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“Once.” I bite my lip. “A couple months ago.”
“How was it?”
“It was awkward.” I laugh a little to myself. “Mostly she did all the talking and then I pretended like I didn’t need to be there while desperately wanting to be there.”
A small smile breaks out over his lips. A sympathetic one. “Why don’t you go more?”
“It’s not affordable under my mom’s health insurance, so it’sjust another thing to pay for. I’m fine.”
“You can go to therapy even if you’re fine. Sometimes it’s nice to talk, to be heard.”
“I just... I don’t know, maybe I’m not doing so well with—the whole thing? My grandma, I mean.” I shrug. If this were a scene in a movie, it would be cut. There’s no need to even be having this conversation because I’m not saying anything.
“That’s understandable. She was a huge part of your life and now she’s not around.”
“And my mom—” My eyes start to water. I blink a few times to stave off the tears. “My mom just wants to move on and I think maybe I want to, too?” I sound like an idiot. “But I feel like that would be betraying my grandma. And if I move on, but then decide I wasn’t actually ready to move on... I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m feeling.”
“There are ways to do both, you know. You can move on, but still process your emotions about everything. Still grieve. Still live. It’s a balance. You’ll never be fully okay with her being gone.” He squeezes my knee, careful to keep his thumb away from the tender bruise. “A therapist could help you with that.”
I nod, not sure what to say. It’s an option. It’s a possibility.
It feels good to talk about it regardless.
He removes his hand and focuses on the room in front of us. His eyes bounce off different things and I just watch him. His long, dark eyelashes fan his skin, and his mouth breaks into a smile. He latches onto the camera around his neck, drawing my attention to it.
“What’s with the camera?” I ask, suddenly aware of the factthat I’m sitting here with the guy I’m in love with in no makeup and raggedy pajamas.
“My assignment is due in two weeks and you can’t keep putting off finishing it. I’ve helped you, now you help me.”
“You’re not done helping me. I still need an interview from you. And the V and V follow-up footage.”
“Okay, sure.” He removes the lens cap. “We’ll do those this week.”
I cover my face, then let my hands sift through my hair, yanking it from my messy bun. “I have to get changed. Put on makeup.”
“No.” He latches onto my arm. “No. You look great. Besides, you were all done up in the New York photos, this will be a nice contrast—really show off your versatility.”
I know he’s lying even without having seen myself today. “Holden.”
“Saine. You look fantastic.” He stares at me for a second, his face growing serious. Meanwhile, it feels like a clown car full of butterflies just pulled up in my gut and have thrown open the door. “But if you want to change, I’ll understand.”
His stare grows long and I roll my eyes. “Yeah, of course I want to change. I feel”—I adopt a mocking version of his smug tone—“vulnerablethis way.”
He’s a lying liar to say I look fine.
“My mom is here,” I say, standing. “Try to be quiet.”
He turns his camera on and I panic, thinking he’s just going to go for it, but then he aims it into my grandma’s room. “Can I take pictures of the murals?”
I blink. “Um, sure?”
“Cool. Maybe we can get a few of you in front of them, too. Personality pictures.” He stands, stuffing his face behind the camera. “I’ll see you in a second.”
Feeling properly dismissed, I go into my room, shutting the door quietly behind me as his shutter clicks away. I sit down in front of my computer and open the webcam. My hair is curly from drying in the messy bun, adding volume that helps distract from the dark circles under my eyes. My lips still have remnants of my bright red lip stain that hasn’t worn off. I get up, walk straight to my closet, and put on the first dress I can get my hands on.
Holden enters the room and shakes his head when he sees me. “You really didn’t have to change. I was just joking.”
“I’m not letting anyone from school see me like that.”
