"Van—"
She’s getting pissy with me, the same way my mom does, the same way Pete does. I appreciate it, but facts are facts. "It's true, Jos. You're brilliant. Smarter than fucking Kyle. And even if I can't stand the guy, I can admit he's a brainiac. You two fit together. You made sense. I looked down at the letter in my hand and almost laughed out loud."
Unshed tears shine in her eyes and I’m a little surprised they haven’t spilled over yet. "It's perfect."
"Perfect? Josie, it's unreadable."
She’s not backing down. "I understood every word."
"Look at it again. It sounds like a first grader wrote it. And everything's probably spelled wrong. I'm pretty sure the whole damn thing is one sentence because I never know when to stop. And I told you I ‘feel bad’ because I can't spellapologize. Are there more o’s or a’s? And is it a g or a j? I don’t fucking know. And dictionaries don't work for people who can barely read. And I didn't want you to know. I didn't want your pity. I figured you moved on and Kyle was better for you. So I walked away."
She sets her glasses on the nightstand. They're different from the ones she had freshman year. These are still purple, though. Her eyes are wide with long lashes. They're the color of coffee when it's being poured into a cup—warm brown with a halo of light. Josie wipes at her tears with the hem of her shirt and I force myself to look away. Even that flash of skin is enough to make me remember. Enough to tempt me.
Her eyes meet mine. "Then why are you here now? Why give me this letter now?"
Her words feel heavy, like there's more to them, like they mean what I want them to mean. But I don't know that. I like to think I'm a risk taker, but some things are too precious to take a chance on. "It comes down to this, Jos," I say, itching to touch her, but holding myself back. "It's not just that I need your help. I do, but there's more to it. I trust you. I'm embarrassed, yeah. Ashamed. Fucking terrified. I lied to you last night when I said I forgot my timed write. I hated it, and I've never hated dodging the truth before. Telling you all this? It's hard as fuck. I'm sweating like I've just skated three shifts in a row. But it's better than lying to you."
She gets off the bed and for a terrible, wonderful minute, I think she's going to hug me. If she does, I don't think I'll ever let go. But she doesn't. She grabs her phone off the desk and turns toward me. "I'm going to see if Mrs. Fulton, the sitter, can watch the kids tonight. Or if Zane can ask Tyler's mom to?—"
I’m shaking my head before she finishes her sentence. "No, Jos, it's cool. I know you have to go. I want you to. I just wanted to give you that letter, to tell you all the things you didn't know."
Josie looks like I’ve blindsided her, and I pretty much have. She follows me to the door. "I'm glad you came over tonight, but can we keep talking? I feel like maybe there's more to say."
"We can talk later," I say, because my nerves are shot and I can't take any more hits tonight. "I'm practicing with Norris tonight anyway, for real this time," I say, leaning against the door frame. "You really didn't buy my bullshit, did you?"
She shakes her head. "I'm raising a teenager, remember? And when I'm done with him, there'll be three more."
"Can’t get anything past you, Jos. Hell, I never could. But look, no bullshit from me from here on out. I promise." She smiles at me, her eyes still watery, and I force myself to turn and walk out the door before I do something stupid and beg Josie to ask Mrs. what’s-her-name to babysit. I need to meet Norris, yeah, but it’s more than that. I gave her such a hard time all those years ago and I don't want her to feel like she has to choose between her life and me. If I had my way, those two things would be the same. That might never happen, but until I know for sure, I'll wait patiently. Maybe not patiently, but I'll wait.
21
Josie
Idon't think about the letter as I drive home to Silver Creek and pick Zane up from hockey practice. Yes, hockey. Levi played soccer, Milo and Tillie love swimming, but Zane just had to pick a contact sport—the sport I love and hate the most in equal parts.
Iris is a ballerina, or a ballet-girl, as she calls herself, and she's next on my pick-up list. I check the time and we're actually ahead for once, so I turn to my next-youngest brother. His hair is dark, like mine and Levi's, but it's curly like Mom's was. He has her blue eyes, too. He's taller than Levi now, and shows no signs of stopping.
"We've got enough time to swing by a drive-thru, if you want," I offer.
Before the words are even out of my mouth, Zane's nodding. "I'm gonna eat my own arm, Josie. I'm starving."
I make a left and head toward his favorite place. He smiles. The twins hate this restaurant because the chicken nuggets are "spicy,” and Iris doesn't like that the fries have wrinkles. But Zane loves it here, and since the milkshakes are my favorite, it's our go-to place when it's just the two of us.
We place our order and pull around to pay and pick it up. I hand Zane his food and take a sip of my strawberry milkshake before setting it in the cup holder. He dives into his bag of greasy deliciousness as I head back out onto the highway.
Zane pauses to swallow, and I can feel his gaze on me.
"You ok, Josie?" he asks before shoving a handful of fries in his mouth.
I'm not, but I'm also not going to trauma-dump on my fifteen-year-old brother. He'd understand, though. I know he would. Beneath his mop of curly hair and moody teenager exterior, Zane's a gentle soul.
"I’m fine," I say, flipping my turn signal and checking behind me before merging left.
"You ordered a strawberry milkshake," he says, as though that's a clear indication I'm unwell.
"I like strawberry," I say, pasting a smile on my face.
Zane shakes his head. "Youlovestrawberry. It's your favorite. But you never get it, because you never finish it. So you get vanilla and share with Iris."
