“You’re so frustrating, you know that?” I tell him, and with his level of delight, you’d think I just complimented him.
“So I suppose you’re just going to keep on coming despite my wishes?”
“I am,” I say defiantly. Maybe I don’t deserve it, but being around Ernie makes me happy. It also makes me feel like I’m doing some good in the world, which makes me at least a little bit different from who I was last year.
He sighs again. “Well, all right. Next time, bring a bag of those salty chips if you’re coming anyway.”
“Done,” I say.
“And a tub of yogurt, but real. None of that low-fat nonsense.”
“Got it.”
“And a pack of Marlboros and a lighter.”
“Not happening.”
“Ah, well. Had to try.”
At the end of our two hours, Ernie pats my hand and says, “You’re a good girl, Jessi.”
Even though I work hard every day for this to be true, the voice in my head is still louder. And it’s still right, even though I hate it.
I’m not good.
A good person wouldn’t do the things I’ve done.
A good person would have told Mel the truth when I saw her yesterday and would certainly not go along with some plan to keep lying to her, no matter who suggested it.
I find myself veering off course and driving in the direction of the far east, through neighborhoods as familiar as the back of my own hands. When I’m in front of the Cohen house, I take a breath to steady myself and run through what I plan to say to Luke.
He’s going to be disappointed, maybe even angry, but he’s the one who started this lie. I don’t have to go along with it. No matter how happy it would make Mel, I can’t continue to lie to her.
I ring the doorbell and find myself listening for the pitter-patter of dog feet before I remember that Sydney is gone. The realization every time feels like a bruise that I keep pressing on.
When the doorbell swings open, Luke is still in his Camp MORE T-shirt and jeans, half a carrot in his hand.
“Hey.” He looks surprised to see me.
“Luke, who is it?” I hear Mel call from somewhere close by, and my eyes widen.
I give two vigorous shakes of my head and put my fingers to my lips.
“Jessi,” he calls to her, ignoring my wild gesticulation.
“Is she staying for dinner?” Mel calls.
“I’ll ask her,” he says, looking right at me.
“We need to talk,” I whisper.
He glances over his shoulder, shuts the front door, but stays on the porch. He’s standing in the exact spot where I kissed him almost a year ago, and the thought feels like a stab in my chest.
“I changed my mind,” I tell him now.
“About?” he asks.
“Us,” I say.
