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“Why don’t you just leave?”
She stops on an entertainment channel before she turns back to me. “Leave where?”
“Just go somewhere else.” I lean even further back. “I mean, you already told me your lifelong dream—if you weren’t lying then—is to leave Philly. Once you learned of your father’s schemes, you could have just packed up and run rather than start scheming yourself.”
She lets out a tired sigh. “Yeah.” She studies the rug underneath our feet. “Do you remember what you said during our first date?”
“What?” The only thing I seem to remember about that night now is my fingers inside her pussy.
“You talked about how I can’t stand my dad.” She pauses. “And you were kind of right. But he’s also my father, and I love him.”
Her voice breaks a little at the end, and my heart goes out to her. “I’m sorry, Brit,” I say, actually meaning it. “Must not have been easy growing up next to Blake.”
She shrugs, a faraway look in her eyes. “He’s the perfect son.” Her tone is completely cavalier, but I can tell that she’s still a little stung at being the second-best. “I wanted to be perfect too, I suppose. And perfect, for my dad at least, means absolute obedience.”
“Dowdy skirts and going through your life in silence,” I say, taking a swig of my beer. “I kind of get it.”
Brit shrugs again. “I can’t keep pretending to mold myself into an image that isn’t me. But I don’t want to just end everything on a bad note. Not with my only parent.”
“I guess we have to keep pretending we’re madly in love, then.”
She looks up at me, a wide grin of relief on her face.
Pleasure bursts in my chest. It feels different from when we were fucking. Making her smile is everything. And while I’m certain we’re not crossing any boundaries, thinking of Blake makes me feel even more guilty than I did when I lied to him about us making out.
“What about you?” she asks out of nowhere.
“What about me?” I ask.
She downs the rest of her beer. “Why do you prefer dating up a storm, even after your exes keep calling you out? One girl is far more fulfilling than a million of them, right?”
It’s my turn to shrug. “Maybe for some people,” I say, staring directly at the TV. I appreciate her candor about her life, but the last thing I want is a heart-to-heart about my own personal issues.
“You know what my theory about you is?” she says, leaning closer to me. “Your mother abandoned you, and now you have to make sure you’re the one to leave first.”
“You got it,” I say, surprised at how easy it is to admit it to her. “I’m a cliché. Child of an abused mother and a drunk father. Unloved and abandoned. Big deal.”
“But you’re wrong,” she says, now swiping my beer back from me.
I look over at her. “Am I?” I ask. “Your mom never left, but she died giving birth to you. Your dad is all alone. And you agree with me.”
“No, I don’t,” she says.
“Don’t you?” I ask, taking the beer back from her. “You told me about your dreams to escape, Brit. Nowhere did you mention that you were hoping to find love. Could it be because you see love as a cage, like the one your dad has kept you in your entire life? I mean, he claims he’s keeping you caged because he loves you.”
Brit stares at me, evidently speechless for a few seconds. And then, she mutters, “Touché.”
I spare her a victorious grin. “We’re in agreement then.”
Silence ensues for some time, and I glance at her again, realizing for the first time how much I like talking to her when we’re not trying to piss each other off. This is the first time I’ve truly relaxed in weeks, maybe even months.
“Do you think it’s easier for people like Blake?” she asks suddenly, her tone whimsical.
“How do you mean?”
“You know,” she says. “He doesn’t have any of our brokenness about love. Our parents loved each other until our mom died. He says he even remembers her a little, how it felt to be held by her. Our dad’s love for him never had any conditions attached to it.”
I ponder her question for a second, my enjoyment of this conversation deepening. “Maybe,” I say. “But then we all have our garbage.”
