“Changes?” I look up at him. “How?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t want to go back to how things have been. I want to be part of your life, not just at work or during December. How do I do that?”
As soon as he asks, I know the answer. He won’t like it, but it might be the best road to repairing our relationship. I swallow through the lump in my throat at the same time a laugh bubbles up. I begin to giggle.
“Are you losing it?” he asks, frowning.
I shake my head. “Therapy. You and me, together. Not with Lumby, but with a new doctor. A fresh start.”
“Fuck.”
That makes me laugh harder. “It’s not so bad. Sometimes it’s actually nice to just talk to someone who won’t judge you. That’s why I write.”
“You write?”
“My journals. You’ve seen them.”
“Oh, right. Your diary.”
“It’s not that,” I say carefully. “It’s more like . . . poetry, I guess. It makes me happy.”
“I didn’t know.”
How could he? I never told him. “Well, you do now. And one day—” Maybe this is too much for today. I shouldn’t push it. But, to my surprise, I want him to know. “I think I want to try and publish it.”
He rubs my arm. “That’s—I don’t know anything about that, but if that’s what you want, I’m sure it’ll happen.”
I grin. It’s as good an answer as I’ll get for now.
“So what’re we going to do about this mess?” he asks. “I assume since you’re here, it’s over with that photographer and you’ve got nowhere to live.”
My smile vanishes.Finn. If I can forgive my dad and Rich and move forward with them, then I can do the same with Finn. Once he understands where I was coming from, and he will now that I feel more equipped to explain, then we can patch up the holes we exposed last night and start on firmer foundation. “I love him,” I tell my dad.
“Banana . . .”
“I know. It’s soon. It seems irrational.” I pull back to look him in the face. “It’s not. He’s really good to me, Dad. In a roundabout way, he’s the reason you and I are having this conversation. He’s showing me how to be comfortable in my skin. Well, mostly. I’m working on it.”
My dad looks torn, and I don’t blame him. It sounds shifty, any way you slice it. “How does he pay the bills?”
“His pictures.”Kind of. “And he used to work on Wall Street, so I guess he does some trading on the side.”
His posture relaxes. “You don’t say?”
Now I’m speaking my dad’s language. But his question still stands.
WhatamI going to do about this mess?
Because that’s what I am—a mess. I’m realizing I’ll never have my shit together. And maybe that’s okay. Finn fell in love with my mess, and that makes it a little bit magical.
It’s become ours.
I ran away, though. I’m still learning to manage the emotionally-stunted teenager inside me. Will Finn understand that? How can I tap into the adult I need to be rather than indulge the adolescent I can’t seem to outgrow?
I’m not sure. All I know is, I’m not ready to walk away from him. I’m ready to run back.
31
As soon as I hear a key in the door, my eyes open. I didn’t shut the blinds last night; the room is bright and cheery. This time, it only takes me a second to realize there’s no key. No Halston. I haven’t really slept all night, startling awake every time I hear a noise, thinking it’s her. I’ve been too on edge to do much more than shut my eyes, my emotions pinging between worry, anger, and hurt.
