It’s going to turn into a disaster at some point if I’m not honest with him.
He needs to know how I feel.
Maybe talking to him on his birthday isn’t such a bad thing. Then at least he can decide whether I’m a good gift or a booby prize.
We eat the cake, and Emmy gets frosting literally everywhere. On her face, in her hair, somehow on her knee. Sophie’s trying to clean her up with inadequate café napkins.
“I’ll ask for some wet towels,” I offer, standing and heading to the counter.
I’m halfway there when an idea occurs to me. Should I ask for a takeaway box for the rest of the cake? But I don’t want to return with one and have Sophie think I’ve overstepped. I head back to ask her.
I’m a few steps from the booth when I hear my name, which makes me freeze.
“How can you stand looking at him?” Sophie asks.
My stomach clenches.
Then Jared’s voice comes, lower, harder to hear, but I catch it. “It’s difficult sometimes…”
I step backward.
Tears blur my vision. I press the heel of my palm into my eye sockets, trying to subdue them.
It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ll survive this.
I take a deep breath, but it turns into a sobby sort of hiccup.
This is why eavesdropping is never, ever, a good idea.
You never hear good things about yourself. I don’t think in the history of the earth, anyone has ever eavesdropped and heard “Oh, I just can’t decide what their best qualities are. There are too many of them.”
But knowing that doesn’t make it hurt less.
Jared finds it difficult to look at me.
Of course he does. I find it difficult to look in the mirror, and I’ve had a year to get used to this face.
I turn blindly toward the counter, staggering there on shaky legs.
The barista is one of those intimidatingly cool people with geometric tattoos and an undercut. They hand me a stack of damp paper towels, and I lurch back toward the booth, trying to figure out what to do. I can’t go back in there. I can’t sit across from Jared knowing he struggles to look at me, pretending everything’s fine while Emmy draws more tentacle arms and Sophie knows her brother is forcing himself to be with someone he finds it difficult to look at.
I live right down the hall from him. It’s convenient. We have fun together. But while I’ve built it up in my head as this fun tale of extreme compatibility and destiny pulling us together, Jared has apparently always been aware that it’ll never turn into something serious.
It’s not his fault, is it? I would have probably felt the same before my accident. I never would have dated anyone who looks like me.
My hands are shaking as I carry the damp towel back to our table, schooling my face into something that hopefully passes for normal.
“There you are,” Jared says, smiling at me with such warmth that it makes everything worse. How can he smile at me like that when he just told his sister I’m difficult to look at?
“Here are the towels,” I say, my voice sounds weird, too high. “But I just remembered I need to give Patches her medication. The vet said the timing’s really important.”
Patches doesn’t take medication. She’s disgustingly healthy despite her diet of eating inappropriate things whenever she gets the chance.
“Oh.” Jared’s face falls. “But we were going to?—”
“I know. I’m sorry. Happy birthday though.” I lean down to ruffle Emmy’s sticky hair, avoiding looking at Sophie entirely. “See ya, Emmy. Don’t eat too much cake.”
“Bye, Felix!” She waves enthusiastically, flinging cake crumbs.
