She doesn’t move, but I hear her breathing. A second later, I sneak a peek from my periphery and realize she’s out cold.
“Brighton,” I whisper.
She stirs, eyes fluttering open.
“You tired or something?” I ask the obvious, but selfishly it’s a lame attempt to wake her up. We’re supposed to go to Pierce’s tonight.
She rolls to her side, dragging the sheets up to her waist, and rests her hands between her cheek and pillow.
“I’m sorry. This week has taken everything out of me.” She yawns, and her golden irises disappear behind heavy lids once more.
I’ve gone to Pierce’s hundreds of times in my day, always alone. But for some insane reason, the thought of going there without her tonight holds almost zero appeal to me.
It’s strange … I’ve never been the type to wait around for anyone, to be connected at the hip to another human being. I cherish my alone time like nothing else.
But I missed her this week.
I missed being in my shop and knowing she was upstairs, that I could run up and see her if I wanted.
I missed coming up for dinner and seeing that light in her eyes, like an excited puppy who’s been waiting all day for its master to return.
Secretly, I’ve been enjoying her company more than I ever plan to let on. And it’s funny … because when I agreed to let her stay here, I thought for sure we’d be sick of each other by now.
Turns out, I was wrong.
I can’t get enough of her.
All week, I’ve caught myself checking my phone more than usual—and I’ve yet to change her name to Brighton.
It’s still The Girl with the Butterfly Tattoo.
It’s kind of grown on me …
The last few weeks, she’d send me these ridiculously cheesy memes or screenshots of songs she thinks I’d like. She was always thinking of me, even if I pretended to be annoyed every time my phone buzzed and Pierce gave me shit.
Despite the fact that this “relationship” we have is fake … there are times it feels too real. Times I catch a fullness in my chest when I think of her or times when I’m dying to finish my last appointment so I can go upstairs and be with her again.
I’ve been doing my best to stuff those feelings back down, though.
It can’t be this way.
Rolling out of bed, I cover her with the comforter and hit the shower.
I’m finding myself no longer in the mood to go to Pierce’s, but I’m going anyway.
Alone.
Just to prove a point to myself.
Even if I’m ninety-nine percent sure I’m going to miss her the second I walk out this door.
Thirty-Five
Brighton
* * *
“I’m in a Barefoot in Paris mood today,” Devanie says Sunday afternoon, plucking a bottle of pale pink nail polish from the rack at Tina’s Nails.
Now that I’ve started working during the week, I still want to make time for her, so we’ve agreed to meet up every Sunday.
She still doesn’t know I’m living with her brother, and in a way, it feels wrong not to tell her, but Madden says there’s no point in letting her know. She’s never going to see us together and if she did, she wouldn’t understand the situation. She’s too young.
Plus, he doesn’t want to hurt her.
She’s pretty attached to me and if she thought I was in a relationship with her brother, she might take it hard if and when we eventually go our separate ways.
“That’s one of my favorites,” I tell her before choosing a punchy pink option for myself. I’m in a mood for something bright. Something different. Something a little less classic and reserved.
We get our toes done first, and we’re seated in side-by-side chairs. Devanie flips through an old issue of Us Weekly while I peruse my phone. I’m scrolling through my Instagram feed, though, when my screen darkens and my mother’s number flashes.
I almost choke on my spit before rejecting the call.
It’s been three weeks since I’ve seen my parents … I don’t know what she could possibly want now. Besides, I’m with Devanie. I’m not going to take a personal call in front of her.
My phone stops vibrating and the call goes away. A minute later, there’s a voicemail notification. I glance at Dev, who’s lost in a Selena Gomez article, and then I take a deep breath, pressing play and lifting the phone to my ear.
“Brighton …” she says, “…it’s your mother.” Her voice is shaky, slow. “I was wondering if you might want to get together sometime this week … and talk … your father and I discussed it, and we’re ready for you to come home …”
I don’t listen to the rest.
They don’t get to cast me out and reel me in.
I’m not a fish.
Plus, I don’t want to go home. I’m closing the book on that chapter of my existence. And on top of that, I just so happen to be having the time of my life …
I look toward Devanie again, this time finding her tapping out a text message all the while wearing the biggest grin I’ve ever seen on her.
“Okay, spill it,” I tell her.
She places her phone down. “What?”
“You’re smiling like crazy. Who are you texting?”
She’s still cheesing, like she can’t wipe it off if she tried, and her eyes sparkle like two brilliant blue diamonds. “It’s a boy …”
“Obviously,” I tease. “And does this boy have a name?”
“Dylan.” Her phone vibrates. She taps another message out before pressing send. “He’s super nice. He’s a little on the shy side, but we’ve been going on walks and stuff lately.”
“Does he … hold your hand?” I ask.
Her face glows, beet red. “No!”
Good.
She’s still the sweet, innocent girl her brother thinks she is.
“Better not.” I wink.
“My brother would kill me if he knew I was hanging out with Dylan,” she says. “Please, please, please don’t tell him anything.”
I drag my fingers across my lips and pretend to throw away an invisible key. “Speaking of … how’s he doing these days?”
I hold my breath, realizing I don’t know what I’d do if she told me something I didn’t want to hear … like that he’s hanging out with another girl.
Then again … he’s always with me. And when he isn’t, he’s at the shop “slinging ink” as he calls it.
Devanie rolls her eyes. “Same old, same old. Working and refusing to mind his own business.”
“He really cares about you, doesn’t he?”
“He’s basically obsessed. But if you want to call that caring … be my guest.”
I chuckle.
“I told him he needs to find a girlfriend or something,” she says.
“What did he say?” I can’t believe I just asked that … God, I’m being so obvious.
Devanie shrugs. “Says he doesn’t want one. But I don’t know. The more I think about it, maybe what’s really going on is, like, maybe no one wants to date him. He can be kind of a jerk to people sometimes.”