Thankfully, that gets a real laugh out of Finn.
But then the sound fades, and I see it again.
The sadness.
The heaviness she’s carrying that sometimes creeps into her eyes.
“What’s bothering you?” I ask.
Her hand stills on the measuring cup. “How do you know something’s bothering me?”
I shrug. “Male instinct.”
That earns me a wry look.
I grin faintly. “Or maybe it’s Anna’s excellent taste in men talking.” I shift closer to her, wait until her eyes come back to mine. “Or maybe it’s the fact that you’re making cookies after midnight like your life depends on it.”
Her mouth flattens.
And for a second, I think she’ll keep pretending everything’s fine.
Then she exhales heavily. “My parents called.”
“Yeah?” I prompt when she doesn’t go on.
She sighs again, her voice going small. “I told them about the fair.”
“And?”
Her laugh is humorless. “And they reminded me that I’m wasting my life.” A beat. “Again.”
Something sharp twists in my chest.
But I don’t interrupt.
“They think this”—she gestures vaguely around us, at the cookies, at the blankets folded and sitting in a basket by the table, at herself—“is a waste of time. Something I should’ve grown out of by now so I can get a real job and do something valuable.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Her eyes jump to mine.
But I don’t soften my words.
Because itisbullshit.
She looks away, throat working. “I know,” she says quietly. “But hearing it from them still…”
“Hurts.”
A nod as she blinks rapidly. “I just wish they could be proud of me.”
It’s so quiet I can barely hear it, but it’s full of so much pain that my heart twists again.
I want to reassure her, want to tell her that theyareproud of her.
But I don’t know them.
I just…I don’t know how theycouldn’tbe.
