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Actors. Models. Socialites.
I fought so hard for him and his dream. I gave up everything. But by then end, he wouldn’t even give me a minute.
A minute was all I asked for.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “It’s over now, anyway.”
He lets go of my wrist, and I start to walk again. He strolls along beside me. I can tell he wants to argue his point, and every so often his lips will part, like he’s found the words he needs to convince me, but he stops himself.
When we reach my building, I come to a stop in the parking lot not far from my door.
“Thanks,” I mumble, awkwardly not knowing what to say in this moment.
“You’re wrong,” he says when I turn away, his voice just loud enough for me to hear. Should’ve known he wouldn’t let it go.
I shake my head. “I’m not.”
“You are,” he says again. “And I hate that I ever made you think otherwise, Kennedy.”
He walks away. I watch him go, ignoring the tiny sliver of me that doesn’t want him to leave.
Maddie’s already tucked into bed when I go inside, but Meghan’s on the couch, flipping through channels so fast I’m not sure how she can tell what’s on. She looks at me, pausing as she sits up.
“Wow, you look…” she starts, waving toward me.
“I look what?”
“I don’t know,” she says, “but you look something.”
“I feel something,” I mumble, plopping down on the couch beside her, dropping her shoes on her lap as I kick my feet up on the coffee table. My dress is tugged up damn near to my waist. I’m probably flashing her my underwear, but I don’t care. What a night.
“Oh god, was it that bad?” she asks, her voice dropping low as she clutches her chest. “Is it little? Does he have a needle-nose plier dick? Oh god, this is gold… please tell me Andrew’s packing a pinky in his pants.”
“No,” I say with a laugh, pausing before adding, “Well, I don’t know. Never seen it, but I doubt that’s the case.”
“What do you mean you’ve never seen it?”
“I mean I’ve never seen it. We’ve never… you know.”
“What?” She looks at me with shock. “You’ve gone out a few times and you haven’t even played with it? What the hell? I mean, I don’t blame you, because gross, but why do you keep going if he’s not sticking it to you? What’s the point?”
“Maybe because he’s nice.”
“Nice? You know who else is nice?”
“Don’t even start.”
“Mister Rogers,” she says. “He wants you to be his neighbor. Bob Ross, he’s nice, too. He’ll paint you a happy little cloud. Hell, how about one of the Cleavers? Why not go out with one of them?”
“Pretty sure they’re all dead.”
“Yeah, well, so is your vagina at this rate.”
Laughing, I shove her, nearly pushing her off the couch. “It is not.”
“Fine, whatever, so Andrew’s nice.” She pretends to gag. “If you didn’t get naked, what did you do tonight?”
“Went to dinner.”
“Dinner,” she says, eyeing me. “You’ve been gone four hours. How much did you eat?”
“Why are you asking so many questions?”
“Just making sure you didn’t run off and do something stupid, like get naked with someone else.”
“Of course not,” I say. “My dress stayed on all night long.”
“But you ran off, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
She waves her finger in my face. “You saw him.”
Guilty.
I don’t have to say anything. She knows.
“Jesus Christ, Kennedy…”
“I know, I know. You don’t even have to say it.”
“Oh, but I will,” she says. “I’m not going to tell you what to do. I mean, I want to. I want to tell you to get a restraining order, but I won’t. I know he’s her father…”
“He’s also your brother.”
She shoves her hand in my face, pushing my head away. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”
Standing, she slips her shoes on, smoothing the creases from her clothes.
“You can stay, you know,” I tell her. “You don’t have to rush off.”
“I know,” she says, playfully roughing up my hair until I smack her hand. “But the universe demands balance. You didn’t give it up tonight, which means it’s up to me, so I’m off to do my civic duty.”
“Ah, to be young again.”
She flips me off.
Truth is, Meghan’s got me beat by a few years. She’s on the cusp of turning thirty and isn’t anywhere close to settling down. She’s so carefree that she makes me feel like an old fogy.
“Love you,” she says.
“You, too, Meghan.”
“Love you, cinnamon-sugar apple-fritter!” she yells as she opens the front door, her voice carrying through the apartment.
I don’t expect her to get a response, but a sleepy voice calls from the bedroom, “Love you!”
Meghan looks at me, trying to appear serious, pointing to her eyes before pointing at me, warning me she’ll be watching.
Before I can respond, she’s gone.
