Chapter 33
“Do you want to talk about it?” Will asks on the drive home.
“I’m just trying to forget.” I shake my head in an attempt to dislodge the vision of my mother spread eagle with Arthur between her legs.
“Aside from what you saw . . . I’m sure it’s upsetting. Seeing your parents like that.” He pauses. “And they were kind of shitty to you.”
“They were angry at each other,” I say. “Anyway, I don’t care what they do. It’s not like we have this tight family bond.”
It’s funny, it never occurred to me that my parents have a marriage.
It was always me against them. In my mind, they were this impenetrable unit: living together, working together.
Their lives revolved around theater in such a bubble that even I, their child, felt peripheral to it.
It occurs to me now that they might also only be peripheral to each other.
“They didn’t really want a child.” I’ve never said it out loud.
“I think they were trying to be normal people, and it seemed, I don’t know, like an interesting character choice.
Oh, what if we were parents. But they never really .
. . took to me. They involved me in their shows, and people liked that, so I became a useful prop.
But it’s like, offstage, in real life, at home, we were all just .
. . there. But all kind of doing our own thing. ”
“That’s a little sad.”
“I mean, I didn’t really know it was,” I say. “Until recently.” I glance over at him. His eyes are on the road, but he grabs my hand and brings it to his lips.
“You haven’t been loved well.”
“Maybe not.”
“Challenge accepted.” He kisses my hand again firmly. My heart clenches a little at the idea of being loved at all.
“You’re pretty good on these drives home,” I say. He laughs. “Except we aren’t going home. I’m taking shelter in your barn from my crazy parents.”
“I was thinking I’d let you stay in the house.”
“Oh, wow.”
“In my room, even.” He pulls into the driveway.
“This is so generous.”
“Yeah, well . . .” I look at him, laughing, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and something sparks, like I can see it all for the first time, this, him, me, what it could all be. What it could all mean if I let it.
He stops and we get out. I come around the truck and grab his shirt, pulling him toward me.
I kiss him with a new urgency that surprises me.
He hesitates, then wraps his arms around me, pulling me in.
I slide a hand up the back of his shirt, and he runs his hands through my hair, then down my body, crumpling the hem of my dress as his hands rise.
“You’re sure?” he asks, pulling away, his breath hot on my neck. “You’ve been through a lot today.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, yes, yes.”