I feel my shoulders curling in, the same way they always do when he gets like this. The cardigan suddenly feels too tight. The good feeling from the bar feels stupid now. Childish.
“I’m nineteen,” I say quietly. “I should be allowed to go out with my friends sometimes.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re nineteen and still living in my house, using my money, eating my food. As long as that’s true, you follow my rules. And my rules say you come home at a decent hour and you don’t go sneaking off without permission.”
He steps closer, and I have to fight the urge to take a step back. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately,” he says, voice low and disappointed. “But whatever it is, you need to fix it. Fast. You have a future to think about, a real one. Not whatever this little rebellion is.”
I don’t say anything. I just nod once, because arguing never works. It only makes him angrier and makes me feel smaller.
He stares at me for another long second, then sighs like I’ve exhausted him. “Go to bed, Lucy. And don’t let this happen again.”
I turn and walk up the stairs without another word.
When I close my bedroom door behind me, I lean against it and close my eyes. For a little while tonight, I felt like someone else. Someone who could laugh and belong and be seen. Now I’m back here, and that version of me already feels like she belonged to someone else.
FOUR
TINY
I’m sittingacross from Rachel at some overpriced Italian place Hadley swore was “romantic but not too try-hard,” and I’m already regretting every life choice that has led me here.
My head is pounding. My throat feels like I swallowed sandpaper. And there’s this heavy, shitty ache sitting behind my eyes that’s been getting worse all day. I’ve been fighting off whatever the hell this is for two days now, and tonight it finally decided to show up and ruin my life.
Rachel is nice. She really is. She's a middle school teacher, at the same school as Hadley, and she's been talking about her students for the last twenty minutes without taking a single breath. Today's biggest crisis involved a kid meowing during a math test because someone dared him to, and somehow that turned into three referrals before lunch. It's actually kind of impressive how passionate she is.
I should be listening and impressed. Instead I’m wondering how fast I can finish this pasta without looking like a complete asshole while also trying not to sniffle like a sick toddler. This is date number three.
Date number one was Tessa’s idea. Some girl she met at a yoga class who turned out to be into “energy healing” and spent forty-five minutes trying to realign my chakras with her hands while we were still at the damn table. I left with a headache and a strong desire to never do yoga again. Though tonight’s headache might actually be from whatever virus is currently kicking my ass.
Date number two was Erica’s pick. She was a quiet pretty girl who seemed normal at first. Then she spent the entire date telling me about her ex who “didn’t understand her” and how she was “finally ready to be seen.” By the end of the night she was crying into her wine and asking if I thought soulmates could be toxic. I paid the bill, drove her home, and went straight to Perdition to drink with Cole until I stopped feeling like the world’s biggest asshole.
Now here I am on date three with Hadley’s teacher friend, feeling like death warmed over, and I’m trying really hard not to check my phone under the table or blow my nose like a sick giant.
Rachel laughs at something she just said and looks at me expectantly. I realize too late I wasn’t listening. “Sorry,” I say, forcing a smile even though my face hurts. “Long day. What were you saying?”
She tilts her head, still smiling. “I was asking if you’ve ever thought about working with kids. You seem like you’d be good with them. You’ve got that… big brother protective energy.”
I almost choke on my water. Big brother protective energy. Jesus Christ. I feel like I’m about to fall over. “I mostly just fix bikes and break up fights between my brothers,” I tell her. “Not sure that translates to middle school.”
She laughs like I made a joke. I didn’t.
The rest of dinner is fine. She’s sweet and smart. She keeps touching my arm when she talks and I keep wishing I felt something other than mild panic and the strong urge to go home and pass out. By the time the check comes, I already know I’m not asking her out again. I also know Hadley’s gonna give me shit for it.
I pay, because I’m not a complete dick, even when I feel like shit, and walk her out to her car. She lingers by the door, looking up at me with this hopeful little smile that makes me feel like an even bigger asshole than I already do.
“I had a really nice time,” she says.
“Yeah,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “You’re great, Rachel. Really. But I’m… kind of in a weird place right now. Not sure I’m good company for anybody.”
She nods like she understands, but I can tell she’s disappointed. I hate that I’m the reason. I also really hate that my head is spinning.
We say an awkward goodbye and I watch her drive away before I climb onto my bike. The second I’m alone, I let out a groan that probably scares the couple walking past me.
Three dates down. One to go. And so far the only thing I’ve learned is that I’m apparently really fucking bad at this… and that I might actually be dying. I sit there for a minute, engine off, staring at the restaurant. The whole “let the old ladies set you up” thing had sounded stupid but harmless when they pitched it. Now it just feels like another reminder that everybody else in my life has figured their shit out while I’m still sitting at the bar watching it happen.
I pull out my phone and open the group chat the four of them forced me into weeks ago. Before I can overthink it, I send a message.
Tiny:Date #3 complete. She was nice, Hadley, but I’m not feeling it. Also I think I’m dying. My head is trying to murder me. Tell Cole I want a Viking funeral with lots of whiskey.
