Page 148 of The Revenge Game
Mom’s grip on my hands tightens. “Oh, honey.”
“He recognized me though. And he got a job at my company and moved into my apartment building deliberately because he wanted revenge on me for what I did to him.”
A server appears at our table, but Mom waves her away.
“But somewhere along the line,” I continue, “while he was pretending to be someone else, we fell in love. Real love. The kind where you can’t wait to tell them about your day, where you want to share every stupid thought that crosses your mind, where just being in the same room makes you feel…complete.”
Mom’s eyes haven’t left mine. “And then you found out who he really was,” she prompts.
“Yeah.” My voice cracks on the word. “And now I don’t know what parts were real or fake. But, he did so many nice things forme, small things and big things, without me knowing that he was behind half of them.”
“It sounds like he cares about you very much.” Mom’s thumb strokes my knuckles. “Even if he showed it in a very strange way.”
I snort because that feels like the understatement of the year. “He definitely showed it in a strange way.”
She adjusts the sugar packets in their holder, arranging them by color like she’s trying to organize her thoughts. “So, what’s happening between you now?”
“He’s asked me to forgive him. He still wants to be with me.” I press my palms into my eye sockets until colors burst behind my eyelids.
But it doesn’t bring me any clarity.
I drop my hands.
“And I still love him so much. I’ve been trying to work out if the guy I love is the real version or the fake. Because I know how easy it is to fall for someone fake, to be fooled by someone.”
Mom’s hands go still on her coffee cup. The fluorescent lights flicker above us, casting strange shadows across her face that make her look both younger and older.
“Honey, Bobby Ray showed us exactly who he was right from the start. We just didn’t want to see it.” She leans forward, her voice dropping. “Remember how he used to tell those jokes that weren’t really jokes? How he’d say awful things and then laugh like he was testing us?”
I nod, remembering how his laughter always held that edge, like a knife wrapped in velvet.
“But, Andrew…” Mom continues, “From what you’ve told me, it sounds like he started pretending to be someone else but ended up showing you exactly who he really is. And you showed him who you are, didn’t you?”
I nod. Because that’s the thing. Even while Andrew was playing a part, he somehow managed to make me more real. It was like his fake identity created a safe space for both of us to be authentic.
“The thing about walls is they don’t just keep other people out. They keep us trapped inside too,” Mom says quietly. “If you’ve found someone who helps you tear down your walls instead of building higher ones, maybe that’s worth fighting for.”
The jukebox switches to Dolly Parton singing about heartbreak, and I almost laugh at how perfectly the universe is scoring this moment.
“You and I both know relationships can be risky, Justin,” Mom continues in the same soft tone. “You put your whole heart into someone’s hands and just hope they’re careful with it.”
“But that’s the thing,” I say, tears prickling my eyes again, remembering how carefully Andrew had handled every piece of me I’d trusted him with, even while hiding pieces of himself. “Even though he lied to me, no one has ever made me feel as safe as he does.”
My mind and stomach both churn as I drive to my class reunion.
I’ve spent the last few days repeatedly going through the photos Andrew sent me, reading his captions, reflecting on my conversation with my mother.
But I still have no idea what I’m going to say to him when I see him.
Can I move past this?
Is he actually going to show up? It will take so much courage for Andrew Yates to walk back into Coyote Creek High School.
When I arrive, I discover the gym’s been transformed with white fairy lights strung across the ceiling where championship banners used to hang and round tables have been draped in maroon tablecloths.
And the irony is I’m using the app Andrew built to handle this occasion. It hums steadily as familiar-but-not-familiar faces swirl around me. Michael Rodriguez, who runs his family’s restaurant now. Rachel Thompson, whose campaign for class treasurer involved spreadsheets and who’s now, predictably, a hedge fund manager. Diego Ramirez, who swapped hisMost Likely to Become a Rock Staryearbook prediction for a surprisingly successful career breeding show dogs.
But I don’t see Andrew Yates.
