“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I… I don’t know. I’m happy for her, but I kind of wish they wanted to spend time with her here and do normal family things, you know?”
“I know.”
She sighs again. “Nothing I can change about that.” She stands, heading to the theater. Without thinking, I follow her.
There’s a small white vintage snack counter at the back of the theater that looks like it came straight from the fifties. I’ve yet to see anyone use it. I’ve also yet to see any real snacks in this house. But Maya goes behind the counter, digging through drawers until she locates the healthy bag of premade popcorn and dumps it in red-and-white striped popcorn cartons.
She’s so beautiful. I could watch her all day.
Like a stalker.
Because that’s virtually all I am until I tell her.
“So…” I perch on one of the two stools at the popcorn stand.
“So…” she parrots.
I’m not sure what subject I’m about to address. The past, her lie to the Hartwells, or my imminent departure and the painting.
“What now?” she asks before I can.
I lean against the small serving counter, watching her search the tiny space for something. She doesn’t find it and slams the doors shut.
“Why is there nothing fattening in this whole house?” she grumbles.
She grabs a napkin and starts wiping at the already clean serving counter with a force that is entirely female forsomething is wrong.
I let her rub at nothing for approximately five seconds before placing my hand over hers.
“I’m a little busy,” she huffs, trying to shove my hand off.
“You’re frustrated.”
“No kidding.”
“I believe I may be part of the reason.” I pull my hand back and wait for her to admit it.
She looks up at me in disbelief. “Part?”
I exhale. “Ask me again.”
She frowns.
“Ask me why I left, or if I ever loved you in the first place.”
She chews her bottom lip, snagging my attention and momentarily easing the fear of what is about to happen. “What did I do wrong?”
Her words slam into my chest like a grenade, destroying the rest of my resolve. “It wasn’t about you.” No wonder she hates me. All this time she thought the problem was with her. I reach for her hand again, but she pulls it back, tucking her arms around her chest, putting up her shield. “Then why did you leave?”
I take a deep breath, settling in, welcoming the uncomfortable past to be relived one final time. “You heard about my parents, right?”
I catch the slight grimace on her face. “Yeah, I’m sorry. It was the only thing that kept me from hunting you down.”
I chuckle. “I’m glad my parents’ arrest could at least save my life, but don’t be sorry. They deserved prison.” My dad especially. He was the one who took people off life-saving machines when he knew they wouldn’t be able to pay and didn’t want to waste resources on them.
He killed people. That fact alone makes me want to crumple up and shove the past right back inside the dark cave. But I’ve done a lot of work with my therapist to remove myself from his actions. I won’t hide anymore.
