“I did.” His chin drops to his chest, and he laughs, too. “I think I burst into tears, or threw up the candy, or something like that. I felt so guilty.”
“Awwww. And the moral of the story is don’t steal grocery store candy.” I reach out and squeeze his forearm.
“No, we haven’t gotten to the moral of the story, because somebody I know keeps interrupting! Drink your wine.”
I obey.
“I just felt awful, and I was afraid that my dad hated me, and I remember sitting in his lap and begging him to forgive me. And he said something that I’ll never forget.”
“I’m listening.”
“He said, ‘Taking responsibility for your actions means they no longer hold you captive. You are more than the mistakes you have made.’”
His words slam into me.
“Probably one of the best lessons he taught me. And so here, Ms. Sloane, is the moral of the story. You—” he leans close, resting his palms on my knees and looking into my eyes. “—are definitely more than whatever it is your parents have done.”
He draws me to him and kisses me, hard. Hard enough to make me forget who I am and what I’ve done.
chapter nineteen
Elle,
It’s strange, the way things feel so normal. Yesterday, I just slipped back into my usual routine, class and homework and ducking upstairs before Mom could get too drunk and start calling me a bitch or yelling about how you betrayed the family. It’s almost like none of the last six months happened at all. That’s not exactly right, but you know what I mean. I just had the feeling like maybe things might be okay, eventually. I feel almost guilty about it… isn’t that strange?
Love you for infinity,
A
When I wake up the next morning, I have no idea where I am. I sit up and rub my eyes, my lashes brittle with mascara. The room is cast in a colorful veil of weak light. I’m wrapped in a rich chocolate throw, stretched out on a yellow couch. Luke’s yellow couch. There is a wine glass and an empty bottle on the table.
“Oh, my God.” I toss off the throw. I’m still wearing my clothes from last night. Good, I think. Did I finish an entire bottle of wine? I definitely don’t remember finishing the bottle all by myself. I remember eating, and kissing, and talking, maybe having a glass or two more, but a bottle? There’s a dull hum at the base of my skull. “What time is it?” My cell is face down on the coffee table, next to my glasses. I lunge for the phone.
“Relax, you’re fine.” Luke’s voice comes from the kitchen. “We’re not that late.”
I whirl around to see him carrying two coffee mugs to the dining room table. He’s wearing plaid pajama bottoms and a gray t-shirt. Did he sleep next to me on the couch? Upstairs? “But what time—” I check my cell. 6:30. “Not that late? Are you serious?” I scramble off the couch, searching for my shoes. “Have you seen my sandals?”
“They’re by the door. Have some coffee first.”
“No time for coffee.” On the way to the door, I almost trip over a small wooden newspaper rack next to the couch. “OW. Shit. Oh my God, I’m so late.”
“Hey.” Luke intercepts me before I reach my shoes. “Chill out about the footwear for a second, okay?” He grips me by the shoulders. “Have breakfast with me for fifteen minutes. You’ll be home in enough time to change and get to school before first period.”
“But I won’t have time to shower,” I protest half-heartedly, leaning against him. He smells like flour and honey.
“So you’ll be a little dirty today,” he murmurs into my ear. “I like the idea of you getting a little dirty.” He bites the lobe gently.
I shudder and wrap my arms tight around him. We fit perfectly. “You say that now. But by this afternoon, it won’t be pretty.”
“You’re always pretty. And besides, I made my Yiayia’s tiganites. You don’t want to insult my Yiayia, do you?”
“Okay,” I pull back slightly. “I have no idea what half of the words in that sentence mean. Speak English, man.”
“I made my grandmother’s pancakes. And you have to try them. They’re awesome.”
The place does smell incredible. For a second, I let myself fantasize that it’s a Saturday morning. That we have nowhere to be. I wonder what it would be like to wake up next to him. To go back to bed with him. To taste him.
“Hey.” He snaps, just inches from my nose. “Wake up, pretty girl.”
“Sorry.” I can feel my face getting warm. “Well, I wouldn’t want to insult Yiayia.”