Page 80 of The Broken Heart Playlist
“I can do it,” she insists, but then she starts wailing.
I try hard not to roll my eyes, but, come on, it’s a movie.
And Tess, with her super-sensitive sister radar, picks up on my feelings and turns on me. “It’s normal to cry in a movie, Kate.”
“For some people.”
“For most people.”
“I don’t cry in movies.”
“You don’t cry period,” she retorts.
“Mom cries,” Lisset insists while removing a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit.
I freeze, my cup halfway to my mouth.
Tess waves a dismissive hand. “Crying when you’re cutting onions doesn’t count.”
“Mom cries in the shower,” Lisset announces matter-of-factly as she chooses another puzzle piece. “I sometimes hear her even though she doesn’t want me to know.”
Everyone is very still around the table.
I put my coffee cup down carefully. I should know there are no secrets when children are a part of your life. They spill everything, especially the stuff you don’t want anyone to know. And they do it so innocently, unaware of the grenade they’ve tossed and the wreckage they’ve caused.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The mood changes instantly after Lisset’s revelation and we leave my parents’ house soon after, despite my family’s protestations. When I feel exposed, I either lash out or retreat. It’s not my most appealing character trait, but it’s a pattern I struggle to break. And I don’t want to hang around and endure everyone’s pitying looks.
Gideon puts up no argument when I ask him to take me home, sticking to his promise to leave whenever I want.
I’m quiet on the drive back. Lisset keeps up a constant flow of chatter, but I let Gideon field her questions. I rest my forehead against the glass and stare out the window. I can’t look at Gideon. Not when I feel so laid bare.
We pull up to my house and exit the car. Lisset retreats inside and leaves us standing there on the driveway, Gideon looking at me and me looking anywhere else but at him.
“Thank you for the lift.”
“Hey, come on, talk to me,” he urges.
Embarrassment sits heavy on my chest. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“You might feel better talking it out, instead of keeping it all inside.”
I glance up at him, my stomach tensing at his concerned expression.
What is there to talk about? The woman in the shower is Katherine. Timid. Weak. Fragile. She might be tempted to spill her feelings to a man she’s attracted to and allow him to consoleher, but Katherine is a stranger to me. I’m not her anymore. I’m Kate, and she’s fought hard to be strong and independent. She doesn’t treat her driveway as a confessional or a near-virtual stranger as her therapist.
“Look, now’s not a great time,” I say stiffly. “We’ll connect sometime in the week.”
He regards me silently for a few seconds. “No, we won’t,” he says. “You’ll put up your walls again and keep me out. I’m not leaving like this. Let’s talk.”
A familiar ache springs up in my chest. The truth is no one wants to pull back the curtain on food styling. They prefer the mystery and intrigue. It’s the same with someone’s life. You don’t want to pull back the curtain and see the messy, ugly, day-to-day reality of someone’s existence. You want them attractive and flirty and fun. You don’t want to see them in sweatpants and no makeup, too tired to hit the town with you.
You don’t want to deal with them crying in the shower.
Oliver was like that. He wanted the stylized facade. Maybe Gideon’s different. Then again, maybe he’s not.
My throat is tight. “I don’t feel comfortable talking about this.”
