He shakes his head, his expression flickering with something else. Anger? Hurt? Frustration? “I don’t know how you can say that, how you can even think that.”
“Because it’s true,” I whisper, glancing down at where his hand is wrapped around my wrist. He isn’t letting go. “I’m not saying that to be spiteful, but it’s obvious I wasn’t enough for you.”
“How is it obvious?”
I can’t believe he’s asking that, that he’s pretending to not understand what I mean. Is he pretending? I don’t know. Either that or he’s spent way too long ignoring reality.
“You wanted so much more than you ever had with me,” I say. “I couldn’t keep up. I tried, but I couldn’t. The late nights, the parties, all those different places and faces… I got lost somewhere in the middle of it all, but you never stopped to look to make sure I was still with you. And then with the drinking, the drugs… the women.”
He cringes when I say that. “I never cheated.”
He’s told me that before, but it’s not the point. Good for him for keeping his pants on, for keeping his hands to himself, but still, time and again, he chose them. He left me behind, all alone, in a city where I only had him, so he could be with them.
Actors. Models. Socialites.
I fought so hard for him and his dream. I gave up everything. But by then end, he wouldn’t even give me a minute.
A minute was all I asked for.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “It’s over now, anyway.”
He lets go of my wrist, and I start to walk again. He strolls along beside me. I can tell he wants to argue his point, and every so often his lips will part, like he’s found the words he needs to convince me, but he stops himself.
When we reach my building, I come to a stop in the parking lot not far from my door.
“Thanks,” I mumble, awkwardly not knowing what to say in this moment.
“You’re wrong,” he says when I turn away, his voice just loud enough for me to hear. Should’ve known he wouldn’t let it go.
I shake my head. “I’m not.”
“You are,” he says again. “And I hate that I ever made you think otherwise, Kennedy.”
He walks away. I watch him go, ignoring the tiny sliver of me that doesn’t want him to leave.
Maddie’s already tucked into bed when I go inside, but Meghan’s on the couch, flipping through channels so fast I’m not sure how she can tell what’s on. She looks at me, pausing as she sits up.
“Wow, you look…” she starts, waving toward me.
“I look what?”
“I don’t know,” she says, “but you look something.”
“I feel something,” I mumble, plopping down on the couch beside her, dropping her shoes on her lap as I kick my feet up on the coffee table. My dress is tugged up damn near to my waist. I’m probably flashing her my underwear, but I don’t care. What a night.
“Oh god, was it that bad?” she asks, her voice dropping low as she clutches her chest. “Is it little? Does he have a needle-nose plier dick? Oh god, this is gold… please tell me Andrew’s packing a pinky in his pants.”
“No,” I say with a laugh, pausing before adding, “Well, I don’t know. Never seen it, but I doubt that’s the case.”
“What do you mean you’ve never seen it?”
“I mean I’ve never seen it. We’ve never… you know.”
“What?” She looks at me with shock. “You’ve gone out a few times and you haven’t even played with it? What the hell? I mean, I don’t blame you, because gross, but why do you keep going if he’s not sticking it to you? What’s the point?”
“Maybe because he’s nice.”
“Nice? You know who else is nice?”
“Don’t even start.”
“Mister Rogers,” she says. “He wants you to be his neighbor. Bob Ross, he’s nice, too. He’ll paint you a happy little cloud. Hell, how about one of the Cleavers? Why not go out with one of them?”
“Pretty sure they’re all dead.”
“Yeah, well, so is your vagina at this rate.”
Laughing, I shove her, nearly pushing her off the couch. “It is not.”
“Fine, whatever, so Andrew’s nice.” She pretends to gag. “If you didn’t get naked, what did you do tonight?”
“Went to dinner.”
“Dinner,” she says, eyeing me. “You’ve been gone four hours. How much did you eat?”
“Why are you asking so many questions?”
“Just making sure you didn’t run off and do something stupid, like get naked with someone else.”
“Of course not,” I say. “My dress stayed on all night long.”
“But you ran off, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
She waves her finger in my face. “You saw him.”
Guilty.
I don’t have to say anything. She knows.
“Jesus Christ, Kennedy…”
“I know, I know. You don’t even have to say it.”
“Oh, but I will,” she says. “I’m not going to tell you what to do. I mean, I want to. I want to tell you to get a restraining order, but I won’t. I know he’s her father…”
“He’s also your brother.”
She shoves her hand in my face, pushing my head away. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”
Standing, she slips her shoes on, smoothing the creases from her clothes.
“You can stay, you know,” I tell her. “You don’t have to rush off.”
“I know,” she says, playfully roughing up my hair until I smack her hand. “But the universe demands balance. You didn’t give it up tonight, which means it’s up to me, so I’m off to do my civic duty.”
“Ah, to be young again.”
She flips me off.
Truth is, Meghan’s got me beat by a few years. She’s on the cusp of turning thirty and isn’t anywhere close to settling down. She’s so carefree that she makes me feel like an old fogy.
“Love you,” she says.
“You, too, Meghan.”
“Love you, cinnamon-sugar apple-fritter!” she yells as she opens the front door, her voice carrying through the apartment.
I don’t expect her to get a response, but a sleepy voice calls from the bedroom, “Love you!”
Meghan looks at me, trying to appear serious, pointing to her eyes before pointing at me, warning me she’ll be watching.
Before I can respond, she’s gone.
I didn’t really know Meghan until Maddie came into the world. We’d spoken a few times, saw each other in passing, but she had a life pretty far removed from her brother. She wanted to know her niece, though, and we grew close after that.
Sighing, I turn off the television, locking up before heading for bed. I stall outside Maddie’s bedroom, lurking in the doorway, those blue eyes shining out at me. “Hey, sweetheart. You have fun tonight with Aunt Meghan?”
She nods. “Did you have fun with your date?”
“Sure,” I say. “It was nice.”
“Did he say you were pretty in your dress?”
“Uh, no.” I glance down at myself. “I don’t think he noticed.”
“Why not?”
“Sometimes people just don’t notice things like that.”
“I did,” she says. “I don’t think you should like them as a date if they don’t notice pretty dresses. ‘Cuz you can see it, but if they don’t see it, then they don’t look. And they should look at you on dates when you’re pretty.”
“You’re right,” I say—she’s too smart for her own good. “That’s some really great advice.”
She smiles as I stroll over, leaning down to kiss her forehead.
“Get some sleep,” I tell her. “Maybe we can do something special tomorrow.”