I straighten my spine and raise my eyebrows. “Well, you fell on me the other day so I guess by your own logic that entitles me to a free drink.”
Aimee rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but she must be playing along because she lifts her hand to get the bartender’s attention.
Gently, I push her arm back into her lap. “Not now,” I say, leaning in and catching the sweet smell of her shampoo. I don’t know what it is, but it has me thinking about fresh-baked cookies and long afternoons at the beach.
“When would you like this so-called apology drink?” She asks, tilting her face up toward mine. She’s so close that I can feel the warmth of her breath moving over the cracks on my lips. Her skin is creamy and fucking perfect and her mouth is a delicious pink.
I move one arm and graze the back of her hand. “I was thinking that you could buy me the drink on our date.”
Her blue eyes widen and my stomach clenches. I don’t know what it is, but there’s just something about blue eyes so light and clear that they seem to go on for miles. “Our date? Are you joking?”
I don’t know. Am I joking? I don’t think so. Just because I haven’t asked a girl to go out with me in years doesn’t mean that I can’t, right? “I’m not joking,” I say and it feels more like the truth than a lie.
Aimee’s words are careful, decided. “I don’t date.”
I brush a few loose hairs away from her face and bend to her ear. She really does smell amazing. Absolutely amazing. “I don’t date either, so I won’t tell if you don’t,” I whisper.
Her forehead creases and I can tell that she’s thinking it over. That’s probably a good sign. At least she didn’t flat-out turn me down which is kind of what I’d been expecting. And then I almost laugh because here I am, happy that some girl I barely know is thinking about saying yes to a date with me. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Aimee stares down at her fingers splayed open on the bar. “I-it’s just—”
“Please don’t overthink it.”
This snaps her eyes back to mine and I can see a change in them. The difference is minor, but I catch it and it makes everything in my chest turn over. I can tell that she’s wondering about me the same way that I’m wondering about her.
She starts to speak, but her gaze zeroes in on something over my shoulder and her entire body stiffens. What the hell? I look behind me and see Daniel over by the rear entrance talking to Chad Moody.
Shit.
I thought he had a date with that chick from Colson’s class. Maybe it fell through, or maybe he brought her here, or maybe he figured out that she’s the raging bitch that she seemed like and he took her home early.
When I turn my head back, Aimee’s gasping like she can’t get enough air into her lungs. “I th-thought you said that he wasn’t going to be here tonight. I can’t—”
I grab both of her hands, but she’s already pulling away and I’m just clutching the fabric of her shirt like some creep. “Wait. Aimee, please wait! You haven’t even gotten your fries yet.”
She doesn’t wait. Of course she doesn’t.
CHAPTER THREE
Aimee
I feel her before she opens the door to my bedroom.
“Aimee?” Her voice is hesitant. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I croak into the darkness.
The door widens and a stream of pale light finds me. Mara comes into my room and sits on the bed. Her hand finds the shape of my foot through the comforter and she cups her palm around my toes. “You’re crying?”
I half-laugh. “Yeah… I saw Daniel Kearns tonight.”
Silence. “Do you want me to call Mom?”
“No.”
More silence. Mara clears her throat. “Do you want to talk about… her?”
Do I want to talk about her?
I wouldn’t even know where to start. “No.”
After a few minutes of quiet, my sister lies down beside me and wraps her arm over mine. “I wish that I could make this better for you,” she says softly.
“But you can’t,” I answer. “No one can.”
***
Sometimes it’s easier to think about her in pieces.
She loved Lemonheads. She dipped her fries in ranch dressing. When we were fourteen, she drew a swirling mustache on her face with a black Sharpie and wore a sombrero to her parent’s Christmas party and spoke with an accent the whole night. In general, she talked too much, laughed when she got nervous about something, and she never passed up an opportunity to sing karaoke.
She decided that she wanted to be a vet when her cat swallowed a nickel and had to have surgery to remove it. We were eleven.