“I didn’t just leave that,” I said, panic rising. “You blocked my number the night we broke up, remember? I tried to call. I was desperate. So I wrote you a whole letter. I poured everything into it. I told you what happened with my dad, how lost I felt, how scared I was that I’d ruined the one good thing in my life. I begged you to meet me at the kickball field that night. I said if you were willing to talk, to try, I’d wait there. And if you didn’t come, I’d understand that we couldn’t go back.”
Her entire body went still as if the air had been knocked out of her.
“What?” she whispered.
I leaned forward, hands clenched together between my knees. “I sat there for hours, Kira. I waited with this stupid glimmer of hope that maybe you’d show up. And when you didn’t…” I exhaled hard, voice cracking. “I thought that was your answer. That you didn’t want me anymore.”
“I never got that letter.” Her voice trembled. “I-I thought that was your answer. The note. The silence. I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”
I stared at her, every muscle in my body wound so tight I thought I might snap. “Where the hell did it go then? I put it onyour desk. Right next to your sketchbook, under that dumb ceramic giraffe you used as a paperweight.”
She blinked rapidly, her face pale in the moonlight. Then slowly, her mouth opened like she might speak but nothing came.
I sat still, a chill passing over me. And then, the thought hit.
“You were out of the house when I snuck in through your window and dropped the note off. Was your mom home that day?”
Her head snapped toward me. “What?”
“Your mom.” My voice was low but urgent now. “She never liked me. She always said I’d hold you back. That I wasn’t serious enough about my future. You don’t think she saw the letter and?—”
“Landon, no.” Kira’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that. Don’t drag my mom into this.”
“I’m not dragging anyone,” I said carefully, watching her expression tighten. “I’m just saying it makes sense. The letter didn’t vanish into thin air. Someone had to move it.”
She stood up suddenly, brushing invisible dust from her jeans. “She wouldn’t do that.”
“She could have,” I countered, rising to my feet too. “Maybe she thought she was protecting you. Maybe she thought she was saving you from me.”
“No,” she snapped. “My mom’s not perfect, but she wouldn’t manipulate something like that. You’re just looking for someone to blame.”
I stepped back, the distance between us growing again. “I’m not trying to blame anyone. I’m trying to understand what happened. Don’t you want to know why we fell apart?”
“Youare the reason we fell apart, Landon,” she said, voice brittle.
She turned toward the edge of the rooftop, wrapping herarms around herself. The wind picked up, rustling the takeout containers we’d forgotten beside the blanket.
“Coming here was a bad idea,” she whispered.
Panic laced my chest. “What?”
Kira pressed her fingers to her temples. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I could never be just friends with you, and this was the reminder I needed of why we can’t be anything more either.”
“Don’t say that.” I reached for her, but she pulled away. Something in me cracked. “Stay. We can talk?—”
“No.” Kira turned to go, and all I could do was watch. “Just give me some space, okay?”
We’ve already had seven years of space, was what I wanted to say. Instead, I watched her descend the steps, leaving me alone once again.
14
KIRA/LANDON
The Burrow Bitches
Ariadne: When was the last time you saw your parents?
Kira: Hmm about 3 months?
