Page 59 of That Fake Feeling
“Myparents are.”Iglug some scotch into the two glasses. “Therest of us have our moments.”Myeyes meet hers asIhand her a drink. “Ihave fewer than everyone else.”
Shegives me a wry smile as she holds up her glass to say cheers.
“Ican’t remember the last timeIsat in the middle of a big family like that.”Shegestures through the windows to the patio where we’d gathered. “Itwas like being in the middle of a warm hug, where you know you’re safe.”
Irest back in my chair.
“Youwouldn’t have said that if you’d seen uswhen we were teenagers.”Mythroat tenses at the first sip of scotch, then relaxes with the warmth. “Well, young teenagers anyway, beforeMaxset us off on the road to where we all are now.”
Roserests her chin on her knees and cups her glass in both hands against her shins.Shetips her head slightly to one side.
“Whatdoes that mean?”
Istare into my drink for a moment, as if the amber liquid will tell me whether it’s okay for me to explain.
“Wewere pretty poor when we were kids.Dadwas a city bus driver andMomstayed home with us.Butthings got even tighter whenWalkerandTomcame to live with us, so she started cleaning.”
“I’veworked with young kids who’ve lost their parents.”Herface is filled with empathy. “Itcan shatter them forever.”
“Itwas pretty terrible,”Iadmit, certain she’ll understand. “Tomtook it hardest.Hekept cutting his hair all weird and dyed it different colors.Momfreaked when he pierced his ears.”
Thatraises a smile.Takingher from a sad thought to a happy one is deeply gratifying.
“Myparents did the best they could,”Itell her. “Butwe were obviously struggling.”Leaningforward,Irest my elbows on my knees and roll the glass between my hands. “Maxdecided we should make a pact to each go out and make our fortunes, to make sure our parents never had to struggle like that again.”
Roselifts her chin, revealing crease lines in it from the fabric of her dress—the type of lines that would be left by a pillow after she’d spent a night in my bed.
Shegestures to the room around us. “Itseems to have worked,” she says with a chuckle.
“Yup.”Itake another sip and lean back, stretching my legs out in front of me and crossing my ankles. “Andthey’re all really happy with it.”
“Whichmeans you’re not, right?”
“Well,I’mnot really a business kind of person.Theyall are.”
Shebrings her glass to her mouth and looks at me over it. “Andexactly what kind of person are you?”Herlips rest on the rim of the glass for a moment before she takes a sip.
Ihate that we’re in separate chairs with this barrier of a table between us and not on the sofa.
I’mnot sureIeven know what kind of personIam.
Howhonest shouldIbe?ShouldIscatter my inner demons right out in the open and risk them being raked over?OrshouldIjust keep my mouth shut?
Butyears of trying to shrug it off doesn’t seem to have done me much good, andRoseis the most trustworthy personI’veever met outside my family.
Maybeit’s time to give the alternative a try.
Mypulse rises asItake in the candlelight dancing on the side of her face and her hair and sparkling in her eyes.
“MaybeI’mthe kind of person who looks like a success but feels like a fucked-up loser.”Imight as well be lying naked on the floor at her feet.
Shelooks at me like she’s both puzzled and surprised.Asif she’s seeing me for the first time.Thenher brow relaxes into a soft expression of realization.
Herlips part as if she’s about to say something, but her phone dings on the table and she glances at it.
“Oh, shit.”Shegrabs it, sits bolt upright, and slams her feet onto the floor. “Oh, shit, shit, shit.”
Hereyes are wide with panic.
