Like we could have a second chance.
That unwelcome tension in me grows.The longing to see him is fierce and unrelenting, a lightning bolt of needy energy.Do it.Just do it.
But reason steps in, shutting down my impulse.I must accept what I cannot change.I’m still me, and he’s still better off without me.
I need to put Henry Greene out of my mind.
Or, at least, do what I always do—tuck his memory into a dim corner where it doesn’t hurt quite so much, and only pull it out in the quiet at night, when I’m alone and desperate to feelsomething, even if it’s sadness.I’ve become skilled at deflection and distraction.
Only it’s a challenge relying on those skillshere.
With deep, strengthening breaths, I close my eyes and square my shoulders.I’ve been at sea, atop mountains, in deep jungles, and in a myriad of dangerous situations, and I’ve survived them all.I can survive this.I put on my comfortably numb armor and prepare myself to face the family that has gone on without me.
CHAPTER4
Venus
“Venus!They’re here!”My father’s voice bellows from the bottom of the stairs.The front door opens and closes, excited greetings are exchanged, and the unmistakable yap of a dog adds to the chaos.
I’ve been home only a few hours.I had tea with Christie, assisted my father with the groceries upon his return, unpackedsomewhat, and showered.I’m rundown from travel and nerves, but I’ve ticked the necessary boxes.
A dinner with Ivy and her new boyfriend adds tension, as it will take every iota of my remaining energy to bepleasant.Ivy’s the pleasant one.She’s so skilled at it that anyone in her vicinity has to make a concerted effort not to seem awkward and unsociable by comparison.
It’s a cosmic irony that we ended up in the same family.
I rush downstairs so as not to be rude.
Ivy looks as lovely and perfect as always.Her brown hair falls like a satin sheet around her shoulders, and her blue irises sparkle under her pristine makeup and thick lashes.She wears sandals that showcase her pink-painted toenails and a form-fitting sundress covered in pastel polka dots that even I find adorable, although dresses, polka dots, and open-toed shoes don’t exist in my wardrobe.
The tall man beside her looks equally well-dressed, as do Dad and Christie, each wearing varying shades of chinos and button-down shirts, though Christie’s is silky, and he wears a floral scarf as a tie.
A glance at my cut-off jean shorts andBe Kind to Naturet-shirt assures me that I’m underdressed, not that I own anything suitable for a dinner party.
“Venus, I love that you’re here!”Ivy coos while a dog barks at my feet.She hesitates before lunging for a hug.I allow her embrace, and jasmine perfume tickles my nose.“I’m so excited for you to meet Gil.Don’t be weird.”
She whispers the last part, and I’m yanked to the past again, when she used to say the same thing whenever her friends came over.
Gil Tripp offers a gentle handshake, smiling affably.“I’ve heard a lot about you, Venus.Nice ink.”With an unsure glance at the others, he adds, “Not that I have ink.Or mind that someone else does.Two of my brothers have tattoos.I’ve just never… needles, you know.”
He releases my hand with a nervous flourish, as if he couldn’t tell if he’d shaken it too long.It’s nice not to be the only awkward person in the room.
“Those are her design,” Dad says, blank-faced, though sounding proud.“Venus is an artist.”
“I’m an environmental scientist and botanist,” I counter.
His hands go into the pockets of his gray chinos, and he teeters on his feet.“Hmm, you think you’re a scientist who dabbles in art.I believe you’re an artist, determined to be a scientist.What you should be is an artistanda scientist—equally and equally important.”
“Are you suggesting that a wall painting is just as important as a scientific discovery that betters people’s lives?”I challenge.
“Art betters people’s lives, too,” Dad returns in his typically calm voice.“The effects may not be as measurable as in the scientific community, but everyone needs beauty and inspiration.”
“You surprise me with your vague generalities.A safe and healthy environment is infinitely more important than pretty decorations,” I huff, but my heart palpitates when I take in their distressed expressions, as if I’ve said something wrong.Did I?“But…”
They watch me like I’m a ticking bomb, nearing the end of its countdown.
I try to formulate a better response, but it gets tangled up in memories.My father’s perpetual mild-manneredness, while a comfort, proved irritating growing up.Henevergot mad—and I don’t use absolutes lightly.
Even when I was angry.
