That is not your fucking decision, Lauren,he’d told her, but she hadn’t really listened. She hadn’t remembered. Not when confronted with his agent’s story, not when wrestling with her own fear and guilt.
Unable to bear the sight of his possible misery any longer, she clicked over to YouTube. To the video they’d taken on Glass Beach, only minutes before debating their relative loudness during orgasm.
Alex stood grinning at someone the audience couldn’t see. Her, behind the camera, rolling her eyes at him as he stripped off his shirt and preened despite the cloudy, blustery day.
He ran a caressing palm down his hair-dusted, broad chest. “Some say going topless on this beach is like finding a four-leaf clover. Guaranteed good luck.”
“Literally no one says that,” her voice informed the audience.
He raised a dark brow. “I said that. Just now, as a matter of fact.”
She snorted, and the image bobbed slightly. “I stand corrected. Literally one person in the world says that.”
When he shook his head chidingly, a lock of hair fell over his forehead.
“You don’t know all the people in the world, Wren.” His wink flustered her even now, a week later. “Besides, it’s already working, ye of little faith. We’ve been here five minutes at most, and I feel really lucky. I can only hope to get evenmorelucky soon.”
He meant they were going to have sex that night, of course.
But she knew his voice. Even amid all the innuendo and cocky posturing, she could hear the sincerity and affection. The blossoming of … wonder, almost. As if he meant it. He considered himself lucky to have her in his bed. In his life.
She paused the film on his bright smile and ran her forefinger over the roundish, green bit of sea glass he’d carried in his pocket for her, then the cloudy blue rectangle and the amber square. The three pieces she’d plucked from the shore that day and tucked carefully inside her toiletries bag. The three pieces that now lay on her nightstand, within easy reach, for when she needed comforting.
She hadn’t been able to stop herself from taking those souvenirs. Even then, she’d known the day was special. Suffused with warmth and beauty and easy affection and laughter. She hadn’t anticipated another day like it, possibly in her entire life.
So she’d gathered mementos for mourning while she could.
How many other wonderful places could they have explored together if she’d allowed them to leave over the weekend, as he’d originally planned? If she hadn’t delayed their trip because she didn’t want him to spend money on her?
Even though he’d told her he had plenty of savings. Even though he’dwantedto spend that money on her,wantedthat extra time with her.
Why did she assume she wasn’t worth a few extra hotel bills?
She’d been absolutely determined not to let him give up his career for her. On that awful evening at the hotel, stopping him—saving him, whether he’d asked to be saved or not—had seemed like an imperative, its importance clear and unquestionable.
But why did she assume she wasn’t worth his career?
Alex always had a comeback for everything, and he’d had an answer for that question too. He’d shared it with her before, multiple times. Sorrow and rage in every syllable, he’d tried to tell her what she believed, how she saw herself.
You’re not important enough to defend, even when someone insults youto your fucking face. He’d phrased it as a question, but it was more an angry lament. A condemnation of how little she valued herself.How you feel isn’t important.You’renot important.
She’d told him that wasn’t true.
But even then, part of her knew he was right.
The best thing the world offered an ugly little girl was indifference. Pity stung exactly as much as insults, if not more, so she tried to avoid either. She tried to avoid notice. Even as a child, she’d understood it was important to stay quiet. Unobtrusive. And above all, undemanding.
Fortunately, adults were generally happy to ignore a short, fat kid with a bird’s face, and she was generally happy to encourage their lack of attention.
Other kids, though … they couldn’t be avoided, and they wouldn’t be deterred.
But crying over the cruelty of others to her parents only upset them, and nothing her mom and dad did blunted the relentless tide of abuse, so she eventually stopped coming to them. And they never questioned whether that cruelty had actually ceased, probably because they didn’t really want to know. Especially when her tormentor was also her cousin.
They loved her. She knew that.
But they’d taught her that family peace was more important than her feelings.
And since then, she’d spent decades giving away pieces of herself, because she didn’t matter. Not as much as everyone else.
