Page 33 of Isn't She Lucky
Taking a breath and softening my tone, I say, “I loved you, G. Even when I was too young to know what love was, I loved you. It wasn’t until the night we kissed that solidified it in my heart, and I never saw you again after that. So, was it the kiss? Is that what drove you away from me?”
“No.”
“Then what was it?”
“It was you—the things you said. You don’t think I felt something for you, too? You were my world, Kase. For years, it was only me and my mother. When I met you, I—I knew you would be special to me and you were until you told your mother not to worry about us getting too close because there wereprettiergirls at your school and you know better not to fall for apoorgirl like me.”
A frown tears across my forehead. Her words cause me physical pain because I’m not sure of their source. I ask, “What are you talking about, Giada?”
“You heard what I said. Don’t try to deny it now. Your mother came to you because she thought we were getting too close, and told you to be careful with me. You told her not to worry because there were prettier girls at your school, and then you said something about my clothes and laughed—”
“That’s an outright lie! That never happened!”
She closes her eyes and shakes her head, prompting more tears to slide down her pretty skin.
“It did happen,” she says. “My mother told me all about it.”
“Giada, look at me.” After she angles her head up to me, I say, “Those wordsneverleft my mouth!”
“You’re a liar!” she tosses at me, her voice sharp and unforgiving. I’m internally bruised and bleeding, aching in places I didn’t know could hurt – all over something I didn’t do.
I say, “No, your mother is a liar!”
WHAM.
She lands a slap right across my face. I deserved that. In my hurt and anger, I insulted her mother, but if the woman really said those things, then that’s what she is – a liar – because I’ve never, nor would I ever say anything like that about Giada.
With the sting of her slap lingering on my face, I grab her by the forearms and walk forward until she’s pressed against the island. Now that I have her undivided attention, I say, “I never said those words.”
“Why would my mother make that up? Hmm?” she asks, her face a teary mess.
The sight of her tears hurts. That’s how I know I’m still very much in love with her.
I say, “I don’t know, but let me ask you this? Did she ever give you any of my messages? I told her to tell you to call me. Text me. I even wrote notes and a letter for you. Did she give it to you?”
She sniffles. “A letter? My mother didn’t give me no letter.”
“Then let me ask you this—did you tell your mother that the reason you stopped wanting to come see me was because you outgrew me?”
“No,” she whispers and snivels.
“I overheard her say that to my mother when my mom asked where you were.”
I take a moment to absorb the conclusion I’ve come to. All these years we missed were because her mother wanted us apart.
“Giada—”
She gently pulls her arms out of my grasp and says, “I have to go.” She wipes her eyes and says, “I’ll be back.”
9.
I cried myway over to my mom’s house – a little two-bedroom house she’s been renting for the last few years. I was going to try to disguise my sadness, but something tells me I shouldn’t. She needs to see what she’s done, if what Kasim is telling me is true, and I have a strong suspicion that it is. I knock and open the door because, despite what I’ve told her about keeping it locked, she’s hardheaded, talking about nothing ever happens in Gastonia when there was a S.W.A.T. standoff one street over about five months ago.
“Hey—who’s that barging all up in my house?” she asks, coming out of the kitchen. “I could’ve had a man up in here.”
“Then you should probably keep the doors locked, Ma.”
She looks and sees my eyes. She instantly corrals to my side asking, “What’s the matter, dear?”
