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“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“No, not really, Hope.” Her eyes are puffy—and it’s not just from regular exhaustion. She’s been crying.
My stomach bottoms out.
“What’s wrong? Is Mom—?”
“What happened to you yesterday?”
“Yesterday?” The failed locket attempt, downtown, Selena’s baby shower, a call to Will, a kiss ...
Tessa waiting for me at a bar to watch a band.Shit.
Excuses crackle and wither on my tongue like the Pop Rocks candy we used to fight over as kids.
She stares me down, an unfamiliar glint in her eyes. “I waited for you for an hour at the bar. You didn’t answer my texts.”
“Will and I went to Newport, and my phone died.”
The hardness in her expression develops a layer of ice.
“God, Tess, I messed up. It’s not like you never went out for a fun night and let your phone die. You’ve even dropped your share of phones into the toilet, if my memory is correct.” More ice and silence. “You do remember fun, don’t you?”
She exhales a sharp laugh. “Glad you think lying to me is fun.”
“I’m not lying to you.”
“It’s hard to believe that since every time I turn around you’ve got a new lie for me. You even lied about seeing Maeve.” Tessa’s face undergoes a series of microexpressions I know are meant to keep her from crying because I cycle through those same expressions.
“Maeve. How did you—who told you?”
She breathes a jaded laugh and pinches the bridge of her nose with her hands. “That’s your answer. Who told me? You know, the worst part is that I could almost forgive you for ditching me for Will, but it never even occurred to me that you’d lie to me for Maeve. I thought you learned your lesson.”
“Learned my lesson? As if I’m one of your kids who you can just send to their room?” Tessa’s elegant foyer, the chandelier, and the spray of white orchids turn red as heat pulses beneath my skin. The intensity of the heat melts away the barricade I put up. “Must be nice—to live here, in your beautiful house with your perfect children, and pass judgment on everyone else. Well, guess what? You went to Maeve too. You never mentioned that. What did you go for, huh?”
Tessa’s jaw goes slack; then she grinds her teeth together. “I went as a joke. To see what it was all about. You know what I saw—a sad woman, with a sad story, who needs to take advantage of other people to make herself feel better. I saw your future, if you’re not careful.”
I step back. My heels hang off the back edge of her cement steps. “That was cruel, Tessa. Maeve is my only chance to connect with Brandon.”
“Why, Hope? Brandon’s gone. He’s been gone, and you’re the only one who refuses to see that. Why are you so desperate to connect with Brandon.” The cruel emphasis she puts onconnectmakes the wordsound nonsensical. “Explain it to me. Because you know what? I don’t understand.”
It’s my turn to pinch the bridge of my nose to stop the tears burning the backs of my eyes. “I just want to know I’m not alone.”
“You’re not alone. I’m here.” Hurt darts across her face. Brandon’s horrified expression smolders against the backs of my eyes.
My mouth goes dry. The words I need don’t come, like they haven’t come time and time again. “It’s—never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
Tessa shakes her head. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is I’ve been there for you every day, trying to help you get your life together, and you don’t care. You lied to me. Lied to my kids. I can’t keep saving you. I just ... it’s exhausting. If you’re determined to self-destruct, I can’t stop you anymore. I don’t want to.”
My throat is thick, and I can’t respond. Tessa and I are separated by a few inches, but the chasm that has opened between us feels too wide to ever even begin to cross. She’s my sister, my first friend and first soulmate, but right now, she feels like a stranger.
The last time I felt a chasm like this with someone I loved was that last morning with Brandon. I said things I can never take back, that led to his death. Tears fill my eyes. I can’t do this again. Can’t be at fault. Can’t lose someone else because of something I said.
I pivot and walk down the steps. She makes a noise from the back of her throat, half sob, half laugh. “Yeah, that’s a good plan. Run away. Go hide. You’ve gotten good at that these past few years.”
Her words strike the vulnerable place just beneath my ribs. And I let them.
24
