Chapter 38
thirty-eight
Nessa
By the time we arrive at Shae’s Philadelphia townhouse, I’ve completely given up pretenses. I’ve gathered my hair in a messy knot and cried off all my makeup.
Aba rings the bell, and she greets us, her eyes wide with surprise, he scoops her into a bear hug.
I muster a passive wave, then walk straight to her bedroom and fling myself onto the bed.
“Nice to see you too, sissy,” she calls.
As I’m willing sleep to take me, Dad guides Shae out of the room. They go out to lunch, leaving me to my fitful nap.
When I wake up, it’s dark enough out to suggest I slept all day, and Shae’s watching me from a colorful swivel chair.
“Where do you find these things?” I ask, pointing at the ridiculous piece of furniture.
“Dad had to get home, but he said you had a really bad day and asked for me. What is going on?” she asks. She’s tense, no doubt because we haven’t been close in a long time. And that’s on me.
Before I can stop them, my eyes well and tears crest my lashes. Without a word, I wrap myself in her fleece throw and bury my face in her pillow.
The bed dips, and then she’s at my side.
“You do not cry. What is happening?” she asks me, smoothing a hand over my hair.
“This goes back too long. To the summer before ninth grade…” I launch into the story I told Mateo months ago.
“I was so scared of forcing ten-year-old Shae to grow up, that somewhere along the way, I failed to notice you aging just like I was. And now you’re a twenty-five-year-old woman with her own story,” I say, dipping my chin.
I open up about everything, from how I found myself hiding the problems with Caleb for years, to landing in bed with Mateo.
“It’s over,” I admit. The tears come harder now.
“Was it good dick, at least?” She teases me, now knowing my full sexual history.
I laugh, but it’s cut off by a sob.
“He’s amazing. Huge, with thick, throbbing veins. The kind that rests heavy in your palm, like they describe in my favorite romance novels.” I sigh through the mix of tears and laughter, adding on, “And he knew what to do with it.”
She nudges my arm. “At least you have the memory for the spank bank?”
After a few moments of silence in our embrace, I feel myself drifting again.
“Can I sleep here? Everything at my place reminds me of him. It would only be one night,” I say with a sniffle.
“Of course,” she says, rubbing light circles on my back. “What flavor of ice cream should I pick up? And which movie?”
Three days and a few too many bickering sessions later, Shae comes back from work full of fury, looking at me in her clothing, burrito wrapped into a blanket, still wallowing.
She paces, pausing to rest her hands on her hips, before unloading on me. “You are in love with him, and you don’t want to admit it for some reason that may be ‘logical,’ but is completely cerebral and not human.”
She flips the lights on and gives me a hard stare, her brows low and lips thin.
“The other night you were fresh off your broken heart, but now it’s time for some hard truths,” she says, dropping into her swivel chair.
I’m too empty to think. I’m unmoving and uncaring as she dumps fifteen years of anger on me like a bucket of ice water.
“You don’t do all this because you want to be a good person.
You do it because you need to feel important.
You want to be needed. We get it. You are smart.
You have an ivy league education. You climbed to the top of your field.
Congrats. You have all the external trappings of a happy life, and you’re still just a competitive, snarky bitch who keeps everyone at arm’s length in hopes of maintaining control. ”
She jabs a finger at me.
“You know that we have a mom and a dad, right? You aren’t in charge of us.
I know you think being the oldest means we can’t function without you, but that’s bullshit.
Your ex was toxic, and you tried to solve that issue alone—something you would never let a patient do.
Then, when someone worth the risk of repeated heartbreak arrived, you did everything in your power to push him away. ”
When I finally push to my feet, I catch sight of myself in the vanity mirror.
My eyes are bloodshot, and the bags beneath them are heavy and dark.
Throat scratchy, I cough a few times, trying to find words.
Any words. Despite how slow the world seems to be moving, it’s like my thoughts and heartbeat are off to the races.
Her angry speech continues slicing through me.
“All anyone needs is your love and support. You work all the time, and then, during your time off, you take care of people who don’t need it.
Know what I saw at Jewish New Year’s that I haven’t seen since we were kids?
I saw your fun side. I saw you look happy.
Truly, undeniably happy. You made out with him in the mud, damn it. ”
The final few words are a cry for me to pay attention, and it works. They bring with them the memory of dancing with Mateo in the yard, falling over ourselves. Happy. That breaks the dam, and hot, salty streams of tears flow down my cheeks.
I’m not ready to have this conversation with her, so instead, I push back halfheartedly, having already hired a cab to take me home.
“Oh, fuck this,” I haul myself up, blanket still draped over me, and shout, “And I’m taking the blanket!”
The first thing I see is the green sports car still parked in the driveway.
Instantly, fresh rage bubbles up. I stalk into the house and slam the front door, then stomp to my bedroom and slam that door too.
“Welcome home, I guess,” Delia shouts from the hall. “Is there a reason you want to break the doors in my grandma’s house?” She punctuates the question with a laugh, annoying me further.
“Why aren’t you at work?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.
“Shift changes for vacations. But don’t think you can change the subject on me, I know your ways,” Delia says.
Whipping my bedroom door open, I wave her into the room. Then I skulk back to my bed and curl up in Shae’s blanket.
She wrinkles her nose and sniffs at my disheveled appearance. “Decided on a new style? The Halloween blanket is a… choice.”
“It’s really soft, so I stole it from Shae.”
“I bet she’s so mad,” Delia says with a light laugh.
The tension breaks, and the reason I call these girls the framily —or my friends who are family—sends warmth rushing through me. I drop the blanket, trying to cool off.
“Not as mad as I am!” Okay, this may not be my finest, or most mature moment.
“Not as mad as you, because…” She raises both brows, waiting for me to continue.
I roll myself up in the blanket again so only my face pokes out.
She pokes the blanket a little again, prodding me to continue.
“First we bonded after my arrest,” I say.
“I’m sorry, your what?” Delia exclaims.
“It was dropped. I was speeding in Matty’s car. Speaking of, I thought I gave it back to him,” I say, slouching forward and heaving out my breath.
“He parked it here. Said he wanted you to have the option if you need it,” Delia softly replies.
“Can you put a tarp on it?”
“Do you have a tarp?” she quips.
I wiggle my arms free of the blanket and pop my head out, then snag my phone from the mattress beside me. “I will by tomorrow night, so yes?”
The annoyance in her expression morphs to amusement, and she lets out a laugh. The sound is infectious. I join in, and in seconds, the tension I brought home with me dissipates a fraction more.
“She tried to tell me that I was pushing him away because I’m scared.
That I am punishing him for something he didn’t do.
Some kind of high horse babble like that.
I’ll give her credit for the effort she put into trying to psychoanalyze me.
” I huff. “Also, she said I think I’m better than her because of my education.
As if I didn’t work hard to get where I am. ”
“On days like this, I’m so thankful to be an only child. Damn. Must have been hard to hear that truth bomb.”
Before the words can register, she snatches a pillow from the head of the bed and holds it up in front of her face.
My stomach drops. “Excuse you?”
She peeks around the pillow, cringing. “Babe, I’ve been too tired lately to be in your business as often as I used to be. But denial? River boat for one.”
I take out an invisible nail file and pretend to sharpen my claws. “Yeah? Why is that?”
She clicks her tongue. “Because you did fall for him, and now you are treating him like he has the plague. But why? Because of your own mistakes? Because you discovered that, like the rest of the population, you’re imperfect?”
“Because I’m scared,” I shout. “I’m embarrassed. I’m an expert in my field, yet I missed the signs. It took Caleb showing back up and my public meltdown for me to realize he was abusive . That even if he didn’t put his hands on me, that relationship was coercive and manipulative, and it broke me.”
I retreat into the blanket, letting my shame wash over me.
Whispering, Delia asks, “So you pushed Matty away?”
My responding nod forces the blanket to shift, freeing my face. “I pushed him away.”
The door opens a crack, and I jump sky high. The doorway is empty, but it continues to swing open. Then there’s a tiny meow and a black cat jumps onto the bed.
Heart lifting a fraction, I scoop up the kitten. It’s wearing a pink collar decorated with light pink bows. The tag around his neck says Wyclef. My eyes fill with tears again as I turn to Delia.
She’s holding a piece of paper out to me, her lips tipped in a small smile.
With a shaky breath, I take it and wipe the moisture from my eyes with the back of one wrist.
Nessa , it says.
I hoped that during the festival, you’d see how great we are together, but I’m not sure how well we weathered the… um, weather? I couldn’t let Wy-Guy go to anyone else. I hope we can talk when you’re ready.
xo—M
Heart lurching, I hold the cat and note to me. “Wyclef?”
“He showed up in a little kennel, along with a basket of food, toys, and a litter box.”
I nuzzle him, relishing the silkiness of his fur.
Delia stands and pads out of the room, flipping off the light, leaving me alone with my new kitten and an uncomfortable sinking feeling.