him in the face? Was he asking for it again? I gave him a look, but he just picked up another piece of pepperoni and chewed thoughtfully.