“Whose idea was it?”
“Mine.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know, Ethan,” she said, suddenly as irritated as he had ever seen her. “There isn’t a problem. It was my choice. Although once it stopped being cute little community theater roles and started paying half the rent on our apartment, it didn’t really feel like it was a choice anymore. But I’m still doing it now, so all’s well that ends well, right?” She drained her iced coffee, avoiding his eyes.
“You resent her,” he said quietly. She shook her head.
“No. Yes. I don’t know. In a weird way it feels like I resent her for whatdidn’thappen. Like once I got older and started hearing stories from other kids in the industry, what they went through…I was really lucky. But if something had happened, there was no one who had my back. I was in a world full of adults with no one to protect me.”
She looked down into her empty glass. “I wish…I wish she’d felt like my mom for longer. She kind of just feels like some lady I used to live with. Maybe that’s horrible to say. But it doesn’t seem like she’s that interested in being closer, either. Everybody’s happy with the way things are.” Her voice cracked a little.
He was silent, waiting to see if she would continue. When she spoke again, her tone was light and forced.
“What about you? You have at least one sister, right?” She shook her head. “I can’t believe this is the first time we’re having this conversation.”
“I can, considering how eager we both seem to be having it.” That got a laugh out of her. “Four sisters. All older.”
“Ofcourseyou’re the baby, it all makes sense now. What about your parents?”
“They’re older, too.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Mom died when I was in high school, right before Sam and I moved out here. My dad is probably still sitting in our living room in Forest Hills, getting hammered and punching holes in the wall.”
“What did the wall ever do to him?” she asked in a manner that, now that he knew her better, he recognized as defensive; the kind of filler that meant she was uncomfortable and didn’t know what else to say.
He looked down at his mostly untouched casserole. “What did any of us?”
She went pale before reaching across the table and covering his hand with hers. Neither of them said anything for a few moments.
“What about Sam’s parents?” Her voice was hesitant.
He jerked his hand back involuntarily, as disoriented as if she’d physically slapped him. “What?”
She pressed on. “Sam’s parents. You said you lived with them sometimes. Are they…are you still in touch?”
“No.” The word was short, staccato, like a gunshot. Her mouth tightened, chastened, and she tried to take another sip from her glass before realizing it was empty.
He reluctantly continued, wanting to assuage her. “I haven’t seen them…not since the funeral. I couldn’t even talk to them. Iwas such a wreck.” He hadn’t thought about Sam’s parents in years. In his mind, they’d died the day Sam had.
The days following Sam’s death had been a blur. It was hard for him to distinguish his own memories from what he’d been told, or from the footage that had played over and over again for what felt like an eternity. In some ways, being escorted out of the funeral in handcuffs had been preferable to facing Sam’s parents, seeing the pain and accusation laid bare on their faces. Of course he hadn’t been in touch with them since. It was the least he could do. Their son was dead because of him.
Grey pushed back her chair and stood up, the rough scrape of the legs against the pavement bringing him back to the present with a jolt. She moved next to him, placing her hand on his shoulder, and he pushed his chair back, too. She curled herself into his lap and he pulled her to his chest, his racing heart beginning to slow. He leaned his head against hers and closed his eyes.
They sat that way for a long time, still as statues, apart from the breeze brushing a strand of her hair against his cheek. His thumb lightly traced the gap of skin between the bottom of her shirt and the top of her leggings.
He shifted his head until their foreheads touched, then brought his hand up to cup the back of her neck. He had a sudden, overwhelming feeling of déjà vu. The warmth of her skin beneath his hands. Her weight settled in his lap. After everything they’d already been through, he knew better than to take it for granted.
“I’m so fucking in love with you. You know that, right?”
He felt her inhale sharply. She closed her eyes, then opened them. They’d steered clear of that phrase since the night of her birthday—and even then, he’d only danced around it without saying it outright. As he said it now, it felt inadequate to describe the enormity of what he felt for her. But until the English language caught up with him, it was the best he could do.
A slow smile curled at the corners of her mouth.
“I love you, too.”
