He shook his head. “Don’t make this about me.”
But it was. Even dazed and hurt, I knew this anger, this resentment, was about something more than Dr.Ward. Someone other than me. This was not my fault. I drew in a painful breath. “You think I’m hung up on my mother? What about you and your dad?”
“What about him?”
“Aren’t you still trying to impress him? You want his approval, the same way I want my mom’s. Only it’s too late. For both of us.”
“The difference is you can pretend. Easy enough to makebelieve your mother loves you when she’s never around. I lived with my father’s disapproval every day.”
Oh, Sam. My chest ached for him, for the boy he had been, for the man he’d made himself. I wanted to go back in time and hug him. But I wanted to hurt him, too. Because he hurt me.
“I never knew your dad. But I’ve met your family. They love you. They’re proud of you. I’m not making that up.”
Up went the eyebrow. “Aren’t you full of giggles and rainbows today.”
“And you’re full of shit. You go on doing the same thing, too. Day after day, year after year. Youknowthings won’t ever be any different, and you don’t even try to change.”
He scowled. “I think we’re done here.”
I dug frantically in my bag for my wallet. “Oh, we’re done.”
Shaking, I pulled out money for my tea. Slapped the bills on the counter and walked away.
—
I don’t remember much of the trip back to Reeti’s. Back home. Only that it rained, and every other passenger on the bus was coughing or sneezing, gray puffs of germs that mingled with the diesel in the air.
I tramped the wet sidewalk, head down, shoulders hunched, wounded and confused. I’d always tried to be positive. To see the best in people, including Sam. I’d never imagined he was capable of cruelty.
I glanced up at the glowing windows of our apartment. I couldn’t face Toni or Reeti right now. Toni was thriving at the bakery, surrounded by Clerys and buoyed by Fiadh’s example of fearless self-acceptance. Reeti was beginning to explore a relationship with Vir, even if at this point it consisted of texts andlong phone calls alone in her room. I didn’t want to be a drag on their happiness. Also maybe I was jealous.
I went around back, where a wrought iron bench occupied a patch of slate and gravel between the dust bins on one side and Tim’s car on the other. The seat was wet. A miserable wind slid between the houses, plastering a plastic bag against the railings.
Tim came out with the garbage. I took a step back, balling my icy hands in my pockets. Too late.
“Everything all right?” he called.
“Fine.” I huddled deeper into my jacket. “Go back inside.”
“You should come in, too. Out of the rain.”
I clenched my chattering jaw. “I won’t rust.”
I watched the almost imperceptible calculations flit over his face. Good manners dictated he go away, as instructed. I could see his reluctance to intrude warring with his desire to help and felt a tug of sympathy.
I stayed stubbornly put.
He deposited his bag in the bin. Dragging his keys from his pocket, he depressed the fob. The car beeped. He opened the passenger door. “Get in. Please,” he added, the manners asserting themselves.
I shook my head. “I’ll get your upholstery wet.”
He stood there patiently, without speaking, holding the door. The rain spangled his hair, darkening the shoulders of his sweater.
I let out an annoyed huff and got into the car. Tim walked around the hood, sliding in behind the leather-wrapped steering wheel. I refused to look at him.
He handed me a handkerchief, like a white flag in the corner of my vision.
“I’m not crying,” I said as I dried the rain from my face and hands.
