21. In Which Aiden Asks for Advice #2
“I know she did,” Juniper says. “She wasn’t a good mom, though.”
“I know.”
She sniffles as a few more tears leak out of the corners of her eyes. I watch their path, a salty trickle over the bridge of her nose and down her cheeks, melting into the pillow. “That’s probably why she drank so much.”
I don’t say anything. I think she’s probably right.
“I talked to Matilda today.”
“Did you?” I say, surprised. “About Thomas Freese?”
“Mm-hmm. He committed suicide a week after my mom died, saying that he felt too guilty about the love of his life dying before he could make amends for the terrible things he’d done to her.”
My eyes narrow as I digest that. “So…”
“So”—she takes a deep breath—“what I think happened is that Tommy heard my mom died and felt guilty because he’d assaulted her, or he found out what one of his friends did and they killed him.”
A chill settles over my skin. “Which do you think it was?”
A grim smile pulls at her lips. “Are you sure you want to hear? It’s far-fetched. An extrapolation of what we know mixed with intuition and guesswork.”
“Tell me.”
Her shoulders twitch in what I think is a little shrug. “I think my mom finally figured out who my father was. I think she told Thomas. And then I think whoever did that killed both of them.”
I blink, stunned. “Didn’t your mom die of a heart attack?”
Another little shrug. “Supposedly. There would be ways for someone to do that to her, though. ”
That’s true. We sit in silence as my mind reels, working through possibilities and implications and loose ends.
I wish I had something to say, but I’m searching and searching and coming up blank. Nothing in my years of school prepared me for what to say to her right now.
“Aiden,” she says, so quietly I barely hear.
“Yeah.”
Another sniffle, and then three little words: “My heart hurts.”
So does mine.
But I sigh heavily. “I know.” I reach out without thinking to stroke the top of her head, but I freeze when my fingers are inches away.
I debate for only a second before giving in and closing the distance.
Sometimes it’s best to follow your instincts, especially in situations that are as emotionally sensitive as this.
So I stroke her hair lightly, feeling the softness, the warmth. “Let yourself grieve,” I say. “It might take some time.”
She nods. Then she speaks again. “Aiden.”
“Hmm.”
“Do you keep food in the fourth drawer for me?”
A hint of a smile touches my lips. “If I say no?”
“I won’t believe you.”
“Why ask if you’re not going to believe what I say?”
“Such a pain in the butt,” she murmurs sleepily, pressing her head further into my palm like a kitten begging for affection. My smile blossoms, but I just continue stroking her hair, silky against my fingertips.
We stay like that until she falls asleep.
The next morning I slip out of bed before Juniper wakes.
It’s not hard to do, since I’ve spent the entire night hugging the edge of the bed for fear of crossing boundaries.
I grab some clothes and dress in the bathroom, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Then I head out to the kitchen, my laptop in hand, and shoot off an email proposal to the principal, explaining the hunger banquet idea I’ve been working on.
There’s no point in doing more work on it without her go-ahead.
Hopefully I’ve compiled enough compelling research and planning to catch her attention.
When I leave the house twenty minutes later, Juniper is still asleep in my bed.
It’s weird, that knowledge. I haven’t had a woman in my bed in years. And even though her presence there wasn’t sexual, it still feels intimate, somehow; my bed is a space where no one else goes.
But she’s there. Her tears and probably snot are on my pillow, which probably smells like citrus.
I’m going to wash it, though. I’m definitely going to wash it.
Eventually.
At some point.
I huff at my absurd thoughts; this is getting ridiculous. As much as I hate the idea, I need to talk to Caroline. Goodness knows I can’t make sense of everything going on in my heart and my mind.
I call her just as I’m pulling out of the neighborhood.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” she says back. “You never call me this early.”
“Yeah. I need—well.” I flex my hands on the steering wheel. “I need your help,” I say, my voice grudging.
“Okay,” she says. “What’s up?”
I clear my throat once. Twice. “I—well—it’s complicated.”
“I’m not surprised,” she says without pity. “You make everything more complicated than it needs to be. But I’m not dumb. Break it down. I’m sure I can keep up.”
“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. There might be some truth in what she says.
“Fine. I feel like a stupid teenager asking you this. But…how do normal people know if they have feelings for someone? I don’t seem to operate like other people,” I add quickly.
I’m positive my cheeks are a vivid red right now.
“You were right. I don’t really become attracted to someone physically unless I’m attracted to them mentally. ”
There’s silence on the other end, and I can picture exactly the struggle Caroline is having.
Her first instinct will be to tease me or make fun of me—she’s my big sister, after all—but I hope she’ll also be able to hear in my voice that this is something I don’t want to be teased about. I just want answers.
Finally she speaks. “Is this about Juniper?” I’m relieved to hear that there’s nothing but curiosity in her tone.
“Yes,” I say, the word escaping immediately. I push one hand through my hair, keeping the other on the steering wheel. “I can’t really figure out how I feel about her.”
“Well, you’re attracted to her, aren’t you?”
I swallow all the protests that rise in my throat, giving favor instead to the truth. “Yes. Is it obvious?”
“Maybe only to me,” she says. “But I know how you usually look at women, and the way you look at Juniper is different.”
Crap. Is it? “Different how?”
“Usually your eyes just skip over women. On Juniper they linger.”
Well. I can’t argue with that. I also can’t believe I’m having this conversation with my sister.
“So if you’re attracted to her, that means you like her on some level, right?” she goes on.
“Yes,” I say, trying to quell my frustration with my weird brain. “But that’s not enough for me to go on. Liking her on some level doesn’t mean I should pursue her. So how do I know?”
“I don’t know,” Caroline says with a sigh. “You just… like her. You miss her when she’s not around. You’re excited to see her. You want to take care of her.”
“But we argue all the time.”
“Well, do you like arguing with her?”
I do. I really do.
“And is it really arguing? Or is it bickering ? Because there’s a difference.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Bickering is petty back-and-forth stuff. Arguing is like, actual arguments that get heated or whatever.”
Our arguments do get heated, on a certain level—just not the way Caroline is probably thinking.
She doesn’t need to know that.
Another thought springs to mind, though, one that has my heart pumping with anxiety. “And what if—what if there’s something I’m keeping from her?”
“Hmm,” Caroline says. It’s not even a full word, but I can tell she’s dying to know.
“I’m not going to tell you,” I say, my voice gruff. “Don’t bother asking.”
When she answers, she sounds surlier than normal. “Fine. Is it something big?”
“Kind of.” I swallow. “Yes.”
“Will it change her opinion of you?”
“Possibly.” A few weeks ago I would have given a definite yes to that question, but I’m not so sure now.
“Then you absolutely cannot pursue her until you tell her. Under any circumstances.”
My heart sinks to hear her confirming the thought that’s been peeking around the corners in my mind. “Yeah,” I say, my voice heavy. “Okay.” I pause and then add, “Thanks.”
“Of course,” she says cheerfully. “This is what sisters are for.”
“Really? Because I seem to recall you telling me one time that your primary role in my life was to keep me humble,” I say.
“Well, that too,” she says. “Let me know how it goes. And by that I mean, let me know if you feel like sharing more details. There are questions I’m dying to ask.”
“I bet you are,” I mutter. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye!” she says, and then she hangs up.
And I’m left with my racing thoughts. How do I tell Juniper what I’ve been keeping from her? And how is she going to feel about me when she finds out?