I flinch, taken aback. “HowIam?”
“Spontaneous. Thoughtless, sometimes.”
“God, Tati. That’s really what you think of me?”
“I just wish you’d learn to control your impulses,” she says, and god, I thought we were getting somewhere. Oblivious, she goes on, “I mean, you practically assaulted someone at your job.You’ve got to do better.”
Beneath the tabletop, I ball my hands into fists, feeling like a kettle left on a flame too long. I want out—I want outnow. “I told you what happened. Can I please go out with Henry later?”
“Of course.”
She loves Henry, Mr. Good Influence. He’d never get himself into trouble at work. He doesn’t have a thoughtless bone in his body. He’s always in control of his impulses.
But that’s just not me.
There was a time, long ago, when Tati applauded my spontaneity. Encouraged it, even. Like when I was in second grade and I used Sharpies to draw an undersea mural on the wall of my bedroom while my parents fixed dinner in the kitchen. They were less than pleased when they discovered what I’d done, but when Tati found out, she complimented my creativity and convinced my parents to put away the touch-up paint.
That mural lived on my bedroom wall until just before Tati put the house on the market. That’s when she intruded on my space and my life, brandishing a can of boring white paint and a list of sky-high expectations.
I abandon my carrots and my sister and retreat to my room, where I climb into bed and bury myself beneath the covers.
I don’t feel like going to the pool anymore.
Henry
“Want to do something wild?” Piper asks.
We’ve just left Going Coconuts, a diner Piper suggested,where we ended up with a spread of desserts: apple pie à la mode, bread pudding, an enormous chocolate brownie with pecans, and two spoons. Our order was Piper’s idea, which I went along with because she was in a crappy mood—something to do with Tati, though she was unwilling to elaborate.
I wasn’t in a great mood either. When I got home from the park, I found a few texts from Silas and Ricky, telling me they’d run into Whitney downtown.
Silas
Thought you two were over.
Ricky
Wouldn’t’ve known it by the way she was talking.
Silas
She was the same when we went for coffee a few weeks back. If you guys are done, she never got the memo.
And then there was a string of texts from Whitney. Nothing urgent—nothing new, even. Requests to call, appeals to talk, wishes sent out in little blue bubbles.Let’s try again. It’ll work this time. Please, Henry.These are roads we’ve walked, roads I can’t keep walking. She has her parents and her friends, people better equipped to give her emotional support than I am.
Jesus—I need emotional support too.
Instead, I ended up nailed to the wall by guilt.
“What do you mean, wild?” I ask Piper.
“You know, out of your comfort zone.”
I take her hand as we navigate the sidewalk, busy with the after-dinner crowd. “But I like my comfort zone. It’s…comfortable.”
“You don’t ever feel like being spontaneous?”
“I’m sorry, have we met?”
