Sometimes words were so pitifully inadequate.
Nobody can make you feel like anything, Belly. Not without your permission.
Hear me out, just for a minute. Please. I’m begging you.” He sounded strangled and hoarse.
I said, “How would I know that you wouldn’t do it again? How would I be able to trust that?” He got up. For a second I thought he was leaving, and my heart nearly stopped. But then he got down on one knee, right in front of me. Very softly, he said, “You could marry me.” At first I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. But then he said it again, this time louder. “Marry me.
The first crickets of summer are chirping. This is the soundtrack of my summer and every summer.
As I walked away, I heard the girl ask, “Is she your girlfriend?” I whirled around, and we both said “No!” at the same time.
I take a bubble bath and do all my rituals: face mask, loofah, brown sugar-lavender scrub.
When I get home, I go straight to my room, put on a soft nightgown, and release my braid. It’s sweet relief to let it out. My scalp is tingling with gratitude.
My chest feels warm and glowy, and I can feel myself start to smile.
It took me a long time to figure it out. That I was the one who had put my dad on that pedestal. I did that, not him. And then I despised him for not being perfect. For being human.
It was a total catch-22, like a contradiction in terms.
I know Josh and I will mend things, because we’re neighbors, and that’s how it goes with people you see a lot. They mend, almost on their own.
Things are ending, but they are beginning, too.
Let’s go all in. No more contract. No more safety net. You can break my heart. Do whatever you want with it.
He was going to be my last and my every and my always.
Why do you like to win so much?” I didn’t have an answer for that, except to say that winning was fun, and anyway, who didn’t like to win?
I just hope we get away with it.
I wasn’t giving him permission to make me feel bad, not anymore.
Before I could answer, Conrad said, “She’s fine, and now it’s time for bed. Good night, Belly.
You should head back up,” Jeremiah said, putting his beer down. “Your mom will kill you for drinking.” “Hello. I’m not drinking,” I reminded him. Clay offered me his Corona. “Here,” he said, winking. He seemed drunk. I hesitated, and Conrad snapped irritably, “Don’t give her that. She’s a kid, for God’s sake.