I shake my head. “I don’t want to ride it again, Wilder. I wanted to enjoy this ride. I wanted to mark off a bucket list item that didn’t include walking in on Cash jerking off or listening to you educate him on condoms.”
“This item has been mild in comparison,” Wilder offers.
I groan. “This has been worse than either of those two things,” I make clear. “And I don’t know how to make you understand how hurt I am right now.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Ingrid.”
Of course, he didn’t. He’s too busy worrying about his grandparents or trying to talk his mom into taking less shifts at the hospital. Or trying to earn back Cash’s friendship.
Hehas a lot on his plate, and I’m afraid that one day he’ll have to make room for something else.
He’s not going to abandon his family—or Cash.
He’s going to leave me.
I can feel it in my bones.
The cable car slows, and I hate that I haven’t taken a single photo.
“We didn’t get a picture,” I tell Wilder.
He whips his phone out and holds it up, preparing for a selfie.
I force a smile, but I know it doesn’t reach my eyes.
Wilder snaps the picture anyway.
Then, we’re filing off the cable car and Cash is commenting on how hungry he is.
“Why don’t you grab a snack from the car,” Wilder says to him, pointing to the parking lot. “Blondie and I need to talk.”
I don’t like the sound of that.
“Yeah, okay,” Cash answers as his gaze shifts to me. “Are you going to be alright?” he asks me.
Wilder scoffs. “She’s going to be fine.”
“I’d like Ingrid to answer that question,” Cash says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Oh, my gawd,” I grumble. “I’ll be fine. Go eat.”
“I’m really getting sick of his attitude,” Wilder mumbles when Cash is out of earshot.
I shrug. “He means well.”
“If that’s what you want to think,” Wilder replies. Then, his face softens. “Let’s take a walk.”
I don’t slap his hand away when he reaches for mine. Instead, I let our fingers tangle together and I ignore the ache in my chest.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Margot when Cash knew,” Wilder begins as I kick a rock on the concrete.
I say nothing. So, he continues.
“Elowyn reached out to Cash, and Cash told me about Margot’s cancer,” he says, the words surprisingly calm. “I haven’t talked to anyone. I’ve just read Elowyn’s text messages. If you want, you can read them.”
Read them? No, I don’t want to do that. If Elowyn wanted to reach out to Wilder, it’s not really my place to see what she said.
“It’s okay,” I tell him.
