The pillow against the sleigh headboard of my old bed, in my old room, supports my lower back. Goodness only knows after two weeks of eighteen-hour days, my body feels every stepI’ve taken in those atrocious, de-feminizing pair of no-slip work shoes.
“I get it, Ev. I do.”
“Thank you.”
But instead of real commiseration, Oakley squints hard. “I get that it’s easier to convince yourself the guy is a loser and to write the whole thing off than to consider there might be an explanation. This way, you don’t have to deal with possibilities.”
“Possibilities?”
“Yeah, if he comes back, you’ve already labeled him a jerk—the perfect reason not to go out on a real date, no matter how great his explanation is.” She drags the back of her hand along her forehead. “Whew, right?”
I crank my eyebrows to a sharp pitch and hold. Then relent. Yawn. It isn’t worth debating. “I’m tired, Oakley.”
“Yeah, tired of feeling.”
I pop off the headboard, too tired for her harassment. “Excuse me? I feel.”
She nods knowingly and as if she’s scored a point. “Oh, I know you do, but ever since Lance you invent reasons to not go out on dates when asked. Seriously, do you sit around and make lists of excuses?”
Sure, I love lists—but I most certainly do not have one with that header. “I’ve been busy the last three years, thank you very much.” Finishing law school, preparing for the bar. Learning the ropes of attorney life, including navigating the pitfalls of working for self-important, unethical, entitled partners.
Oakley again dismisses my…excuses…with a flap of her skinny little hand. “You’re talking to a future medical student prepping for her entrance exams. You can’t out-busy me—and I still find time to date.”
I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth and count, praying I make it to ten. Are brothers this maddening?
Her hand snakes out from the blanket and rests on my shin, squeezing. “Okay, look. I didn’t mean to set you off this bad, but listen. You’re probably right about Knox. I can’t imagine why the guy couldn’t wait five minutes for you to finish in the kitchen.”
I should box up that stupid tree and pitch it in the dumpster.
“So, fine, he’s not the one for you, but please open yourself up again so that when the right one does come along you don’t miss him.”
I’m nowhere close to crying, of course. The burning in my eyes is merely from the super dried-out air courtesy of the heater running nonstop. And that is thanks to an arctic air mass that lost its sense of direction, liked the South, and once it got here, decided to stick around for a while.
I pat around the nightstand for the squeeze bottle of eye drops lodged between a tissue box and a tube of lip balm.
“Nothing Lance said deserves a second thought, Everly. Never has.”
Forget the balm. I glare daggers. Oak has crossed the Rubicon now, what with her soft, compassionate tone that vaporizes my defenses. Yes, I confided in her, but that in no way whatsoever gives her the right to use the things I told her against me.
“Yes, you can be quite serious, but not too serious, and, as your sister, I can testify that you most definitely know how to have fun if you want to.”
I snort a laugh.
Her lips pucker. “That may have come out wrong.”
The throb in my temple builds.
“What I’m saying is, yes, you’re a thinker type and your idea of fun is more cerebral than most people’s, but—”
“Stop already!”
Oakley wilts back, stumping herself for once. She chews at her lip, pitying with her eyes.
I pat her leg. “It’s alright. I get your point, and, believe it or not, I’m happy with who I am. Yes, the things Lance said stung for a while, but I guess the hardest part was…” I search for words that do my feelings justice. “It hurts coming to realize that you were fully invested in someone, only to discover the entire time they were picking you apart in their head.”
She nods slowly. “I imagine that makes it hard to trust again.”
“It does, but trustme. I’m not so hung up on Lance’s faultfinding that I can’t get past him.”
