That’s sad, and I hate that his relationship with his parents will never be the same. I don't want to be the reason Logan loses his family. Even a family as difficult as the Shaws.
They're his parents. They love him badly, but they love him. And now there's a crack in that foundation, and I'm the fault line.
“You're quiet,” Logan says.
“I'm processing.”
“Talk to me.”
“You were incredible tonight. What you said to your parents — I've never had anyone stand up for me like that.”
“But?”
“But your mother's face, Logan. When you were talking, her face just closed. She shut down. And your father didn't say a word after you finished. You drew a line with them, and I'm glad you did, but I'm also sad that you had to.”
“They needed to hear it.”
“I know. I just don't want to be the reason your family falls apart.”
“You're not. The cracks were there long before you came back into my life. Dom saw them years ago. I was just too obedient to look.”
I reach across and put my hand on his arm. “Can you drop me off at my apartment? I need to be alone tonight. I'm exhausted.”
He glances at me. “You sure?”
“I'm sure. I just need a bath, my own bed, and some quiet. It's been a long day.”
“Two trips to Long Island will do that to you.”
I groan. “Don’t remind me.”
He drives me to the West Village. He double-parks outside my building and turns to me. “Are you okay? And I mean actually okay, not Jasmine-says-she's-okay-but-isn't okay.”
“I'm actually okay. I'm just tired, and I need to sit with everything that happened today. My mom this morning, your parents tonight. It's a lot.”
“I know.” He leans across and kisses me. “Call me before you go to sleep?”
“I will.”
I grab my bag and my coat and walk into my building. In the elevator, I lean against the wall and close my eyes. My feet hurt from the heels, and my jaw aches from smiling through dinner. My heart aches for reasons I can't organize into neat categories.
I run a bath. Hot water, lavender oil, the lights off. I sink into the tub and let the heat loosen my muscles. Cat has this total, unwavering belief that I don't belong in her son's life.
I close my eyes and let the water hold me.
26
Jasmine
I get to the office at eight-thirty and drop my bag on my desk and open my laptop. My eyes are gritty from lack of sleep. I slept for maybe four hours last night, and most of it was broken by nightmares.
Cat Shaw standing in her dining room, telling me I don't belong. Cat at my apartment door telling Logan to come home. Cat in the family section at MSG, turning to the woman beside her and saying, “That's the girl who thinks she's good enough for my son.”
My phone buzzes with a text message. It’s from Logan.
Morning, beautiful. How did you sleep?
I type back:Like a baby. You?
