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Patrick: She's good.
Imogen: Thanks. Oh. She's texting now.
Patrick: She decided to not torture you.
Imogen: Did she torture you too much?
Patrick: No. She's a good kid.
Imogen: She is.
Patrick: She's just worried about you.
Imogen: I know. I should talk to her. It's just… complicated. Are relationships supposed to be complicated this fast?
Patrick: I'm not an expert. But I don't mind it.
Imogen: Are you sure?
Patrick: Yeah. I can wait to learn more about what's in your big, beautiful brain.
Imogen: I can't believe she said that.
Patrick: She's right. You're a thinker. I get it. I love it, actually. And I can be patient with it.
More or less.
Maybe less.
I need to stick with where I'm good here.
Patrick: I'm glad to be here for her. Besides, we can make up for the lost day later this week.
Imogen: Oh?
Patrick: Yeah. When I call you Monday night.
ChapterForty-One
IMOGEN
When I take Julie to breakfast, I expect her to demand an explanation. Instead, she says she's sorry for pushing and she's here when I need her.
When I promise I'm okay, she believes me.
When I change the subject to her off-season fitness routine, she talks about sprinting on the sand, hitting the batting cages at Boomers, and running drills with her girlfriend.
For a few hours, I feel like an actual big sister. Like a good sister. Then, I hug her goodbye, and slip back into Patrick's place.
A million questions swirl in my mind. What the hell did he tell her? It must be more than a younger sibling to younger sibling explanation.
Nothing clears my head, not Patrick's goodbye hug or his promise to call Monday.
After an extra swim, a double-grilled cheese sandwich dinner, and a study session on the couch, I give up.
I open my laptop drop my thoughts in an entry.
Then I wake up and I do it again.
