Page 204 of Things We Hide from the Light
“Did you have to give them your phone number? They call me every day!”
“I couldn’t come up with a polite way around that one,” Nash confessed. “What harm could it do?”
I sat up and covered my face with my hands. “You don’t understand. They’re going to get on a plane and show up here.”
“I’m lookin’ forward to meeting them.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re delusional. I obviously undercooked the bacon and pork amoebas are eating your brain as we speak.”
“If they’re important to you, they’re important to me. They show up and we’ll deal with it together. You, me, and the amoebas.”
“You have no idea what you’re signing up for,” I warned him.
“Why don’t we worry about this after?” he offered, his blue eyes sparkling with annoying amusement.
“Because we have to worry about itnow.”
“There you go emphasizing again.”
My eyes narrowed. “Don’t make me slap you across the face with undercooked bacon.”
Nash had finished his sandwich and picked up half of mine. “You know, something struck me as you were telling your folks that you were just visiting me at my place.”
“Cramps from pork amoebas?”
“Funny. No. I was thinkin’ about honesty.”
“Fine. I’ve been meaning to tell you I’ve been using your toothbrush to brush Piper’s teeth,” I joked.
“Explains the dog hair in the toothpaste. Now it’s my turn. You gotta stop lyin’ to your folks.”
I stiffened on the stool. “That’s easier said than done. And I don’t have the energy to explain to you why.”
“Nope. That’s not happening, baby. I’m not letting you push back on this. Hear my words. You have got to trust your parents enough to be honest with them.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, sure. It’ll go something like this. ‘Hi, Mom. I’ve been lying to you for years. Yeah, I’m actually kind of a bounty hunter, which involves some dangerous investigations while staying in seedy roach motels with flimsy doors. I’m really good at it and the rush makes me feel alive after so many years of feeling smothered. Also, I didn’t give up eating red meat like I told you. What’s that? Oh, you’re so devastated you just had a heart attack? Now Dad’s ulcer is acting up again and he’s bleeding internally? Cool.’”
He grinned at me. “Angel.”
I gave the sandwich thief a shove. “Go away. I’m mad at you.”
“This is you pushing me away and this is me stickin’,” he pointed out.
“I changed my mind,” I decided. “I like keeping everyone at arm’s length.”
“No, you haven’t. No, you don’t. And I get that what I’m suggesting is probably downright scary. But, Angel, you have got to trust your folks to handle their shit, which includes but is not limited to their reactions to you and your shit.”
“There’s too much shit in that metaphor. It stinks.”
“Ha. Look, I’m not sayin’ it’s gonna be easy. And I’m not sayin’ that they’re gonna have the exact right reaction. But you have to do the best you can do and trust them to do the same.”
“You want me to confess to every single thing that I’ve lied to them about?”
“Hell, no. No parent needs to hear about sneakin’ out at night and stealin’ booze. Start with now. Tell them about work. Tell them about us.”
“Ididtell them about us. That’swhyI called them.”
He stayed where he was, sandwich halfway to his mouth, eyes boring into me with the kind of heat that made my stomach feel like it was attached to a pair of flip-flops.
