Page 98 of My Favorite Bad Decision
“But why does itmatter,Miller?” she asked.
And that was when it finally hit me. That I’d spent the whole goddamn summer with Maren because I wanted her seventeen-year-old sister. Desperately. That it mattered because I was fucking sick with jealousy and couldn’t admit it to myself. That the reason I hadn’t been able to call the time of death on the thing with Maren, a thing I knew couldn’t make me happy, wasn’t because we had something.
It was because she was the only way I could stay near Kit.
And no matter who I’ve been with since then, she was still what I wanted.
The past two weeks have been hell, the worst of my fucking life. The one thing keeping me going is a single text from Kit’s dad, saying, “She’ll come around. She’s as miserable as you are.”
But that was two weeks ago, and in the meantime, there’s been a blizzard, followed by a balmy spring day, and it’s as if the seasons are changing and the whole world is moving forward, while I’m going to remain stuck in the same goddamn place I was a decade ago.
Dying for a girl I couldn’t have. One Istillcan’t have.
I leave my office at dusk. Spring is in the air, and New York has emptied itself into the streets to celebrate. I want to be out here with her, walking hand in hand. I want to be planning our night, our weekend, our summer, our entire fucking lives.
But she’s still worried about her sister and mourning someone she lost years ago. I can’t demand she stop. It’ll take time, if she comes around at all.
I love her enough to wait. I love her enough to sit here like a jackass, hoping she comes around and to accept that a part of her still belongs to someone else.
But it really sucks to love her that much, that wholeheartedly, when she can’t love me back the same way.
My sister calls. She’s been my sounding board about all things Kit- and Maren-related for a very long time.
“Hey,” I say.
“You’re moping,” she replies. “Walking and moping. I can hear it in your voice.”
“I realize it’s counterintuitive but calling me on my bad mood doesn’t actually do a lot toimprovemy bad mood.”
“Come over,” she says. “I’ll make you dinner.”
“No offense, Ro, but that’s unlikely to improve my mood either.”
She laughs. “Jesus, you’re an asshole when you’re moping. I’d forgotten. I’ll order in.”
“I think I just need to be on my own tonight,” I tell her, “but I appreciate it.”
We end the call and not two seconds later, the phone buzzes. Which I assume means Rowan has told my mom or Leila that I’m upset, and they’ll hound me for the rest of the fucking night.
Sighing heavily, I retrieve the phone again. I swear to God, I’d just turn it off if I wasn’t still hoping to hear from?—
Kit. It’sKitwho’s texted.
Kit
Hey, are you around? Can we talk?
It doesn’t sound like she’s saying she’s had a change of heart. It sounds like the text you send before you explain how final your decision is.
I want to ignore it, just to prolong the inevitable, but because I love Kit Fischer, because I want to be the one person who never leaves her uncertain, or scared, or gnawed with dread, I text her back.
I’m nearly home. Do you want me to call?
Kit
I’ll come over if that’s okay.
I start to make a joke about dumping people by text, but it’s all too raw. I can’t bring myself to do it.
