Saving Laurel

39. Problem Solved

Wes Thompson

"Just watch the corner." Ryan tells me as he navigates backward into my room.

The bookshelf he made is heavy. And my participation in the making of it was very limited. The guitar lesson had taken up more time than expected. Not that I was complaining.

"Alright easy does it." A smile cracks on my face at his phrase.

He sounds like an old man, his voice low and gravely like he's smoked a million packs of unfiltered cigarettes and has the wisdom of a hundred year old man.

"There we go." He says again as we make the corner into my room without nicking the walls.

My arms are fatiguing, my fingers starting to slip from where they're curled around the smooth wood. I've probably banged my shins all to hell, shuffling my way backwards awkwardly but we finally get it to its new home.  And just as he promised, it's shorter than my last one, smaller chance of tipping.

As soon as I let go of the bookcase I cycle through my normal tics.

"So what do you think?" He asks, brushing his hands off in front of him.

I take a moment to look at the bookshelf, the wood stained dark like my dresser.

"Yeah (whistle) thanks it's great." I tell him but my mind starts to wonder if it tipped whether it'd still be enough to seriously mess up someone's legs if they were trapped under it.

Apparently though Ryan's a step ahead of me. "I figured we can screw it to the wall too. Just to be safe."

Who knew that was even an option? I didn't. But the relief I experience at the idea is almost overwhelming.

"Go grab my yellow bag, I think I left it by the front door." He tells me and I happily agree because he's solving a huge problem for me right now.

I duck out of room and as I reach the kitchen my mom asks "how's it look?"

"Great." I beam. "He's gonna screw it to the wall."

I know I shouldn't be this excited over a bookshelf. But I am. And as long as it's just my mom seeing me this happy over it, then I'm gonna cheese about it. Really she should be excited too, now neither of us have to worry about the bookshelf falling over on her. Though the thought probably hasn't crossed her mind.

We all know it has mine though.

My mom smiles at me, that one smile that mom's have. You know, that all knowing one.

"Dinners ready when you boys are done." She calls after me as I head back down the hallway.

                                ———————

I listen to the quiet murmur of my mom and Ryan as it travels the short distance through the house to my bedroom door that's cracked open.

The bookshelf is good.

I think.

No it is.

It's gotta be.

I've already stacked all my books on the shelves, all the spines straight and everything in order.  It's nice to have my room back, it feels less chaotic, less hazardous.

My head jerks to the side, once, then twice and then I cycle through my normal ones. I've been relatively calm considering I agreed to go back to Ryan's house for another jam session on his guitars. I'm not nearly as concerned about it as I was the first time.

But just past that thought is dinner at Laurel's. Of course I said yes. I mean I'd be crazy not too but let's also be real, I'm going to not only embarrass myself but probably her too.

And it has my tics just slightly more elevated. Especially because it's happening tomorrow.

I almost want to back out. But my crush on Laurel is definitely swaying my vote to try.

"Hey baby." My mom nudges my door open farther, leaning in the frame as she surveys the bookshelf. "Looks good."

"Mhmm" I whistle immediately after.

"Ryan's excited to play some music with you again." She says and I can hear the happiness pour out of her.

I smile and say "me too" and then out slips a cuss word.

She gives me that smile again, ya know, the one from earlier. The one that's all knowing. Not that I had any doubt she didn't know I was nervous about dinner at Laurel's. Meeting her parents.

God. What did I agree to?

"They're going to love you." My mom tells me.

I laugh, "until I say something awful and then they're going to throw me out."

I'm teasing, mostly.

And then my mom sighs, sitting beside me on my bed. Her fingers fuss with my short hair, her gaze focused on what she's doing rather than me as I stare at her. The lines in her face that although faint never truly go away, like the ones that fold and dimple every time she laughs.

"Let people get to know you Wesley." She says. "Exactly as you are."

I keep all my rebuttals to myself, letting my mom continue to run her fingers through my hair.

It's comforting and distracting.

"Harper did a nice job." She says, pulling a chunk of my hair straight between her fingers.

"Yeah." I agree because it's true. I mean for the limited knowledge about hair cutting I actually have. "I don't like it though."

My mom smiles, dropping her hand from my hair. "Me neither, you look too grown up."

And then I tic.

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The house passed the inspection!! And now I've got a list of things I want to do it when we finally move in!