Chapter Nineteen
The Broken Promise
Ingrid
Not to be dramatic, but I can’t breathe.
We’re stuck on this stupid tramway with five other people, and the view is breathtaking.
But I can’t enjoy it.
Because Wilder lied to me.
Or omitted the truth.
Either way.
The cable car is quiet. Too quiet.
Wilder is off to my left and Cash is somewhere behind us.
I don’t dare look at him.
Margot having cancer is horrible, but I don’t understand why Wilder didn’t just tell me.
Why was he going to wait until we got to California?
Then, it hits me.
He doesn’t want to turn around.
I rub a frustrated hand over my face. We’re all running from something.
Cash is running from his parents. I’m running from Isla. And Wilder is running from… I don’t think even he knows.
“Ingrid,” Wilder says quietly behind me.
His hand finds my shoulder and I close my eyes, annoyed.
We’re supposed to be bonding, checking items off the bucket list. We’re supposed to be enjoying a week break from reality. Supposed to be having fun.
I miss when things were easy with the three of us.
Or easier.
Now, everything is so complicated.
Wilder moves behind me, his hands slipping around my waist hesitantly.
I don’t push him away.
Maybe I should.
“I’m sorry, Ingrid,” he says in my ear.
My eyes open, and all I see in front of me is endless sky. Endless blue sky and fluffy white clouds.
Sometimes, I wonder if we’ve forced this too much. If we’ve asked Cash to do the impossible. To set aside how he feels to selfishly keep him in our lives.
It’s been an uphill battle.
And Wilder hiding his stepmother’s cancer is another hurdle.
Cash knew. He knew.
It just leaves me feeling left out even though I know that was never Wilder’s intention.
I feel like one of those clouds in the big, blue sky. Here today. Gone tomorrow. Easy to replace.
“Are you going to ignore me for the rest of the ride?” Wilder asks, his voice rough. “This is the longest aerial tram ride in the country,” he reminds me.
“We’re 10,000 feet above the Rio Grande Valley,” I say to him.
“I know,” Wilder replies instantly.
“And in two minutes, it’ll all be over.”
“We can ride it again,” he says.
I shake my head. “I don’t want to ride it again, Wilder. I wanted to enjoy this ride. I wanted to mark off a bucket list item that didn’t include walking in on Cash jerking off or listening to you educate him on condoms.”
“This item has been mild in comparison,” Wilder offers.
I groan. “This has been worse than either of those two things,” I make clear. “And I don’t know how to make you understand how hurt I am right now.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Ingrid.”
Of course, he didn’t. He’s too busy worrying about his grandparents or trying to talk his mom into taking less shifts at the hospital. Or trying to earn back Cash’s friendship.
He has a lot on his plate, and I’m afraid that one day he’ll have to make room for something else.
He’s not going to abandon his family—or Cash.
He’s going to leave me.
I can feel it in my bones.
The cable car slows, and I hate that I haven’t taken a single photo.
“We didn’t get a picture,” I tell Wilder.
He whips his phone out and holds it up, preparing for a selfie.
I force a smile, but I know it doesn’t reach my eyes.
Wilder snaps the picture anyway.
Then, we’re filing off the cable car and Cash is commenting on how hungry he is.
“Why don’t you grab a snack from the car,” Wilder says to him, pointing to the parking lot. “Blondie and I need to talk.”
I don’t like the sound of that.
“Yeah, okay,” Cash answers as his gaze shifts to me. “Are you going to be alright?” he asks me.
Wilder scoffs. “She’s going to be fine.”
“I’d like Ingrid to answer that question,” Cash says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Oh, my gawd,” I grumble. “I’ll be fine. Go eat.”
“I’m really getting sick of his attitude,” Wilder mumbles when Cash is out of earshot.
I shrug. “He means well.”
“If that’s what you want to think,” Wilder replies. Then, his face softens. “Let’s take a walk.”
I don’t slap his hand away when he reaches for mine. Instead, I let our fingers tangle together and I ignore the ache in my chest.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Margot when Cash knew,” Wilder begins as I kick a rock on the concrete.
I say nothing. So, he continues.
“Elowyn reached out to Cash, and Cash told me about Margot’s cancer,” he says, the words surprisingly calm. “I haven’t talked to anyone. I’ve just read Elowyn’s text messages. If you want, you can read them.”
Read them? No, I don’t want to do that. If Elowyn wanted to reach out to Wilder, it’s not really my place to see what she said.
“It’s okay,” I tell him.
Wilder’s fingers tighten around mine. “There’s something else.”
I stop walking, my spine ramrod straight. “What?”
He stops walking, too, and faces me, keeping my hand tucked warmly in his.
“I got accepted to NYU,” he reveals.
NYU? When did he apply? What did he apply for?
Why—once again—didn’t he tell me?
As if he can read my mind, he says, “I didn’t think I’d get in, and I didn’t tell you when I did because I’m not leaving you.”
I should be furious. I should break up with him. Or give him a piece of my mind. But Wilder got into NYU.
That’s not just amazing; it’s a dream of his that’s coming to life.
“When did you find out?”
Wilder exhales. “Fucking Cash. He went through my mail.”
I don’t know whether to scream or cry. Cash always knows everything first.
“You really need to get him out of your house,” I try to make a joke. But the words come out with more seriousness than I intend. “Or at the very least, out of your room.”
“I’m not going,” Wilder reinforces.
“Why not?” I ask him.
“I already told you,” he answers. “I’m not leaving you. I won’t do a long-distance relationship.”
“It’s not that far away,” I say. “I could take a train and be in the city by the end of the day.”
“That’s too far, Ingrid. I need to be close to you.”
My head is heavy and my throat is stinging. “The acceptance rate is so low. You got in. You have to go.”
“This conversation is going nowhere, Blondie.”
He won’t leave without me.
Which means the choice isn’t really his anymore.
But I’m not sure what that would look like for me—or for him. Would he stay in the dorms? Rent an apartment? Get a job?
How is he going to pay for this?
Instead of asking those questions and filling his mind with doubt, I take a sobering breath.
“If you move to New York,” I tell him, “I’ll go with you.”
Wilder scratches the back of his neck. “You have another year left at the community college. I’ll reapply next year.”
I let his hand go and reach to trace his jaw with my fingers. “What would you do there? Study? Major in?”
He nods slowly. “Film.”
A slow smile spreads across my face. “Really?”
“Really.”
He has to go. There’s no other choice.
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek as an idea forms.
“What if I finish the next year at the community college while you get acclimated to New York? Then, I’ll move.”
Wilder lets out a long groan. “I told you already. I can’t be away from you.”
“We could take turns traveling on Friday afternoons. Spend Saturdays together. Go home on Sunday.”
“I love you,” he whispers before kissing me softly. “But I am not leaving you.”
“It’s a year,” I challenge. “Not even that. You have two semesters, like four months each. We can handle it.”
“You can handle it,” Wilder rephrases. “I can’t.”
This is not a fight either of us will win right now. It’s a conversation we need to have after we’ve thought about it for a while and considered all our options.
But before I can say that, Wilder adds a caveat.
“I can’t afford it,” he says. “Even if I wanted to go—even if you went with me—I don’t have the money to go.”
“What about student loans?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “If I could pay for half of it and take out student loans for the rest, then yeah. Maybe. But you know I’m weird about money.”
“I know,” I assure him as I place my hand on his chest. “I know having debt is hard for you because your mom struggled so much when you were younger.”
Wilder rarely talks about it, but he wasn’t allowed to answer the phone in case a creditor was calling.
Debt scares him almost as much as heights.
“Why don’t we put this on the back burner?” I suggest. “And talk about Margot.”
“I’m not going home right now,” he says. “I need this trip.”
“How is Elowyn?” I ask, ignoring the sheer terror written all over his face at the idea of having to turn this car around and drive home.
“I don’t know,” he honestly replies. “I haven’t talked to her.”
Wilder never responds well to advice—especially when it’s not asked.
I’m going to give it to him anyway.
“I’m sure this hasn’t been easy on her,” I say carefully.
“What am I supposed to do?” he asks, his eyes searching my face helplessly.
“Maybe she just needs you to answer,” I offer carefully. “Not fix anything. Just answer.”
“My dad is ignoring her. He really is the shittiest.”
I laugh softly. “Elowyn is not your dad. She’s not even her mom. She’s someone—like you—who didn’t ask to be born—but was. You’re in the same boat.”
“She was given everything,” Wilder quietly reminds me.
“Family is everything, Wilder. Even if they don’t always get along.”
“I didn’t choose this family,” he defends himself.
“You didn’t.”
“I can’t help that they’re falling apart,” he continues.
“I fell apart. My mom fell apart. And other than my grandparents, no one cared. My dad didn’t care.
Neither did Margot. They had Elowyn. They had their perfect little family while I had to room with Cash until my grandparents could make room for us.
” He pauses, breathing hard. “Now that Margot’s dying they want to be a family?
Where has my dad been for the last twenty years?
I’ve been right here, Ingrid. I’ve always been right here. ”
My arms wrap around his shoulders as I pull him closer.
This was never about keeping something from me. This was always about Wilder and his relationship with his dad.
He doesn’t want to deal with it, and that’s what he does when he talks to me. He lays bare the rawest parts of himself and hopes they don’t scare me.
But they don’t.
I know Wilder.
I’ve always known exactly who he is.
“I’m right here,” I say to him as I rub his back.
His arms slip around my waist, and he buries his face in my neck.
Maybe that’s why the three of us—Widler, Cash and me—stick so close. No one really chose us first.
“We’re your family, Wilder. Cash and me. We’re not choosing anyone over you.”
He visibly relaxes.
We stay like that for a while—wrapped up in each other—before Wilder pulls back to look at me.
“I think there’s something wrong with me,” Wilder whispers, his face pale.
“Why?” I ask, trying to keep the horror out of my voice.
“Because when Cash told me about Margot, I felt… nothing. I still feel nothing. I should feel something, right?”
But the truth is, I don’t know.
I don’t know how we’re supposed to grieve or react or love people. I used to think I did, but not anymore.
“You get to feel however you feel, Wilder,” I tell him.
He drops his head to my shoulder and years of exhaustion come out as he says, “Sometimes, I wish my dad had left right away.”
I don’t respond.
Because I don’t know how to.