He gives me an odd look. “Us?”
Luke has never been accused of being slow, so I suspect he is dragging this out for my benefit.
“You know—what you told Mel,” I whisper now, not sure how to say the words out loud.Us pretending to be together.
“I can’t do it,” I say. “First of all, she’s never going to buy it. I don’t know what you’re thinking. Second, it’s just wrong, and it’s a horrible thing to do.”
“What’s so horrible about it?” Luke asks, which is the last thing I’m expecting him to say.
“It’s a lie,” I say, surprised that this is not obvious to him.
“I don’t see how it hurts anyone.”
“We would have to hang out all the time,” I blurt out, and his eyes narrow.
“Is that what’s bothering you? Having to be around me?”
“No. I mean, obviously, it’s weird, but ...” My voice trails off.
“She has weeks, Jessi. If that.” His eyes get this hard look. “I thought that would mean something to you—that you, of all people, would understand. But I guess I was wrong about you.”
The wordagainhangs in the air, but neither of us says it.
I swallow hard. “I want her to be happy, but—”
“But not at the cost of your own comfort? Got it.” He starts toward the door, then turns back. “Do you think that Iwantto do this? You think pretending to beanythingwith you is my idea of a good time?”
I open my mouth to speak, then shut it again.
“You think I like hearing all the fucking time about you, and how you were the daughter she never had—what did Ro call it, the chosen one—and how I’m the reason you’re gone?”
It’s the first time either of us has brought up Rowan, and I feel like I’m going to throw up.
I’m swiping at the tear on my cheek before I even register that I’m crying. “I miss Mel, too,” I say, because it’s true, and it’s easier than talking about his brother.
“She’s here,” he says, pointing toward the house. “She’s waiting to hear if you’re staying for dinner. If that’s what you want.”
Against my better judgment, I’m nodding my head and wiping my eyes with my arm.
That’s what I want.
For everything to go back to the way it was.
More than anything in this world, that’s what I want.
“Do I look like crap?” I ask, fanning my wet face with my hands. “Don’t answer that,” I say quickly, because this isn’t the Luke Cohen from my childhood, and he’s certainly not the Luke Cohen from last summer. This Luke, I know without knowing how, is no longer worried about trying to protect me. This Luke doesn’t care about hurting me.
He goes in without saying a word, and I follow.
NOW
Dinner is different. It is sitting in the living room on the loveseat while Mel is sitting out on the sofa, swimming in a sea of blankets. Her food is half the size of mine and much less than Luke’s.
It is catching up but not talking about anything that matters, like we’re navigating a giant hole in the ground without acknowledging it.
It feels so wrong—the thought of Rowan being a hole, something to navigate around.
I sit on the edge of my seat, watching Mel slurp down her soup, and I try to act like I’m not staring.
