Right. “You could have told me. You should have told me.” I couldn’t care less if Hunter is Matty’s biological dad or not.
“I couldn’t talk about it. My sister... she died because of me.”
I freeze, hardly even dare to breathe. This is the puzzle that is Hunter MacLaine.
“I was diagnosed with diabetes when I was eighteen. She thought she would get it, too, but she didn’t. She didn’t need to follow me around, you know?” He’s struggling with something and suddenly I’m an anchor to the present moment while he goes back through his memories, telling his story.
“After the first month of taking injections, of getting beaten up daily with the sugar spikes and lows, I went to a Timmy’s and bought a dozen donuts. I took them to my room in my parent’s house and ate every single one.”
“You wanted to kill yourself?” My fingers twists in his.
He shakes his head. “It wasn’t about ending my life, it was about showing the doctors, my family, myself that I was okay. That I didn’t have diabetes. I ended up in the hospital, nearly went into a coma because of it. The whole thing ruined my sister. And I didn’t help matters. She was my twin.” He takes a deep breath, blue eyes intent on me. “I got into drugs, drank heavily, just punishing myself for not being normal, for being sick. Diabetes... you can’t even imagine what it’s like to have a part of yourself give up on you. It screws with your head, just fucks with you in ways I didn’t even know until my sister died. Jules.... she tried to get me out of it, tried to get me clean until one of my druggie buddies took a liking to her and ruined her life.
“She was so smart, hilarious and sweet. She would’ve been a great Mom once she got clean. And she would have loved you, loved the way you take care of her son.
“Because she followed me around, because I was a spineless fuck that thought drugs and drinking were a better way of dealing with my fucked up body, I got my sister hooked into drugs. I was out of my mind with my own misery, I couldn’t see what was going on around me, I wouldn’t see because I was a selfish kid who should’ve known better.” His voice is so hard and mean, the way he talks about himself.
“By the time she was twenty-five she was a full-on junkie until she OD’d in an alleyway while Matty was in his crib at my parent’s place. That night I became a father and I wanted nothing to do with him. Nothing at all.
“I was so fucking angry. Why couldn’t I have gotten her help, why didn’t she just listen to me once I got clean?”
I close my eyes, hiding from his pain.
“Sometimes, listening is the hardest thing to do when you don’t believe a word someone says,” I tell him, throat thick with his pain. And aren’t I doing the same thing? I’ve been too scared to listen to him, really listen. I’ve been to scared to listen to myself. I know who he is, and I know who I am.
“I’m so sorry. About everything. God, I love you.”
He doesn’t ask if I love him back. He doesn’t even look at me with a pleading look, and he doesn’t wait for an answer. He just gives me the words, and promises to show me what he means. There’s a bravery in that, a courage that breaks my heart all over again. He ends up walking around the table, keeping our hands locked together, as if I’m going to run away. Hunter tugs our hands, and pulls me up out of my seat. Even with the heels I only get to his nose.
English music comes on, and I hadn’t even registered how long it’s been playing. The dance floor is completely crowded, and Hunter’s back keeps getting jostled. I watch my friends dance and shout and laugh at each other’s moves, trying to outdo the other in ridiculous dance moves. Tommy starts hip thrusting like he’s in A night at the Roxbury. I want to grin but my mouth won’t move.
“You can’t just show up and say a few words and expect everything to be okay.” I remember Aly’s laugh that night, like she won. I rip my hands out of his grip. “You need to get your life straight, Hunter, and I can’t do that for you. You need to help yourself first. I’m sorry.”
And with that I make my escape (on these stilettos, no less) to the bathroom. I refuse to cry out of principle. The fraking tears come anyway.
Katie finds me. She does something to the turning lock on my stall and pops the door open. One arm wrapped around the door, she leans against it and stares down at my pitiful form.
“How badly did I fuck up?” she asks, coming into the stall, leaving the door open and crouching down on her heels. She looks up at me with her chocolate eyes and reaches for my hands, squeezing them like she’s trying to give me some of her strength.