Take It to Heart

The first big winter storm Sheffield had was the first night I wore the sweater Oliver had given me. The sleeves were a tad long so I held the hem in my fist, keeping the fabric pushed against my pink, cold nose. It was perfect, though. The fuzzy, warm inside was soothing, especially since rain was bashing against Anna’s car windows on the way to her house. Just our breathing fogged the windows.

“You think we’ll get first snow tonight?” Anna asked. The defroster on her car was at full blast and the temperature displayed near the clock was getting lower.

“Probably. The drive has been getting icy in the mornings,” I said and curled into the sweater.

“When did you get that?” she asked, looking sideways at me. “I’m not sure it suits you.”

I made a face at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Anna shrugged, pulling into her drive. “You’re more of a plain, no print on your clothes, person. It’s weird seeing you in a brand. Especially one called Drop Dead.”

“Sod off about my clothes,” I replied and opened the door to her car.

Instantly, the rain drenched the two of us while we made a dash for her house. Once inside, I flopped down on the beanbag chair in her room and set my feet up on a couple of boxes. Anna was moving out soon, into her own flat. It was going to be a small, one bedroom flat close to the city center.

I wish I had the freedom to simply move out. I could, I guess, if I actually had the money. Before my mum made me pitch in for uni, I was close to having enough to consider moving out. Then, I had to buy books and supplies and get a job. It was now too expensive to afford a flat.

“Can you help me finish packing Saturday when you’re done with work? I’ll be able to move into the flat on Sunday, and I’m hardly ready.”

“Yeah, that’d be fine,” I replied. I tugged off my sweater, leaving me in a black tank top. The sweat was now cold and wet. I tossed it onto the back of a chair, hoping it would dry.

“So where’d you get that anyways?” she asked, sitting on the foot of her bed. She reached over and grabbed my rain-coated sweater, examining it.

I shifted uncomfortably. I couldn’t say a friend, because Oliver wasn’t my friend, but it was weird to say the guy who’d been such a wanker. “An acquaintance of mine,” I said, settling for that. “It’s his company. He gave it to me.”

“Oh?” she asked, suddenly more curious. “Tell me about this acquaintance.”

I knew what she wanted to hear. She wanted to hear that this was a new guy I’d met. She wanted to hear that I fancied him, when I really only found him intriguing at the most. She wanted to hear drama, but not the kind involving the fact that I’d made peace with the toss-pot who’d been rude. So, I lied to her. I told her I’d ran into him at the library—not totally false—and we got along. I didn’t elaborate or go into detail. I didn’t mention a name or any looks. It got her off my case about the sweater and the boy and we went back to listening to the tele and sorting things into boxes.

The next morning, the ground was covered with fresh, white snow. It wasn’t more than three or four inches and the snow plows had already started clearing the streets. When I got home, I helped Charles clear off the drive and the cars before my mum or Naomi got up. It was sort of silent and awkward between us. Charlie was a good guy. We got along and all, but unless my mum was around to fuel a conversation, we didn’t talk.

“Do you work tonight?” he asked as we set the shovels in the garage and headed inside.

“Until five, why?”

Charlie filled a kettle with water and set it on the burner, turning up the heat to let it boil. “My boss asked your mum and me to supper, and he wanted us to bring you and Naomi. It’s at six. It would mean a lot since I think I’m up for promotion.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll be back here right after work,” I replied and slipped out of the room as the kettle began to hiss.

Halfway to my room, I ran into my mum. She was bundled up in a pea coat and scarf, ready for the sudden change in weather. She greeted me with a hug. “It’s finally snowed! Been waiting for this, you know. Now I can finally start decorating for the winter season.”

“Does that mean you’re going to cover the backs of the sofas with those ridiculous quilts again?” I teased.

My mum rolled her eyes and stepped around me, ready to head down the stairs. “Did Charlie tell you about supper?” she asked suddenly and turned back around. “We know that you’ve been busy with work and university, but we’d be pleased if you could come. Naomi is going, too.”

I didn’t understand why it always had to go back to Naomi. Up until a couple months ago, she really didn’t mean anything. Now, we were seen as one in the same. If she did something, it was expected I should too. Except, we weren’t similar. I had priorities and things I needed to get done. She just cruises around in my car and does who-knows-what. We didn’t become sisters just because our parents got married.

“I already told him I’d go,” I said, not even looking at her. I marched up the stairs and into my room. I’d leave that argument for another day.

I looked around at the simplicity of my room. It would be so easy to do what Anna did, pack everything, and move out. I felt like living at home was honestly the only thing tying me down. By now, being in my second year of uni, most of my mates from school had moved into their own places. I’m not sure why this was bugging me so much. Maybe it was because I was feeling left behind—and feeling as if I wouldn’t be able to catch back up. There was nothing worse than watching everyone around you moving along in life while I still felt like I was stuck in sixth form.

Today, all I had was one class in the afternoon and then work until five. The class was English. This year, I hated English. My professor was an old kook who focused more on author’s perspective than actual English or writing. Did I really care what they were thinking when they wrote the particular novel? No, but my grade depended on reading the mind of usually dead authors. After class, I was more than happy to be the first one out the door.

On Thursdays, there were three people running the library: Pam, Keegan, and me. Keegan was in his last year of university. He was a bit stuck up at times and usually kept to himself. He also stole my parking spot whenever we had the same shift, forcing me to park around back. This only became a problem this time of the year. When I had to park around back, I had to walk in the shit weather all the way to the front. It was lightly raining and the sidewalk was coated in slush.

My feet were unpleasantly cold by the time I made it into the library. Keegan was at the front desk, taking over the job of fanning through books and scanning them, and Pam was somewhere in the back avoiding human interaction. I behind the desk and set my purse in a cubby under the counter.

“Need any help?” I asked Keegan.

He blankly looked up at me, shook his head, and went back to scanning.

“Okay then, you’re well exciting,” I muttered to myself and sat in a free desk chair. I swiveled around and surveyed the library. It was busier during the week than on weekends. It’s where students came when the school libraries became too busy. I recognized some people from around campus, but mostly none at all.

When I looked back to Keegan, he was holding a familiar looking book upside-down and fanning out the pages. About halfway through, a little piece of paper fell out and fluttered to the ground. He didn’t even notice until I kicked out a leg, stepped on the edge of the note, and dragged it back towards me. I bent at the waist and leaned over the edge of my chair so I could grab the paper.

“What’s that?” he asked, absently scanning the book and tossing it to the side. I faintly saw Palanuik on the spine before it disappeared into the re-shelve bin.

I ignored him and examined the paper. Only one side had writing and it was a mobile number. Underneath the number was a nearly illegible name: Oliver. I rolled my eyes and crumbled the paper, stuffing it into my coat pocket. He really is dense to think I’d call him. Calling a truce wasn’t equivalent to creating a friendship. I’d be damned if I ever bumped into him again, excluding the library I guess. Plus, Oliver was sketchy. Beyond sketch even. He was in a band, which he never even mentioned, he was covered in tattoos, and he owned a clothing company whose signature symbol was a cat brain. Not exactly friend material if you asked me.

“Nothing,” I finally said to Keegan, “it’s just rubbish.”

Back at home, I’d barely made it in time to change into nicer clothes for supper. Mum and Charlie were downstairs waiting for Naomi to finish getting ready long before I even walked through the door. I didn’t even have time to shower and thaw myself out. I just slipped into a nice pair of jeans, a jumper, and a coat over the top. I touched up my make-up, which was simple in the first place, and headed back downstairs. Naomi was just leaving her room as well, dressed in a long knit top with thick black tights and a blazer. Wasn’t she just to Vogue.

“Ready?” Charlie asked, grabbing a set of keys from the bowl near the door. No one answered as we headed outside and into the car.

When we got to Platillos, Chalie’s boss and his wife were already seated inside. I’d met them both before, a little over a year ago, last time he was up for promotion. The consulting company he worked for was pretty tight knit, so dinners were fairly common. The restaurant smelled of Spanish food and it was loud. It was packed. We found the Bennetts and the conversation began and continued without me. I was just there for show. Oh, look at our nice mixed family; see how well we all get along.

Mum was trying too hard and Charlie had to play the role of balancing her personality. She just kept throwing out useless information about our family and how proud of Charlie she was. Anyone could tell that the Charlie practically had the job already, this was just the formal way of finalizing it—anyone but my mum. But, the conversation went on anyways.

Our dinner plates had been swept away and Mrs. Bennett ordered dessert before turning to me. “So Rose, what are you studying?”

I looked up from my hands to Mrs. Bennett. “Journalism,” I replied quietly. My mum didn’t really approve of journalism studies, she believed success only came from business or science. “And minoring in business.”

“Should be switched,” my mum said. Charlie nudged her with an elbow. “What?” she hissed at him, “It’s true.”

“Journalism can offer many possibilities,” Mr. Bennett argued for my sake. “There will always be news.”

“I supposed,” Mum said, “but she wants to do print or magazine journalism. With the internet these days, that’s slowly disappearing.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t really think this is the time to be bashing my major.”

“I’m not bashing,” she retorted, “just pointing a few things out. It’s not to late to switch majors. No need to muck about in school. Naomi, however, is studying business management.”

“I just realized I’ve somewhere to be,” I said suddenly and stood. My mum’s eyes went wide. I turned to Charlie’s boss, “Thank you for havin’ me. Hope to see you soon.”

And then I was gone. I didn’t even turn and look when my mum called my name and stood up out of her chair. I didn’t give her a second thought when she began to question me, from across the table with my back turned, what on earth I thought I was doing. I left the small restaurant without wondering what was going to be said—or not said. That was neither the time nor the place to tell me I was screwing up my education with journalism. If she wanted to point that out to me when we were at home, fine, but embarrassing herself and me wasn’t exactly the kind of situation I wanted to be in.

My mum and I always butted heads like this. She was just such a bloody perfectionist. Things had to go a certain way, her way, or none at all. My dad told me that one time. He said one of the reasons they couldn’t be together was because of how she was so dead set on how to raise Joshua and me and that she wouldn’t take his views into consideration. Now, at nearly twenty, I knew this wasn’t really the case, but I also could understand where he’d gotten such a notion. I was often stuck right in the middle of it.

Outside, there was no doubt it was cold. It was lightly sprinkling, causing the snow left on the ground to turn to mush. I shivered and leaned against the outside wall of Platillos. The lit up sign flashed to the side of me: little plates, big flavours. I pushed away from the building and stuffed my hands into my pockets, letting out a breath of air that was visible in the cold. My left hand brushed up against something scratchy in my pocket. Alarmed, I grabbed it and pulled it out. It was the torn paper that had fallen out of Oliver’s library book. I stared, repeating the mobile number over and over in my head.

I sighed and watched the thin wisps of my breath swirl through the chilly air. Could it really hurt to call him?

“Hello?

“Lame move with the number in the book,” I said, hoping he would catch on.

“Rose?”

“Who else, unless you leave your number in books often.”

“Can only say I’ve done that once,” he replied, his Sheffield accent much thicker than mine, “are you outside?”

I shivered, feeling a gust of wind blow over me. It must have been enough to hear over the line. “Yes, just on a walk.”

“You know it’s to snow again tonight, yeah? Mental bird.” I scoffed, not bothering to answer. He kept on, “While you’re looking for a death sentence via pneumonia, do you remember where my company is?”

“It’s just a few blocks from me,” I realized. I also realized I was having a normal, flowing conversation with him. Something about that was unsettling. “Why?”

“Care to stop by?”

I told him no, but ten minutes later I was approaching the graffiti covered garage for the second time this week.

“The fuck are you?”

I jumped, startled. Just inside the garage was a thin bloke, hidden in the shadows. There was smoke around him, coming from his mouth and the blunt between his fingers. “The fuck am I?” I repeated, “The fuck are you?”

“We don’t enjoy slags pokin’ around here,” he continued, finishing off his blunt and letting it fall to the ground as if it was a cigarette, “so if you’ll just turn your arse around and march on off—”

“Stop being a fuckin’ knob head, Thomas.”

Oliver appeared in the archway of the stairs. I looked from him to the rude bastard in front of me. “Is that your brother?”

“Aye,” they said in illusion.

I nodded. “I could tell; you’re both shit with first impressions.”