Page 178 of Mad Girl

“Elliot.”

I slammed my meager breakfast onto the counter.

“Elliot, look at me.”

I wrestled one arm into my jacket, followed by the other. “Fuck. You.”

“Listen,” you said wretchedly, “you’re angry, and I get that. I’m sorry. But⁠—”

“Oh, you’re sorry?” I demanded, finally glancing up—and you looked awful, Casey. Like you hadn’t slept a wink. The only silver lining to my shitty morning. “Which part are you sorry for? Making me show you something really mortifying and confusing about myself?”

“You’ve no reason to be mortified⁠—”

“Letting me stroke your ego because you take everything so damn personally?”

You scoffed at this. “Stroke my ego?”

“Or are you sorry you kissed me?”

“Not sorry I kissed you, no. But it was irresponsible of me to do that right now. It’s not that I don’t want—” You stopped, closed your eyes. “It just feels like⁠—”

“Stop,” I said, thrusting one hand between us. “Let’s forget it. This wouldn’t work out, anyway. Someone like you could never be with someone like me. Someone like you could never give me what I want or need.”

What a horrible thing to say. I knew I was being horrible as I continued to say such bitchy things—when the truth was, it was irresponsible of me to kiss you after the lie of omission about being with Michael. No, I hadn’t slept with him, but I’d still been with him in other ways that would matter to you. I hadn’t been honest, and for that reason alone, I should’ve let the whole thing go. But I wanted you, anyway. And wanting you when I had no right to have you made me angry. And it hurt that you were pushing me away—again—even if I deserved it. It hurt to be a bad idea, a hard no, someone who couldn’t be left alone, a freak.

You drew back a second time. “Okay, first of all, what the hell does that mean? Someone like me? You don’t know what I’m capable of giving you. Second of all, never is the word you’ve chosen here—I’m guessing just to hurt me—and I didn’t say never, Elliot, nor did I ever imply it. I said, not right now.”

“Let’s forget it ever happened. It was a stupid kiss, and it didn’t mean anything,” I said, trying to slip past you.

But you seized me by the arm, preventing my escape. “Didn’t mean anything, you say? Stupid? You’re one to talk about people taking things from you, yet you’re standing here trying to belittle something and take it away from me before you’ve given me a chance to explain. I’d very much like to handle this differently, but in good conscience I can’t. For one thing, I’ve already taken certain liberties with you by allowing you privileges behind your father’s back, and one such instance nearly got you killed. And for another, I’m obligated to your father, and forever in his debt, and to handle this differently would require me to further take advantage of his generosity. Please tell me you can understand these things about my current situation.”

I looked away. “Yeah. Whatever.”

You bent close to my ear, burying your nose in my hair. “This isn’t me rejecting you. This is me trying to explain that my hands are tied at the moment. They’re tied—and that’s why I’m sorry.”

I tried releasing my arm from your grasp, wanting to get away, cursing the stupid tears that were threatening to fall. My voice cracked as I said, “I hear you, Casey. Please let me go.”

You must not have wanted to, because it took a few unbearable seconds for you to finally release my arm. The sound of your shaky sigh followed me out the door.

For the next couple of days, I avoided you as much as possible, making a point to face away from you on my sofa at bedtime.

Then, over dinner one night, you gave me and Nic the news: your adoptive dad had suffered a heart attack, requiring him to have triple bypass surgery, which meant you were needed in England over the summer to help Claire take care of him and look after Rhys.

I dropped my fork. “How long will you be gone?”

“Difficult to say,” you said. “It all depends on his recovery. More than likely I’ll have to stay a couple of months. Maybe the whole summer.”

Since the day we’d met, we’d never been separated for more than a couple of weeks. How would I go months—an entire summer—without seeing you? I struggled to choke back my disappointment, and it must’ve been apparent on my face, because Nic clasped his fingers around my wrist.

“Well,” he said. “We’ll miss you, but it sounds like Claire really needs you there. You’ll check in with us as often as possible, though, right?”

“Of course,” you told him.

Usually, I looked forward to spending summers on the Cape, but for the first time in my life, I dreaded going to the beach. That year, it loomed on the horizon, a gray cloud in my future, empty of all sunshine and joy.

After school the next day, I received the next bit of news, and my summer loomed bleaker than before. A black cloud on the horizon. Much worse.

You’d run upstairs to grab a book, and I’d just sat down at the island to finish the final English paper of my high school career, when Michael pulled out the barstool next to mine and dropped himself into it. “I need to tell you something.”