Mean. Angry. A tad stalkerish. A little psychotic. Was sent to juvie for God knows what. Has a huge dick. Knows how to use his tongue. An extreme dirty talker.
The list of the things I can’t say might be longer than the one that I can. But for my grandmother, I try.
“Well, he’s on the hockey team. He’s a defenseman—a really good one.” My throat burns slightly, so I take a drink of my water. “He has no family. His mom died when he was a kid, and his father is a monster.”
My mom and grandmother stay silent, almost like they’re waiting for me to say more when, finally, their eyes widen, and they nod frantically.
“Well, he sounds … great,” my mom says, eyes still wide. “So … what is it you like about him?”
I frown, fidgeting anxiously with my straw paper.
“To be honest, I don’t really know,” I say. “I just …” I sigh. “Never mind.”
“What is it, babe?” my mom whispers.
“Nothing,” I murmur. “It really doesn’t matter anyway. What’s done is done, and it’s over. Dad can relax now.”
“Where did you meet him?” Nena asks. “At NEU or before you transferred here?”
I swallow nervously. For so long, I’ve wanted to tell my mom the truth. Maybe it’s because my emotions are high after everything that’s been going on—or not going on—with Hendrix, but I suddenly feel the urge to spill my guts about it all.
Okay, maybe not every single detail, but … some things.
“I met him at that hockey camp in New Hampshire,” I finally mutter, playing with my straw. “He was sort of a dick. Well, at least at first.”
“Eh, sometimes, they are.” Nena shrugs. “But then he got better?”
I chew my lip nervously. The words are right on the tip of my tongue, but how am I going to say them?
Slowly, my eyes meet my mom’s. “He was a jerk until he found me in a closet, having a panic attack.” I blurt the words out before I can stop myself. A restaurant setting probably isn’t the place for this conversation, but if I don’t get them all out now, I may never.
“What?” my mom whispers, her eyebrows pulling together. “What happened? Were there … loud noises?”
My mom knows that the only times I’ve had a panic attack were when there were sounds that my brain interpreted as gunshots. And all of those times, she was either with me, or I told her.
“No.” I look down, still fiddling nervously with the paper from my straw.
“What was it, I?” Nena says, worried.
Slowly, my eyes lift to both of them.
“It was Nick Pelletier,” I utter, hating that saying the name hurts my chest. This man should have no effect on me, and yet, somehow, he does.
Their eyes fly to each other before looking back at me, and my mom’s face crumples.
“You … you know who Nick is?”
Bobbing my head up and down pathetically, I sigh. “Yeah. I … had a friend do some digging.”
“Why?” she whispers sadly. “You can always ask me, Isla. Always.”
“Because Dad is …” I look over at the bar to see my dad and Papa both laughing. “He’s Dad. He loves me.” I cringe. “Sometimes, I think he loves me too much. Can you imagine how sad he would be if he thought …” The words die in my throat for a split second. “If he thought that he wasn’t enough for me?” I sniffle. “It’s never been about him being enough. I just … I got curious—that’s all.”
“And what about now, sweetie?” Nena asks just as my mom puts her hand on mine.
“Now I hope I never see him again,” I admit. “I have no interest in getting to know him, I swear. That’s another reason why I never said anything to you. He looked right through me, like I wasn’t there. And as bad as that hurt, in that moment, I guess that was necessary. It told me that I had everything I would ever need. And he’s not among them.”
“That awful motherfucker,” Nena hisses, and my mom doesn’t even look surprised.
