Page 46 of Tangled Like Us
I couldn’t resent the person who made Maximoff laugh and groan and smile in ways I’d never seen, but I was afraid of not meshing well with Farrow.
What if we never become friends? What if we actually dislike each other over time?
At first, building a friendship together seemed so dreadfully complex, but like all things with Farrow, he made it simple. During the Camp-Away last December, he chose to sit next to me in the mess hall. I was eating alone, and he could’ve easily sat next to Maximoff.
He made me feel like a first thought.
He’s never once made me feel like an unwanted third-wheel. He’s never pushed me out. He’s also gone out of his way to ensure I have plenty of time with Moffy.
Even the night of the car crash.
He’s given my best friend more, and somehow, he’s given me more, too. I feel as though I’ve gained another confidante, another ally, another defender and secret-keeper from the perils of our chaotic world.
I think Farrow is a beautiful person inside and out, and I will never desire to go backwards. To a time where he’s not with us. To just me and Maximoff.
Our worlds are more full of life with him here.
And now that I’vefullyadmitted to both of them that I’m indeed very,veryflushed, I plan to clarify further. But I’m easily distracted.
This time, by my cats. Five out of six are pawing at my calves.
“I know you’ve been waiting, my loves. Look what I have for you.” I rattle the half-gallon of milk. “Come follow.” I guide them to bowls lined in front of the brick fireplace.
Toodles, a tuxedo short-hair, is far too lazy to bother and lounges apathetically on the stair.
“Janie,” Maximoff says firmly. In a way that reminds me tofocus.
I divide milk evenly between the bowls. Admittedly, I’ll put myself last because I find other people far more interesting. Cats as well.
But I love how much Maximoff helps me try to concentrate onmefor more than a fleeting moment.
“It’s not a lengthy story.” I cap the empty gallon while Ophelia, Carpenter, Walrus, Lady Macbeth, and Licorice eagerly lap up milk. A smile touches my lips.
I stand straighter and turn to face both men.
Maximoff has thick brown hair, forest-green eyes, and sharp features full of protectiveness and concern. We’re no longer teenagers. He’s twenty-three, but he often stands like he’s carrying the world on his broad shoulders.
I’d be able to see the fresh puffy scar on his collarbone from his surgery—but he’s dressed in a Third Eye Blind tee, one of his fiancé’s shirts.
Both men already showered this morning. We all got an early start to the day after the commotion outside. Guys screaming my name at the top of their lungs. Every day it grows louder.
It’s not endearing. Some of them are older than my dad.
Thank you, Grandmother.
I’m in a warped version ofSay Anything, but without the boombox and without John Cusack as my love interest.And I may be famous, but I don’t typically deal with fanatic admirers.
I have hecklers.
Men who are quick to criticize my physical appearance. I’m not pretty enough. Not busty enough. Not full-assed enough. And I have too wide of hips. Too big of a stomach.
But after much consideration, I’ve learned to love my body. Because it’s mine and there is only one of me.
I don’t have all the right curves in the right places. I am chubby. But I love my belly rolls, and I adore my love handles and my flat pancake-like ass that’s dimpled with cellulite.
The more I love myself, the more I feel a warm, invisible hug wrap around my body.
Better.
