Page 209 of Things We Left Behind
Stef held out a hand to me, and I took it.
“You know, I’ve spent the last few weeks second-, third-, and fourth-guessing myself,” he said.
“About what?” My left eye was swelling, making it hard to see him.
“About everything. Moving here. Making things official with Jeremiah. Committing.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being wary of commitment,” I pointed out, testing my aching jaw.
“There’s wary and there’s chickenshit.”
“Bite me,” I muttered.
“Listen, I’m the last guy to give relationship advice,” Stef admitted. “But the way you look at her, it wasn’t just a good time.”
“Everyone in this fucking town thinks there’s a goddamn happily ever after for everyone. You know nothing about our situation,” I reminded him.
“No, but you’re making me wonder if it’s not better to at least take a chance. Maybe getting my heart ripped out and stomped on is better than being too afraid to try in the first place.”
“Love makes men stupid,” I quipped.
“Yes, it does. But does denying it make us stupider?”
35
You Love Me, You Idiot
Sloane
What goes better with intermittent crying jags? Grilled chicken salads or cheesesteaks?” my mother asked, holding up two takeout menus.
It was Monday, and my mom and I had taken the day off to go through some of Dad’s things. We were in my parents’ bedroom, working our way through his collection of books, deciding what to keep, what to donate, and what to sell.
“Tears make cheesesteaks too soggy. What about grilled cheese?”
“Perfect! There’s a gourmet grilled cheese place right around the corner. I’ll order,” Mom said.
Frankly, I wasn’t hungry. A statement I rarely got to make since it usually only signified the onset of a stomach bug. But this was no stomach bug. This was shame. After my run-in with Lucian—and his cock—at Honky Tonk Friday night, I’d been feeling furious with myself and more than a little guilty.
I’d been on a date with another man—a perfect one on paper—yet I still couldn’t keep my hands to myself. I’d been awilling participant in the hallway second base ambush. Then I’d forced Lucian’s friends to police him, when I was just as much at fault. And judging from their bruised and bleeding faces when Knox and Nash returned to the bar, there had been alotof policing.
I was embarrassed and disappointed in myself.
Mom returned and gracefully sank back to the floor.
“This sucks,” I said as tears escaped my burning eyes. “I miss Dad.”
“I know you do, honey. I do too. So much.”
“Damn it!” I wailed. “I thought I’d be done crying by now.”
“Ah, to be so stupidly naïve,” Mom teased, cupping my damp face in her hand. “Let’s get a few more piles done before the food arrives.”
We both took a moment to blow our noses and compose ourselves.
“How about this one?” I asked, holding up a thick tome on Virginia tax law.
“Donate. Oh! Do you remember this one?” She held up a worn law book. “Your father used to quiz Maeve on the legal precedents in family law when she told him she wanted to be a lawyer at ten.”
