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“Fuck, I’m sorry,” she whispers. Her eyes are wide and full of pity, which is exactly what I don’t want. “And your mom? How did she …”
I sigh. This is the part I’m not looking forward to admitting to.
“She’s still alive.”
She looks confused. “But you said she was dead?”
I make a face. “Dead is such a permanent word …”
She glares at me, obviously not finding this as funny as I am.
“I know.” I sigh. “I’m an asshole.”
“Why would you say she’s dead when she isn’t?” she asks, bewildered.
I shrug. “It’s just easier, because then I don’t have to go into all that detail.”
“You tell people she’s dead because it’s easier?” Katie’s eyes flash. “Easier than what?”
I rub my neck. I don’t even know where to start to begin digging my way out of this mess. I’m starting to think I’m too far under to be saved.
“Mom is alive, but she isn’t well,” I explain. “She’s in a psych unit, getting treatment for her schizophrenia.”
“Oh,” Katie mumbles. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It can be managed, but the problem is every time we get it under control, she thinks she doesn’t need the medication anymore. She goes off it and the whole cycle continues.”
“Wow. That must be rough for you,” she says.
I shrug, my hands gripping tightly around the wheel.
“It’s rough, because I have twenty-six years of shit to explain whenever I talk about my mother. My entire childhood revolved around her illness. There are so many intertwining points that need to be considered when talking about her that it’s just …”
“And the rest of what you said? Your dad and your brother …”
“That’s all true,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m very private when it comes to my family. But if I had to talk to someone about it? It would be you.”
She smiles, then looks away. We both sit there awkwardly, unsure of what to say. I can tell her mind is racing, because she hates the silence. She’s trying to figure out what words don’t sound condescending or insensitive.
I don’t want to spin her some fairy-tale bullshit just to make her feel less sorry for me. I want to be honest and real, because it’s what I’d want in return. But if I’m being honest, then why aren’t I going the whole way and telling her everything?
Because there’s honest and there’s stupid.
“You don’t need to fill the silence.” I stare straight ahead, focusing on the road. “People always assume that it’s is a bad thing, but some of the best thoughts come out of silence.”
“I guess some people don’t like the idea of being alone with their thoughts, so they assume everyone else is the same?” she suggests. “It’s hard trying to think of something to say that doesn’t sound patronizing, but not replying at all feels worse.”
“Why? There are plenty of people who have problems worse than mine.” I shrug. “I could’ve been caught on video, singing that song I wrote for the guy I was in love with when I was fourteen.”
“I wasn’t in love with you,” she groans.
“Right. You just wanted me to be your lover.” I grin. “And someone to protect you from killer caterpillars.”
“Lover?” she repeats. “Settle down, Fabio. Forget about making fun of me and tell me what the plan is. Once we get to Vegas.”
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I’m still working that bit out.”
On one hand, we need to get Lily out of there. On the other, I don’t want to miss that wedding if I can help it. I change my mind at least a few times a day on what the best approach is. I know Julian will understand if he knows the real reason.
But I still hate feeling like I’m letting him down."Not far now.”
Katie glances at me, so I point off into the distance where I can see Vegas lighting up the sky. It’s getting dark, so the sun is beginning to set, which is creating the most stunning backdrop. And it’s romantic—if you’re into that kind of thing.
“Oh wow,” she says, when she follows my gaze.
She smiles, like she can’t look away. Kind of like how I’m feeling right now, too. Only it’s not the sunset I’m looking at.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” I say, my eyes still on her.
“Pretty?”
I raise my eyebrows at her, because she’s finding that hysterical.
“Want to share the joke?” I ask.
“Sorry,” she bites down on her lip in an attempt to kill her smile. “I would’ve thought you’d be way too macho to use a word like ‘pretty.’”
“Macho?” I grin. “Me?” I glance down. “Jesus. Is it the tattoos? Because here I was thinking I was a sensitive soul. You know, the new age type.”
“New age?” she laughs. “Yeah, no.” She wrinkles up her nose as she shakes her head. “In fact, I’d use many words to describe you, but sensitive isn’t one of them.”
