Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
I hurt her.
I hurt her so badly she shut down and pretended it didn't happen.
I should sympathize, I know. No, I do sympathize. But I can't access that empathy when I'm surrounded by the cold front, while I'm busy fighting with myself, reminding myself what really happened.
"When did she start smoking?" I return to my seat.
"Start? When she was fourteen. She never told you this?" Julie asks.
"No," I say. "When did she tell you?"
Julie clears her throat.
"You were smoking?"
"Pot is legal," she says.
"Not for minors," I say. "Oh my god, that was your vape pen?" Wait, Mom caught her with pot and talked to her about smoking? "You actually… discussed it?"
"Yeah, we talk," she says. "She tells me what's going on. Unlike some people."
"Are you kidding? I gave you plenty of R-rated details."
"Not what I mean. You're different. You've been different…" She doesn't mention the last year. Or the year before that. "Did something happen?"
"Huh?" I pick at my stir-fry. It's too cold and the flavors are too dull. I'm far away. I barely notice the ginger.
"Did something happen with your boyfriend? You're spacey today."
"Sorta."
"A fight?"
"No." I eat another piece of chicken.
"Seriously, Immy, I never thought Mom would be more communicative than you."
Did Mom tell her? No, she'd say something.
"Don't make me compare you to Mom again," she says.
"It's not good for us," I say.
"I know." She motions so say it.
"What if I don't want to talk about it?"
"You get to lecture me about sex. Why can't I lecture you about whatever this is?"
"I like him." I can tell her that. "I thought I could keep it strictly sexual, but I like him, and we just… I have to end things."
"Because you like him?"
"For a lot of reasons."
"Sounds like there's one reason," she says.
Maybe. I am scared. That is true. But look at Mom. I destroyed her and I'm still here.
With what happened with his sister—
How could he ever love me? Trust me?
How could I ever trust him to see that side of me?
"It's not going to work," I say.
"Because…"
"His sister…" What can I say that won't give me away? "I found something about her, something I'm not supposed to know."
She raises a brow. "Is she a porn star?"
"No."
"An assassin."
"No. She died."
She frowns. "Oh. That sucks. But what does that have to do with you? Is this really because you went digging for something he didn't tell you, because everyone does that?"
"No. It's just… we're not compatible."
"Because…"
"I can't explain it," I say. "But I know."
She taps the table with her fingertips. "I know what you would tell me to do."
"You do?"
"Oh yeah. Easy. Talk to him."
That is good advice.
"If you're sure you're going to end things, what's the harm in an actual conversation? Or is that the harm? Are you scared you won't end things and fall in love and get your heart broken?"
I am. But it's more than that. It's so much more than that. "It's complicated."
"Oh my god, Immy! You're the one who told me 'it's never complicated. Don't trust a guy who says things are complicated. That means he's hiding something.'"
Why did I teach her so well? "Okay. It's not complicated. If I want things to continue, I need to open up with him, and I'm not ready to do that."
"You're scared?"
I say nothing.
"Seriously? You're better than that. And how bad could it be? You're like… the golden child."
"What? You're the golden child."
"You have straight As. You got a scholarship to UCLA!"
"You're going to get a full ride to an Ivy."
"And those schools are three thousand miles away. If I get offered a scholarship at Stanford and I don't go there…"
"Mom has said that?"
"She doesn't have to say it."
"She wants the best for you."
"She wants the best for you too. She just… doesn't know how to do that. Aren't you the one studying psychology?"
"It's different. She's softer with you."
"Maybe. But only because I give her the opening."
What does that mean?
Julie doesn't expand or ask me to explain further. She shifts the conversation to the adventure novel she's reading as we finish dinner and clean. She waits until I'm on my way out the door and she launches a counter-attack.
"Talk to Mom sometime," Julie says. "She misses you. She won't admit it, but she does. I know something is there. So don't bother denying it."
"Okay."
"You won't deny it?"
"I'll talk to her."
"Will you tell me what it is?"
I shake my head.
"Should I worry?"
"I love you." I pull her into a hug. "Be good."
"Text me when you get home. And after you talk to him. Whatever you decide to do. Even if you chicken out."
She releases me and she shakes her head I know you didn't answer my question, but she doesn't call me on that either.
She's right.
She always is.
And the best way to do this is quickly.
Like a Band-Aid. I don't want to wait and let it attach.