Page 66 of Mad Girl

Like everything about me mattered to you.

“How can I move on from the stabbing when my dad won’t allow it? He won’t let me forget. My birthday is just this yearly reminder that while I keep getting older, nothing ever changes. I’ll be eighteen in a few days, but he still treats me like I’m eight. He doesn’t get to have both. He doesn’t get to celebrate me growing older when I’m not free to do so.”

“So it’s him you’re punishing when you hurt yourself?”

“It’s him,” I said, “but it’s also me. He wouldn’t be like this if I’d never hurt Michael.”

“I should stay,” you said with a decisive nod. “An extra day or two.”

“No,” I said, head shaking. “Go be with your sister and Rhys. He’s grown a lot since you held him last.”

“But I don’t want you hurting yourself. I’ll worry the whole day. If I’m here, I can⁠—”

“Keep an eye on me?”

“Keep you busy. I can be here to distract you.”

“Casey, I won’t hurt myself this year. I already promised Michael I wouldn’t. You don’t have to worry.”

“I don’t know,” you said, teeth scraping your bottom lip.

“What if I have Michael send you updates? Will that help?”

“It will, actually,” you said, brightening. “Updates and photo evidence.”

Your concern touched me. “Deal,” I agreed, then we shook on it.

“In that case,” you said, letting go of my hand to reach inside your pocket, “Michael said you don’t accept gifts on your actual birthday, but I have something.”

You handed me a tiny blue velvet bag with a drawstring. “Go ahead,” you said softly when I hesitated. “Open it.”

I emptied the bag, expecting to find a pair of earrings. Instead, a thin gold ring with two of the daintiest prong-set diamonds I’d ever seen glittered in the palm of my hand. The diamonds flanked a round center stone that, at first glance, appeared to be green. A specific color of bright green.

The blue-green color of my eyes.

A green that changed colors with the light.

The ring was the second most beautiful thing on that beach with me.

“I ran across it in a little shop a couple of weeks ago,” you said, “and it reminded me of you. The way your eyes change from green to blue. Especially when you’re standing by the ocean.”

I tilted the ring back and forth, a knot forming in my throat.

You took the silence to mean I didn’t like it. “You don’t…have to wear it if it’s not your style.”

“Are you kidding? It’s beautiful. I love it,” I said, slipping the ring on the index finger of my left hand. A perfect fit. Dainty and beautiful and perfect. “I’ll wear it always.”

But that wouldn’t turn out to be true, would it? I’m not wearing it now. One of my most treasured possessions, and I left it behind—in the jewelry box on my vanity, where it can’t be lost. It’s the first thing I plan on grabbing when I get back home.

When I held out my hand to inspect it from afar, you put your thumb to my finger, wiggling the ring to and fro.

“I’m glad you like it,” you whispered, your gaze holding mine.

Before sunrise on my birthday, I heard you and Michael outside my room, gathering your luggage for the trip back to England.

Afraid I’d miss my chance to say goodbye, I jumped out of bed, hurried over to my doorway, and called your name. You dropped the bags, and I rushed into your arms.

Michael, standing off to the side, lifted one of your discarded bags onto his shoulder.