Page 52 of Acting Merry
“Good night, Cole,” she says with a smile in her voice as she lowers herself under the covers.
“Good night, Reese.”
I stare up at the ceiling, sleep the very last thing on my mind.
When I steal a glance at Reese, she’s doing the same thing.
There’s that old phrasea penny for your thoughts. I don’t know what the going rate is with inflation, but I’d give everything in my bank account for Reese’s.
Regret pinches as I think of our conversation outside and the question she asked that I never answered. She’s let me into an uncomfortable part of her life here, and I couldn’t even bring myself to open up to her a little. I wish I had. That I’d been brave enough.
Just say it, coward.
My heart thumps against my chest, but I keep my voice casual. “My mom left us.”
Reese wasn’t moving before, but now she’s completely still.
It’s easier saying this stuff in the dark than on the deck. Here I can’t see how she reacts to knowing my own mom didn’t want me. If I couldn’t even keep the woman who made me around, how could I keep anyone else?
“I was nine, and it took me completely by surprise.” I clasp my hands on top of the blanket over my stomach, trying to keep my voice nonchalant. “One night, she tucked me into bed; the next morning, she was gone. When my dad sat my sister and me down to tell us she wasn’t coming back, I didn’t believe him. It made no sense, you know? My dad always said we had the greatest family in the world. Why would she leave that?”
It goes quiet, and Reese’s fingers thread through mine.
“But she did leave,” I continue. “She left my dad, who’s the best man I know, and she left my sister and me—the kids shemade. We just…weren’t enough for her anymore, I guess. She didn’t want us.”
Reese still doesn’t say anything, but after a millionseconds slip by, she moves Biscuit aside and scoots toward me. She drapes her arm over me and rests her head on the soft spot between my chest and my shoulder.
I swallow and put a hand on her arm. It’s as warm as the message it sends: Iwant you.
Her fingertips trace a soft pattern on my chest, and I close my eyes, then turn my head so my lips just graze her hair.
“Your mom’s choice says nothing about you,” she finally says in a soft voice, “and everything about her.”
My throat thickens. Reese’s head is on my chest, but the weight on it feels lighter than it has in a long time.
As a kid, I worried I’d done something wrong to make my mom leave—maybe I didn’t clean my room well enough, or maybe I’d complained about the onions in my spaghetti one too many times. I’ve known for a while now that it must’ve been more complicated than that.
But knowing something doesn’t always mean believing it.
“Reese?”
“Hm?”
“I know it’s not my business,” I say, “but I think you should tell Megan.”
Her hand stops tracing shapes.
“Tell her how you feel,” I say.
She sighs softly. “All that would do is make her feel bad—and she already does.”
“She feels bad because she knows what she did was messed up. She wasn’t being a good friend to you.”
“Itoldher she could date him, Cole. In fact, I insisted.”
“Did you mean it?”
“Yeah.”
