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“All the best things in life start with P. Oh, why couldn’t Daddy have named me Penelope?” Alice flops down onto a pillow, a dramatic sigh falling from her chest.
“What else, Owen? Surely, you’ve thought about this.”
He peers at me. Like I should know the answer. Like the answer to his question is hiding in my pocket. He squeezes his hands together in his lap, then says, “I hope she’ll be happy. And spirited. I hope she’ll laugh. A lot.”
I type and type and then wait for more. I don’t want to interrupt him. He’s on a roll.
“I hope she’ll value her work and the people in her life. Maybe she’s a little too competitive and a bit impatient.”
I snort. He wants a girl who’s impatient? Oh, my best friend is a good one. When he pauses, I ask a question just to keep him talking. “Extrovert or introvert.”
“Does it ma—” Coco starts.
But Owen interrupts her. “Extrovert. One who likes to take risks.”
I smack his shoulder. Risks? “Okay, Mr. We’ll-Bungee-Jump-Someday. I totally heard you tell Miles that bungee jumping is for people who don’t want to live long.”
He lifts one shoulder in a shrug, his blue eyes shining at me like a newly scrubbed gem. “What can I say? That’s what I want.”
“You’re a goof. And I love ya. I have no doubt someone else will too.” I chuckle and give him an encouraging nod.
Of course someone will love him. Why wouldn’t they?
7
Owen
Sure, I’ve described Annie—to a T—but she doesn’t seem to realize it. She laughs and jokes that someone out there will love me. But I don’t want that. Not when she means someone other than herself.
The problem is, right now the only person I see is Annie. The only girl taking up room in my head and my heart is Annie. The only person I want in any way possible is—you guessed it—Annie.
My brother, Levi, would throttle me if he could hear my thoughts.
And he isn’t completely wrong. A happy person doesn’t inflict self-harm.
I am a happy person. I am an easy-going, playful, optimistic guy.
So, why do I torture myself day after day, week after week, year after year loving someone who doesn’t love me back? Not like I want her to.
But then, I’m not really sure you get to choose who you love. Maybe you do. Either way—my choice or not—I love Annie Archer. And I have for fourteen years.
Annie is a remarkable, accomplished human. Her heart and laughter are big. So big, I’m certain they could smother all the bad in the world.
At least, that’s what I think.
Levi does not agree with me. More than anything, Levi hates that the happiest person he knows (his words, not mine) is reduced to a pile of mush every couple of months because of a girl.
It isn’t Annie’s fault, though. She’s never asked for more. She’s never considered it. It’s not that way with us—or whatever it is she told her grandmother this morning.
Still, that doesn’t change the fact that once every two to three months I end up a puddle on Levi’s doorstep.
“This is great,” Annie says, looking over her notes. “I should go. I need to map some of this out. See how some of these things connect with questions I’ve gotten.” She stands. “Do you need anything? Can I—”
“I’ve got Coco. I’m good.”
“Are you sure, because I’d planned to stay and—”
I cut her off again. She can’t stay. She has work to do. “I’m sure. I just needed a nap. I’m good now. Really.”
