Page 44 of Isn't She Lucky
“G, I swear, you’re the best part of waking up,” he says as he lies next to me, pulling me on top of him, same as he did last night.
“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” I say against his chest. I lift my head, press my lips right against the ‘G’ on his chest, and then find his hand and interlock our fingers. I lower my head again, releasing a sigh of relief.
“I have a confession to make,” I say.
“What’s that?”
“It broke my heart to see you crying yesterday. To feel your body shaking in agony. To hear your whimpers.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize, Kase. It’s just that I know what we could’ve been a long time ago, and I hate that a lie is what kept us apart.”
“How are you going to handle this with your mother?”
“I don’t know. I just—” I release the betrayal I feel for her in my throat and say, “When she was explaining why she did what she did, it made sense.”
“It did?”
“Yeah. She said she knew we were in love. She said she saw it, and she had to put an end to it before we ended up doing what hormone-raged teenagers who think they’re in love do.”
“I was in love. I wasn’t unsure about you.”
“I know.”
“Were you unsure about me?” he asks.
“No, but as an adult now, I do understand her perspective. She said she didn’t want me to end up a single mother and go through all of those struggles like she had to do. My mom and I—we struggled a lot, Kase. I never told you how much.”
“Tell me now.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s not relevant anymore.”
“It is,” he says. “Maybe it’ll help to heal the pain I had to endure after all those years of being without you.”
“Um—”
“Tell me, Giada.”
“No.”
“G,” he says, sitting up, prompting me to sit up as well. “I’m serious. Tell me.”
“Why do I need to tell you something you won’t understand? Your life was so different from mine, Kase. You had everything you wanted.”
“I didn’t.”
“Youdid. Look at this place. You lived in luxury. You still do. Whatever you needed for school, whether it was a new pair of shoes, cleats for football, whatever—your parents had it before you could probably ask for it. You were privileged that way.”
“I didn’t need any of that. All I needed was you, and I didn’t havethat, did I?”
I scoot to the edge of the bed and say with my back to him, “But you didn’t need me.”
“What does that supposed to mean?”
Turning to him, I say, “Kase, we were from two different worlds. We still are. And no, as much as you think you know about my life and how it was for me, you don’t. My mother has struggled herentirelife. She was struggling while she was working for your parents. I used to hear her cry. I remember seeing stacks of overdue bills on the kitchen table and her sitting and staring at them, hoping for a—a miracle or something. And I couldn’t do anything about it. I was too young to work. I couldn’t do anything to help out.”
I wipe my eyes.
