When I look back at Annie, she has already retreated behind her force field of barbed wire. It’s actually fuckin’ terrifying how quickly that happened.
“I gotta go bring my parents home,” she mutters to me. “After the wedding, okay? We’ll talk.”
“Annie, honey.”
She lifts up and gives me a peck on the lips. “Later.” She walks away.
Leaving me, forcing me… to really think it through.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Annie
Mayand I lay under the covers in my giant bed, eating Pocky and watching a reality television show where everyone shouts at each other.
“Ready to talk about it?” she asks, as we watch a piece of bread fly towards another cast member.
I groan.
She opens her arm. I curl into her side without hesitation, like I’ve done since we were little. Same dynamic, same comfort, just with more adult problems and better snacks.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I mumble into her shoulder.
“Do what?”
“Not fuck it up,” I admit.
She doesn’t push. Just rubs my arm in those long, even strokes she’s perfected since childhood. She used to do this when I’d lose my mind after getting in trouble—when I’d scream at our mom for being cruel, when I’d take the fall for May’s broken vase or missing homework because I could absorb the punishment better than she could.
“I don’t know how to be in something that isn’t already halfway to disaster,” I whisper. “I only know how to crash into things. Not keep them.”
May stays quiet, which is how I know she’s really listening.
“I like him,” I say, then exhale. “I really, really, really like him.”
May raises an eyebrow.
I ignore her because she knows exactly what I mean.
“And it’s been—what, a week?” I continue. I don’t mention the months of Ali and Chef. “That’s ridiculous. It’s ridiculous even for me. And that’s saying something.”
May makes a soft sound in her throat. But she stays calm. Always calm.
I keep going because if I stop, I’ll lose my nerve.
“Something in me is screaming that he’s just another one of my flaky, self-destructive choices. That I’m just doing what I always do—jumping into something dramatic because I’m bored or sad or lonely. That I picked the hot guy with a weird job and good dick because I thought it would be a good story or because I liked the chaos.”
“You think Nico is chaos?”
“No,” I say instantly. “That’s the thing. He’s not. He’s… good. He’s stable and safe. Kind. And I don’t know what to do with someone like that.” I pause, fingers fiddling with the Pocky wrapper. “He’s the kind of person who makes careful decisions. Who thinks about other people.” I look at the television, where something else goes flying across a table and towards a head. “I think he’s the first person I’ve ever liked for who he is. Not for what he can do for me.”
I stare up at the ceiling, overwhelmed by the weight of everything I feel.
“What if I ruin it?” I whisper. “What if I scare him off? What if he figures out I’m not actually funny or hot or interesting—I’mjust crazy and exhausting and high maintenance and dramatic? Or that I’m too loud or cranky or cry too much. Or justtoo much? What if he realizes I’m not a partner, I’m a liability?”
May finally pulls back enough to look at me. She’s got that look on her face, the one that says I am your sister and also your fiercest advocate, so shut the fuck up with that nonsense.
“Annie,” she says, steady and certain. “You’ve always been a lot. You know that.”
