Page 99 of Every Good Thing
She reaches out, but I gently bat her arms away. I don’t want to be touched or consoled. Another pause brings silence as I boil in a debate I never wanted to have, let alone like this—under pressure in the court of Lena’s anxiety. But I also know there’s no getting around it, especially if she’s hellbent on believing there’s something between Lauren and me.
Lena stares up at me, eyes glistening with fresh tears for me. Her sympathy pisses me off—this is what I never wanted.
“What happened with Lauren still angers me. Not because I love her—I don’t. But because…” My words sound haggard, like my mouth’s full of sand. “You say the right things and put on your fake smiles and your busyness, but I know that one day you’ll look at me like she did… not over my scars, but over something—frustrations over our communication or the burden I’ll become. You’re already accommodating me at every turn and making decisions to suit me. Goddamnit, Lena. See? This is why I never wanted you to know. I want your truthful reactions, not your sympathy or accommodation. It’s bad enough dealing with this shit and all the pressure over the job and my future—our future—without reliving it every time I look at you, too.”
My index finger rises between us. “I won’t say this again—I don’t want to talk about it.”
Her riding boots scrape the brick walkway as she moves back, and her sympathy shifts into anguish. I’ve hurt her—again.
But somehow, I don’t care.
I gather the horses’ reins and move them into their holding stations. “I’ll take care of the horses—”
“Let me help.”
“No. Leave me alone.” I take a breath, already regretful about my anger, my tone, everything. “Please, Lena.”
Though it goes against every fiber of her overthinking, sensitive being, she does.
Twenty-Eight
LENA
Clashing light sabers, weird-ass costumes, and a mishmash of beeps, buzzers, and zippy music greet us as we enter the double doors leading to the main convention center. An imperial soldier shoots me with a Nerf gun.
“Die, rebel scum!” he shouts before rushing away.
I’m not in the mood for this.
Ruthie squeezes my hand, ballerina stepping in her bright pink boots. Her Toadette hat and pom poms bounce with her, emphasizing her excitement. “Mom, I wanna go there. And there. Where’s Adam? Do you see him yet? He’s Spiderman. Remember?”
“I remember. We’ll find him.”
“Let’s get eyes on Jaye,” Dot says. “I want her to know I’m here.”
She claps her hands together like she’s about to feast on a buffet. Like Ruthie, she’s also made an effort with her wardrobe. Long black jeans accent her shiny black Tims. Her Nightmare Before Christmas t-shirt is tucked in and secured by a silver-knotted belt—Dot has a waist! Silver studs weave around her upper ears, and her black hair is artfully twisted away from her eyes with dagger bobby pins. A smudgy black eyeliner highlights her piercing eyes, making her look vixen-like. She’s not even wearing flannel.
“I want Jaye to see my costume,” Ruthie agrees.
“Lead the way, Dot,” I say.
She eyes the event map on her phone and points down the middle lane like an air traffic controller. Darth Vader breezes by, making Ruthie gasp in trepidation. He’s followed by a swarm of fairies and a Batman. We pass game tables, eclectic fan art, comic books, and a wall of Funko Pop figures, weaving through thick crowds. My grip on Ruthie’s hand tightens to keep her close. Dot grabs her other hand as backup.
At the end of the row, the space opens. Celebrities line the back wall at tables, signing wares for fans. Hundreds wait their turn, the lines stretching and crossing into the aisles. It’s organized chaos, difficult to make our way through, let alone see where we’re going.
As we look for Jaye among the other artists, actors, and authors, Ruthie squeals and rips away. I bolt after her, using my weaponized arm to push through the crowd, not caring about the lines I’m cutting or the complaints I hear. Her pink-domed head bobbles in and out of sight before I catch up to her.
She plops into Jaye’s lap with a victorious, “I found her!”
I go to my knees before them both and grab Ruthie’s hands. “Never do that again, Ruthie. Never run away from me in a crowd.”
My stern voice carries, though I’m not yelling. Ruthie’s face flushes before tears fall.
“It’s my fault, Lena. I spotted her and waved her over. My bad,” Jaye explains, and my whole body slumps when Ruthie buries her face in Jaye’s expensive-looking winged shrug over her black tube top.
I pull her off Jaye’s lap and smile as I capture her teary eyes. “Ruthie, I’m sorry, but you scared me, sweetheart. It would help if you stayed with me and Dot in this place. You might lose us.”
“Sorry, Mom.” She shrugs and purses her lips.
