And she told me she wasn’t going to hurt me.
CHAPTER TWENTY
GEMMA
Heroes act in spite of their fear, while the rest of us act because of our fear.
—JONATHANLOCKWOODHUIE
It’s a good thing I’d finished my screenplay in a week because since my ride in the basket with Karson, I’ve been doing nothing but comparing myself with the woman he left. I don’t know much about her, but that makes this even worse. Because I possess the world’s biggest imagination.
I told Karson I wasn’t jealous of Amber, but I am a little actually. She got to marry the man of my dreams, and she wasted the opportunities I would have savored.
I’m not one to moon over men, so I didn’t plan to be all dramatic and depressed. It’s just that since I found out about Karson’s divorce, I’ve spent so much time every morning trying to figure out how to fix us that by the time I get myself up, it’s bedtime again. Not that I’ve been sleeping well, but bed is a good escape from my roommates’ worried expressions and sad attempts at cheering me up.
Here it is, the following Tuesday, and I have yet to decide if I’m going back to class. I want to see Karson, to see if he’s struggling as much as I am. But if he’s still not over Amber, then I shouldn’t expect him to regret ending our three-day relationship. How naive that I’d been obsessing about the redhead he’d taught how to shoot, when he’d actually promised to love someone else forever.
I’m so focused on comparing myself to Karson’s ex that I don’t really care anymore about being compared to my sister. In fact, she might have some more psychological insight to offer. So I drop by her monstrosity of a house before heading to the fire station with the excuse of an early birthday gift for Forrest. Also, since I’d gotten him an RC police cruiser, I need to get it out of my bedroom to help me stop thinking about my favorite policeman.
I step into the shaded entryway, knock on Jewel’s door, then stand there feeling dumb. I didn’t even check to see if the kids were here or at their dad’s.
The sound of slapping little feet floods my senses with tingles of relief.
“Hey, kiddos,” I yell. “It’s me.”
Excited screeching reaches my ears. At least someone is happy to see me today. I don’t expect their mom to react with such enthusiasm. And maybe not even Karson … if I go to class.
Their feet pitter-patter away, and I wait for Jewel to climb the stairs. She wasn’t in the back yard below. I already checked.
The door swings open before I get the chance to rehash the entire fire truck basket scene in preparation for telling Jewel about it. I’m good at reading my stories from different people’s perspectives, so I’m trying to consider what my story will sound like from hers.
“This is a surprise,” she says, but I don’t think that will sum up her thoughts about what happened with Karson. I’m kicking myself for how surprised I’d been.
I hold up the fuzzy turquoise gift bag with giant googly eyes. It looks like a Muppet, and though I’m not sure kids these days know about Muppets anymore, they can still appreciate googly eyes on a gift bag. “I couldn’t wait to bring Forrest his birthday present.”
Jewel tilts her head with suspicion.
Forrest dances in the background. It’s a bouncy, butt-wiggle of a dance. I’ve always wanted my own butt-wiggling children, but I don’t see how that will be happening anytime soon. I wanted to give a relationship with Karson a go, but then I think about his ex and I want to run the other way.
“What’d you get me?” Forrest shouts. He must not remember his last birthday and how opening presents works.
“It’s a car,” I joke, even though that’s what it really is. “You’re turning sixteen and will be old enough to drive, right?”
Forrest wrestles to hold his thumb down with the opposite hand so only his four fingers remain upright. “I’m gonna be this many.”
“Oh, that’s right. Silly me.”
“Silly Aunt Gemma.”
Daisy charges over and tries to peek inside the gift bag. I should have thought to bring her something too. As I always shared my sister’s birthday, I never experienced being left out when my sibling opened gifts. Though that didn’t stop me from wanting what she got when her toy was bigger or her clothes cooler.
“Daisy, that’s not your gift,” Jewel admonishes, then pulls the girl back so there’s room for me to enter. “Come in, Gemma. If you’d told me you were stopping by tonight, I would have made a cake. Not that you would have eaten any.”
Comments like that usually make me as nauseous as gluten, but I already felt sick when I got here so … “No cake necessary.”
I precede them down two levels to the boxy modern living room with its blue velvet sofas and sparkly chrome chandelier. Taking a seat in front of the slate fireplace, I clasp hands around my knees.
Jewel eyes me as if she thinks I should lie down on the couch like a patient. She doesn’t say anything, though that could be because I wouldn’t be able to hear her over all the noise my niece and nephew are making.
