Page 284 of Mad Girl

I turned my head and caught you watching me, your gaze tenderly skipping over my face.

“What?” I asked.

“It makes me sad to think of you trying so hard to be good and still not getting something you’ve always wanted.” Your mouth lifted up at the corners. “And for two whole months? That must’ve been quite the feat for you.”

I nudged your thigh with my socked foot, fighting back a smile of my own. “Shut up.”

You laughed, lifting your tea and going back to the movie.

I studied your profile: the glasses, the gray cardigan with its notched collar, the chinos that were just a smidge too tight. “You know what I miss?”

“What?”

“Your first Christmas here. Everything seemed…so much simpler then.”

You gave this some thought. “I agree,” you said, then slipped off your glasses. “What’s the matter? Why’re you crying?”

“I don’t like this Christmas. It doesn’t feel right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything’s all wrong. My dad isn’t happy. The Harrises aren’t happy. We aren’t happy.” I swatted at my face. “Everything’s screwed up this year, and it’s all because of what I did to Libby’s signs.”

You deposited your glasses and tea on the coffee table, then slid over until your knee touched my leg. “That’s not true.”

“It is, Casey. If our dads are fighting, that’ll make it even more difficult for you to tell John the truth.”

“Hey,” you said, laying a hand on my arm. “I should’ve told John a long time ago—back when all of us were in a better place. When everything was simpler, like you said. My current problems aren’t because of you.”

“Some of them are. You’re unhappy about us—I can tell. You’re upset it’s not going to work out.”

You let out a short laugh. “First of all, it’s awfully presumptuous of you to assume I’d give up that easily. And I’m not unhappy—just disappointed. We might not be together the way I want right now, but I’m still here with you at Christmas, aren’t I? There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

I smiled. “Me, too.”

“What’s going on?” Michael asked, strolling into the room. He eyed our hands, which were still joined in my lap.

“Just having a chat,” you said, giving my hand one final squeeze before pulling away and moving back to your side of the sofa. “What’ve you been up to?”

“Writing a paper on the role of civil disobedience in a democracy,” he answered with a big sigh, plopping himself down on the sofa between us.

“Where’s Sienna?” I asked.

“Hell if I know.” He reached for the remote. “Told her I was busy.”

You gave a cocky quirk of your eyebrows, as if to say, Told you so. To him, you said, “Have you ever considered dating a girl you actually enjoy spending time with?”

“Sure I have,” Michael said. “But first I’d have to weed out all the ones who only want to date me because my mom’s the new mayor.”

“The girl you’re currently dating is only dating you because your mom’s the new mayor,” I reminded him.

Michael ignored this as he switched the channel to his Celtics game.

“Surely there are other girls for you to choose from,” you said. “Girls you went to school with—or once dated, even. Girls who liked you before your mum ever ran for mayor.”

“Yeah, but they’re all at different colleges,” Michael said. “In different states.”

You reached for your tea, then stopped, eyebrows shooting up. “What about Tinsley?”