Page 51 of Tell Me You Love Me

“Nice shoes. Verysummery. Franky having a sleepover with Bitsy?”

She nods, though all she allows me a view of is the top of her head and mascara’d lashes flickering down to kiss her cheeks. “He’s not pleased I came out.” Finally, she drags her eyes up and stops on mine. “He doesn’t like changes in routine, and he’s accustomed to us watching television before bed and snuggling on the couch.”

Lucky kid.

“He’ll be okay, though?”

“Yeah. We’re considering it an exercise in growth.” She sniffles and searches around me again because fuck, I know they continue to watch us. “I’m out here, uncomfortable as hell. And he’s there, also uncomfortable. We’ll reunite again in a few hours and lament a wasted evening spent apart.”

Wasted… even though she’s right here in front of me.

“Sounds like you and he make a good little team.” I bring my beer up and chug half the glass—is it possible to drown my bitterness?Here’s hoping.

Swallowing and wiping my lip with my free hand, I reach across and set the glass on a nearby table. “Must be nice having him in your life.”

Her brows furrow in consideration. “How do you mean?”

“Just… relationships can be tricky: with our friends, with lovers, with siblings, even. You and me? We know not-so-great relationships with our parents. But what you and Franky have is unconditional. It’s not complicated at all. It simplyis.”

“Makes you wonder what the hell our parents were thinking,” she sighs. She relaxes a little, dropping her weight and a layer of defensiveness. “Back then, I figured what I have with my mom, and what you had with your parents, was just the way these things go. It wasn’t pleasant, and it wasn’t fair, especially for you and Chris. But I thought it was reasonably normal.”

“And now?”

“Now—” Finally, she smiles, “My son is my best friend, and what we have is pure and wonderful and comes without conditions or an expiration date. He never has to worry that I don’t love him or if I’ll wake up one day and treat him badly for no reason at all. And I never have to wonder if he’s lying or sneaking or, in his little heart, simply doesn’t like me.” She meets my eyes and blushes the way she used to, back when she was sixteen and already world-weary. She trusted me back then. She knew firsthand that life sucked, but she believed with her whole heart that I could—that I would—create a pocket of happiness she could climb into whenever she needed it.

Didn’t matter that I was broke and broken. She merely believed.

And shit, that belief made me invincible.

“Perhaps, someday, you’ll become a dad and get to feel this, too,” she murmurs. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced in my life.”

Maybe.

Probably not.

“Alana fucking Page!” Chris cuts through the staring crowd, louder than the rest, which is a bravery that only comes to him when tequila sizzles in his veins. Then he crashes into her side and shoves a shot glass in her hand, clear liquid spilling over and dribbling along her delicate wrist. “I know a brewin’ fight when I see one.” He smacks a kiss to the side of her head, strands of her blonde hair getting caught in his stubble as he pulls back. “But I’m calling it for today, ‘k? We’re all gonna get along. For tonight, ‘cos it’s my birthday, I’m declaring it so.”

Confused, she leans back and scowls. “It isnotyour birthday!”

“It’s myhalfbirthday,” he sniggers. “‘Cos Tommy and me’ve gotta share. I got sick of always getting the second hug. The second kiss. The secondhappy birthday, kiddo. So I’m claiming the summer, and Tommy takes the winter, and finally, we get to celebrate ourselves as individuals for once in our fuckin’ lives.”

Surprised, she brings her eyes back to mine in question.

So I nod. “It’s true. We did eighteen of them together, then he threw a fit and decided he wanted his own.”

“Do you not acknowledge your actual birthday on the actual day of your birth?” She looks up at him again. “February comes and goes, and you celebrate Tommy only?”

“No, I take February, too.” He giggles, already two-thirds of the way to puking in the street. “I get both. But Tommy doesn’t get shit in the summer. It’s his turn to sit down and shut up ‘cos he gets everything else. He was born first. The ladies look at him first, even if he tells ‘em to buzz off. People talk to him first ‘cos they say I’m mean. And he fell in love first.” Sighing, he rests his cheek on the side of her head. “Didn’t work out so well. But he still got that.”

“Oliver?” I drop my head back and summon someone,anyone, to help. “Come get him, please.”

“You gotta drink that shot, Lana.” He crushes her neck in his side-hug and drags her in till more tequila spills onto her wrist. “For me. For my fake-ass birthday. You owe me ten shots, really, since you’ve skipped the last ten birthdays.”

“You want me to buy you ten shots?” She licks her wrist—God, kill menow—and hums with happiness when the taste hits her tongue. “I would, but you’re already kinda drunk. I wouldn’t feel good making the situation worse.”

“Come on.” Oliver comes around and pulls Chris his way. Which only ends with Alana being pulled along, too. “Time to get off her, Watkins. She ain’t yours.”

“I don’t want you tobuyme ten shots!” He sets his hand under her glass and pushes it up. “I want you to shoot ‘em. Maybe then, you’ll be a little less fuckin’ stuffy and actually remember you used to like us.”

---