Page 119 of The Way I Am Now
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but he can’t look me in the eye.
“Yes, you do.”
“What do you want?” he asks. “An apology?”
I shake my head and continue. “I never told Josh you did that. But I just want you to know that it was really fucked up—pathetic, actually.”
“Fine,” he mutters. “That it?”
I shrug. “Yeah, that’s it.”
He nods and starts to turn away.
“You know, I don’t even know your name,” I call after him.
He turns back around and opens his mouth. “It’s Za—”
“No, I don’twantto know it,” I tell him.
“Whatever,” he mumbles, then turns back around, picks up his pace as he walks to his car.
When I go back inside, everyone’s watching me from the window.
Cameron keeps asking if I’m okay, pausing as he dips the tip of the needle of the tattoo pen in the black ink. And I keep telling him I’m fine.
“It hurts, but not in the way I thought it would.”
“Tough girl, huh?” he says admiringly.
I laugh, but he tells me to hold still.
“By the way, I never thanked you,” he says.
“For what?”
“Finally cutting Steve loose,” he answers, and looks up at me like he’s trying to make sure I know he’s genuinely thanking me. “I know I gave you a lot of shit about how you treated him in the beginning, but I didn’t like how he started treating you, either. I’m just glad you ended it when you did, how you did. Before it got too . . .” He doesn’t finish, but I think I know what he means: too volatile, painful, destructive. “For both of you, I mean.”
I just nod in return.
My time with Steve feels like it was so long ago. I don’t even feel like I’m the same person anymore. Back then I felt like I had no choice but to accept whatever kind of affection was offered to me even if it wasn’t what I wanted or needed. But maybe we can only accept the love we think we deserve.
“I know I don’t say it or show it very often,” he adds, not looking up from my arm as he gently wipes the ink and blood off my skin. “But I do think of you as a friend, too, you know.”
“Thank you,” I tell him. “For saying that. And for being good to Mara all these years—she deserves to be loved that way.”
He smiles but doesn’t say anything.
“What do you think?” he asks after he finishes.
I look at my wrist, at my own personal dandelion, little seeds floating off toward the palm of my hand. Wishes, hopes. Mine.
JOSH
It’s my last night home, and we’re sitting around watching TV in the living room after eating leftover Thanksgiving dinner for the second night in a row. Mom stands abruptly, looks at her watch, and says, “I’m gonna run to the grocery for a bit. Any requests?”
“We have a house full of food,” Dad points out, gesturing toward the kitchen.
“Well, sue me! I want something else,” she claps back.
