Page 130 of My Merry Mistake
“What was mine?” I ask, because I really had no idea.
She does the motion with her hands, then says, “It means kind. My dad has only been around you a few times, but he knew that about you.”
“Show me again?”
She does, and I repeat the movement with my own hands. “How do I say your name?”
She shows me—hands in an “X” over her heart, then opened out to the sides, fingers crossed on both hands.
I do the sign back to her, then meet her eyes.
“Independent,” she says, without me asking.
I smile. “Ha. That tracks.”
She rolls her eyes and smiles, then her gaze settles back on me, and the mood shifts again.
“Forgiveness isn’t for her, Finn,” she says. “It’s for you.”
I nod. This is the part that’s head knowledge, not heart knowledge. I know this already. I’ve known for years. Makes sense, right? Just forgive, no big deal, get on with your day—but my heart’s not willing to do that. “My pop has said that exact same thing.”
“I also think kind people,” she indicates to me, “have a hard time when their emotions don’t feel kind,” she says.
“Like independent people,” I indicate to her, “have a hard time when they need help,” I volley back.
Her eyebrow lifts so slightly I almost miss it. “Touché. But we aren’t talking about me.” She pauses, then adds, “My point is—you get to feel all of that. It’s all valid.”
I blow out a breath. “I know.”
“And—” she shrugs, “if you did decide to forgive her, maybe some of that anger would go away.”
“My dad says holding onto it only hurts me.”
“You disagree?”
I scoff. “No, I know he’s right. I guess that’s the point. I don’t know how to let it go.” I look up and find her watching me, but there’s no judgment there. Only concern. Or interest.
Or . . .
I remind myself to stop reading into things, blow out a breath, and shake the thoughts away. “Okay. Let’s move on. That was a lot.” I shake my head. “I don’t really talk about this stuff with anyone. And I’ve never told anyone about the letters.”
Her face softens. “But you told me . . .?”
I nod.
“Why?”
I shrug. “Maybe I wanted you to know there’s more to me than you think.” I meant for that to come off as lighthearted, but it doesn’t land that way.
I look at her. The air between us shifts, and that pang of desire is back so strong I have to look away.
“So since you shared all of that about you,” she says, “it’s only fair that I share something about me. Something no one knows.”
“My back’s about to break from keeping so many of your secrets,” I say with a smile.
“Yeah, about that—” She twists the end of her napkin. “Thank you. I’m shocked you never let it slip.”
“What can I say?” I shrug. “I’m a lockbox.”
