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“What about her?” I ask. “Something wrong?” Concern overwhelms my better instincts.
June has already muted the TV. “I think so.” She frowns, and even that’s cute. She glances upward, as if she’s worried that my daughter will hear her.
“You want to talk on the back porch?” I ask.
“Yeah, that’ll be great.”
“Want a beer?”
She hesitates. “A beer?”
“Sure.”
June presses her lips together and then releases them. “I mean, sure.” She smiles. “Sure. That would be nice.”
It feels like I’ve just asked her out, and it puts me in a state of heightened anxiety. I’m not an anxious person. I’m a face-my-problems-head-on kind of guy. So, this is new territory for me.
“I’ll meet you on the back porch in a minute,” I say.
“All right.” She moves past me in the doorway, and I have this unconscious urge to stop her or follow her or both. I shut my eyes for a second after she’s moved down the hall, then go to the kitchen.
I’ve never felt for a woman the way I felt for June in high school. I dismissed it as a crush or an obsession. Some bullshit hormonal boy shit. But I’m a man now, and nothing has changed. I still want to keep her, take her, protect her, free her, and everything wrapped into one when she’s nearby.
Because June is and always has been better than me and this town. She makes friends wherever she turns. She helps people. She cares. And she’s got this tough “fuck what people think” streak running right down the center of all of that. It makes her nearly irresistible.
I grab two beers out of the fridge, holding them by their necks.
Opening the screen door with my elbow, I step onto the back porch.
June smiles up at me from the porch swing. I screw off the bottle caps and hand her one of the beers. “Thanks,” she says, and touches the side of the bottle against mine. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” I sit next to her on the swing, clasping the bottle between my hands. “What’s going on with Alex?”
June sets her bottle down on the wood planking with a clink. “That’s the thing, I’m not sure, but I’m worried. We went to the boutique today to get some feminine stuff for her. A bra, mainly.”
“All right.”
“And we ran into another girl there. Leah.”
“Leah. That’s, uh, what’s-her-face’s daughter?” The mother who always sends me bedroom eyes and tries to get me involved in PTA baking events.
“Yeah,” June says. “Except her name is Zara Pamini.”
“Right, sure.”
“I think Leah’s been bullying Alex.”
I stiffen. “What? Well, I’ll have to give Ms. Pamini a fucking call, won’t I?”
“I’m not sure that’s necessary yet,” June says. “I mean, it’s a judgment call, but I think it would be a good idea for Alex to fight her own battles on this one. With help.”
“Help.”
“Yeah. There are a couple of great resources you can use to teach her how to handle bullies. And by that I don’t mean punching them in the face.”
I don’t ask how she knows that’s my go-to option. Not the healthiest path forward. “That would be great.”
She nods. “I just think she needs to talk to Leah herself, and if that doesn’t solve the problem and it gets worse, then maybe it’s time to talk to the mom.”
