Page 66 of People Like Us

He finally broke the silence as I was strapping myself in, his words barely audible over the waking engine of the vintage beast. “You didn’t answer my question Lola. I know you didn’t leave that food in the lab, the box was steaming. So tell me why one of the misfits skipped class to drive down to The Grill to buy you lunch?”

I held my breath for a moment, before lulling my head against the head rest to look over at him. Andy’s blue eyes sparkled in the moonlight. He looked so much like the boy I’d met at vacation bible school that the guilt I’d been begging myself to feel since Saturday began to unwind in my stomach like a vine.

“He thinks I have an eating disorder.” I say softly, reaching across the bench to trace my fingers over his knuckles.

Andy’s brows pinch and he asked, a bit irritated, “Do you?”

I shake my head, “No.”

“Then why would he—” his eyes raked over me, and it’s like he was seeing me for the first time. Seeing me how other people did, anyway. The prominent cheek bones, eyes too large for my face, collarbones that shouldn’t have been as visible as they were. I realized then that Andy had never looked at me the way other people had—with a deep and obvious pity for how oblivious my parents were of my existence.

His mouth bent down at the corners. For a moment it felt like we were two mirrors of our self-involved parents reflecting back at ourselves and the rest of our lives all at once. I could tell he felt it too, because Andy didn’t crack a lewd joke, or gloss over it the way he usually did when things got too serious. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to mine and whispered, “I should’ve noticed.”

The vine of guilt in my stomach grew thorns and used them to climb its way up my esophagus, a thousand buds whispering liar into my lungs and throat before finally reaching my mouth, forcing words to bloom on my tongue.

“I love you.” I whispered into the dark cabin. He didn’t say it back. I think he knew I didn’t mean it.

I pulled my muddy stockings off and turned the shower dial all the way up. Steam curled around me as scalding water pounded my shoulders, hissing against the yellowing tub. I breathed in the faint sweetness of strawberry scented soap, then slid my fingers between my legs, searching for that tender spot. Everything still felt dull and overused after Andy’s rutting.

I closed my eyes and pressed my head against the vinyl wall, trying to will my body over the edge. But instead of Andy’s face, it was August’s voice that echoed in the back of my skull, low and urgent.

“I build temples to you in my mind all the time”

Need coiled tightly, deep within me.

An urgent knock rattled the thin doorframe. I sighed and let my arm drop, giving up. “Yes?” I called into the spray, my voice muffled by the roar of water. I held my breath, praying it wasn’t my father.

“Sweetheart,” my stepmother’s singing voice drifted under the door. “Your father asked me to remind you that anything important should be cleaned in less than ten minutes.”

I wanted to shout, “Is period blood important?” but instead I swallowed and said, “Yes, sir.”

The water cut off as I twisted the knob, steam billowing into the chilly air. I climbed out, letting the water run off me and soak the matted bath mat below my feet. Every drop of heat in my body disappeared against the sudden cold.

I heard their low voices through the wood—a soft tsk from her, a grumble from him—while I toweled off my hair and wrestled into my pajamas, the cotton tangling against still-wet skin.

Her lilting question came next: “Did you have a nice time at church?”

I shivered as I tugged the soft pajama pants up over my calves. “Yes, ma’am.”

More quiet murmurs, then my father’s gravelly voice: “What verses did you go over?”

I cracked the door and a wave of mist washed out. He stood there, his shoulders slumped, breath smelling faintly of the diet soda he drank more often than water. “Not any specific chapter,” I said, stepping onto the creaking hallway floor. “ Pastor Sam gave an example of why evolution is impossible and reminded us we can excuse ourselves from class when teachers lie.”

My father nodded slowly. “He’s a smart man.”

I lifted my chin in agreement as he shuffled off toward the kitchen, the floor joist sighing under each footstep. Denise offered me a polite smile and a soft, “Good night,” then followed behind her husband.

“Good night,” I murmured back, my voice disappearing into the quiet house.

Later, curled beneath my covers, I wondered what it would feel like to hear my parents tell me they loved me before I fell asleep. I wondered where my real mother was, whether she’d be proud of me. Then a thought shaped itself in the darkness, too vivid to push away: Would she like August?

I pulled out my phone and tapped open our thread before I could overthink it. My thumbs moved on their own: Good night, August.

His reply came almost immediately: Good night, Sin.

I folded the screen into my chest, cradling it as if I could imprint those words on my heart. And in the silence, where no one but me could hear, I whispered into the dark, “I love you, Lola. Good night.”

Chapter Twenty-Six