Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
“I wish…”
“You wish what?”
I simply shake my head in response. Because I can’t tell him what I wish for.
I can’t tell him that I wish I could see it with him. The movie.
It’s about these two best friends in college, a girl and a boy. The girl loves the boy, but the boy loves someone else, the new girl in college. So the best friend leaves and the boy ends up marrying the new girl. Years pass, they have a daughter together, and when the new girl dies, she writes letters for her daughter. In those letters, she tells her daughter to go find the best friend. Because she always knew that the best friend loved her dad and she—the new girl—came between them. If she hadn’t, their life would be different, and they’d be together now. So now that she’s gone, it’s time to reunite them.
I played the role of the best friend.
I wish he didn’t have to go.
I wish he loved me.
I wish…
My grip twists and tugs, and I decide I won’t let him go. Maybe I can come up with an excuse for him to stay. Any excuse. Any ridiculous or flimsy excuse at all. But then my hands fall away from his jacket, limp and useless.
I fall away from him too.
Because I need to stop being ridiculous and count my blessings that this is over.
Good thing there’s a wall behind me, cold and damp, giving me the support I need. So I don’t totally crumple on the floor like I want to do in this moment. Maybe when he leaves, I can do that but not right now.
“Except…”
Chapter 14
My eyes jerk up to his face. “Except what?”
God, I sound so hopelessly hopeful.
So hopelessly pathetic.
But I don’t think he notices.
He’s busy elsewhere.
He’s busy looking at me.
Because while my eyes are on his face, his are roving all over my body. Ever since he shut us off in the closet, he hasn’t looked anywhere else but at my face, but now his eyes are traveling. Observing. Surveying.
They’re at my throat, taking in my lavish necklace made of gold and red beads. At my ears, taking in the jewelry that I’m wearing there as well. He’s taking in my costume, the traditional Indian dress in red and gold, along with my henna tattoo, my bangles, and rings. He even goes down to my ankles that are decorated with a henna tattoo as well along with tinkling anklets on each foot.
“Except”—he picks up the thread from before, his voice sounding both thick like his eyes and edgy like this body—“this is goodbye, isn’t it?”
I thought our phone call from last night was goodbye, so I should be glad it wasn’t. That I got more time with him. I shouldn’t be greedy.
Still, my heart squeezes. “Yes.”
“Goodbyes are important,” he says.
I swallow. “Yeah.”
“Sometimes more important than hello,” he keeps going.
I simply nod, my heart aching.
“And isn’t there a thing called story coming full circle in the end,” he says, a light frown between his brows, “in theater, I mean.”
I think about his words for a second. “You mean like break a leg?”
“Yeah.” His eyes flick back and forth between mine. “It means after a long turn of events, you end up in the same situation that you started with.”
“O-kay,” I say, confused as to where he’s going.
“So since this is the end, doesn’t it make sense that we come full circle too?”
Slowly, something is happening to my heart. I don’t know what, but it’s starting to beat. And it’s starting to beat right. “How?”
He licks his lips. “Well, the night we met, you had a costume on.”
I’m hanging on to his every word like they’re diamonds. “Yeah.”
“And here you are, at the end, in a costume again.”
“I am.”
“And while a white dress and a pair of fake wings were easy to figure out, I don’t know what you’re wearing tonight.”
“You want to know what I’m wearing tonight?”
“Tell me.”
And there it is.
The relief I’ve been searching for.
It’s completely irrational and nonsensical. Much like the things he’s just said.
The things he’s said don’t make sense, do they?
They’re just an excuse, a very flimsy one, to linger.
He wants to linger.
Right?
Something I wanted to come up with but couldn’t. So he did. And I know, I know in my heart, that he did it for me. He came up with this excuse for me.
Because that’s all we have, I realize.
All we have are excuses. Because he’s my boyfriend’s twin brother and this is the only way we can be around each other. By making weak rationalizations. At least for tonight. At least until Shepard comes back tomorrow.
So I look down at myself and whisper, “This is a saree.”
“A saree.”
I look up. “Yes. It’s a traditional Indian dress.”
“Tell me about it.”
Swallowing, I blush.
“So there’s a top-like thingy called a blouse”—I point to the golden straps on my shoulders and his gaze flicks to it; the blouse I’m wearing is red in color and shows a ton of my cleavage, stopping just below my breasts, leaving my midriff bare—“and then there’s yards of fabric that’s sort of draped around my body and tucked around my waist, which is the actual saree.”