Henry
I can’t believe she’s painting Tati as superior. I can’t believe she’s dragging my dad through the mud, hauling the fears I’ve worked my ass off to bury into the glaring light.
An ache fills the space behind my ribs. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re looking at me like you hate me.”
She’s so far off the mark.
I loosen my jaw and roll my shoulders. “I don’t.”
“This is too hard,” she says, staring down at her lap.
The ache becomes sharp. “Too hard, like you don’t want to see me anymore?”
Her head snaps up. “No! I don’t want to stop seeing you—not that. I just can’t understand why you’d defend your dad when not five minutes ago, you seemed pretty freaking irritated with him.”
“I’m not defending him, but I’m also not going to dump all over him because he did a stupid thing. You of all people should understand that.”
She flinches. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” I say reflexively.
“No, tell me.”
“All I’m saying is that you’re acting holier-than-thou when in reality, you’ve got some experience with making choices you regret later.”
Her mouth becomes a circle of shock. “I apologized for that night at the Marine—”
She falters, swallowing hard.
Shit—I’ve hurt her. I want to recant because none of this even matters, but my foot’s crammed so far down my throat, there’s not a chance in hell I’ll be able to yank it out in time to salvage this conversation. “Piper—”
“Yeah, okay, sometimes I do things I might reevaluate later,” she says, her voice growing stronger, “but that doesn’t mean you get to throw them in my face.”
“I’m not—”
“You are. You say I’m acting holier-than-thou as you sit there judging me. You’re not perfect, Henry. You’re sheltered, set in your ways. You think misfortune is a dad who’s excited to take you golfing. You know that’s not an actual problem, right?”
I’ve got nothing.
She was onto something weeks ago, when she worried that getting Tati and Davis together might mess things up between her and me. That’s what’s happening. We’re arguing, firing low blows, and neither of us is hearing the other.
All thanks to my dad and her sister.
She watches while I stack my paper plate on top of hers. She watches while I collect our napkins. She watches while I get up off the floor.
“I’m gonna go,” I tell her, even though what I’d like to do is forget the last ten minutes and climb back into bed with her.
“You said you wouldn’t,” she whispers with doleful eyes.
“That was before.” I reach out to smooth her hair. “This isn’t how I thought tonight would go. I don’t want to fight. I’m not even mad, really. But we’re not getting anywhere, and I don’t want to say something that makes things worse. Let’s talk tomorrow, okay?”
She nods, but her face is shadowed with doubt.
How many people have promised her tomorrow, then walked out of her life?
I head for the door, but before I step out into the hallway, I turn back and say, “Piper, I promise I won’t disappear.”