“Oh.” Taya frowns, her hazel eyes turning down. “Okay.”
Fuck. I don’t want to walk away, especially seeing how disappointed she is. But her words ring in my head, and I can’t get over that mental block.
I flash her a smile and wave with the hand not holding my rum and Coke, then turn and walk away.
My drink is finished before I hit the basement stairs, and I’m off in search of some more alcohol to numb this feeling.
6
Taya
He flirted with me. Of his own accord, with a hundred other girls around.
I lie in my bed, hugging one of the eight pillows I always sleep with to my chest like some lovesick teen. I mean, I guess I kind of am, even though I am already twenty.
Austin Van Hewitt had sought me out at the party, talked me up, and I was quite sure something would have happened. Maybe he wasn’t going to try anything with how many drinks I’d had.
I admit, I was drunk. Okay, I was past drunk. I wasn’t blackout to the point where I didn’t remember anything, but I was definitely a little brown out. There were pieces of the night that were fuzzy, because I’d been so nervously chugging on my cup all night before he found me that I was wasted.
There is a vague memory of Austin walking away instead of taking me to dance … I think he asked me to dance? I was a little miffed that I wasn’t in his bed, or at least able to remember a kiss. We definitely didn’t have one of those, though I’d been hoping it would happen last night.
God, how pathetic am I? I talked a big game to Amelie and Bevan at the diner about how I’m not affected by him. That my crush was long gone and we could exist as roommates.
Then our first big party happened and all the fairy tale Cinderella dreams had come true. I thought the prince would finally come and notice me, and he had, but at midnight I’d turned back into the pumpkin.
Would it happen again? Looking up at the ceiling as if willing it to open up and reveal Austin so I could ask him, I wiggle my toes. The giddy energy rolling off of me is ridiculous, but I can’t believe he actually noticed me. I need to get a grip because if it doesn’t happen again and I have to keep living in this house with him, I know I’ll be heartbroken.
Sheesh, I really am pathetic. Plus, I don’t have a lot of hot little numbers like the one I wore last night. I brought my A-plus game, and I’m not in his bed.
Okay, so the fire-engine red dress that looked like a second skin might have been a bit obvious, but it worked. I could feel Austin’s eyes on me as we set up for the party. And for the first time since I started crushing on him, I felt powerful in this dynamic.
And for once in my life, I wanted all the attention on me.
I’m good at fading into the background, blending in, and being the one that doesn’t upset the balance. I play my part, even though it isn’t front and center or superstar of the team. I’ve been doing it since birth.
My cell vibrates on the bed next to me, and it’s as if my mother’s ears are ringing.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my family. I love my parents. They’ve never done anything to discourage me. They’re always happy for me and have a word of wisdom if I need it.
But when your sibling is a goddamn superstar, a legend in the making, it’s pretty evident that your parents have a favorite child.
And unfortunately, I don’t play that role in my family.
It’s not that they mean to be neglectful, but my sister, Kathleen, has been special from the start. She’s an equestrian champion, bound for the Olympics next summer. I was three when she was born, and she rode a horse for the first time at four years old. I remember being seven, at the same riding school our mother bought both of us kids lessons at, and thinking how fun it was.
What I wasn’t privy to was just how natural Kathleen was up there. That the instructor pulled Mom to the side after our second lesson and told her just how much potential my sister had.
From there, Kath took off like lightning. Her practices intensified, and by the time she was five, she was at the riding center three to four times a week, for three hours at a time. My parents would either go together, dragging me along, or take shifts. My sister was ranked regionally, then for the state, and soon nationally.
My entire childhood and teenage years were spent at that riding center, but not because I was actually participating in the activity. I did homework on uncomfortable chairs with the smells of horse and hay around me. My college applications were done on airplanes traveling to other states or countries for Kath’s competitions. While my parents were hard on me about grades, Kath dropped out of high school two months into freshman year and got private tutoring because the Olympics were on the horizon.
I guess I couldn’t be too sour about it; I got to stay with Amelie and Bevan’s families a lot, which made us even greater friends. My life is fine, it’s great, it’s just …
This feeling of inadequacy, of always being second place, permeates everything I do. It would take a ridiculous display of a temper tantrum to even get my parents to notice me, and the amount of times they missed one of my talent shows or school dances because Kathleen had a competition is too many to count.
I’ve carried that weight on my back my entire life, and so when something like what happened with Austin last night occurs, I can’t help the icy fingers of deficiency that creep around my heart.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer, trying to shoo the inadequate feeling from my tone.
“Bonjour, my sweet girl. How you doing this morning?” Mom always greets me in a language she knows I know.
And then I feel guilty for hating on my parents so much in my head. Because they do love me, I know that. It’s just … they love my sister more. Or they care about her accomplishments more.
“It’s Saturday morning on a college campus. How do you think I’m feeling?” I chuckle.
It’s no secret that college kids party and my parents are pretty cool when it comes to that. Though this morning, I don’t have the usual Friday night hangover. It’s replaced with the lightness of my heart, beating for the boy upstairs.
“Good night, huh? You sound pretty okay to me.” I hear some muffled talking on the other end of the phone, and then Mom yells, “No, the cognac one! She doesn’t like the black leather.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.” Mom’s attention is back on our phone call. “We’re in Connecticut trying to pick out your sister’s new boots.”
There is a one-of-a-kind riding supply shop there that Kathleen has visited many times, and Mom usually makes the trip with her. Since the Olympics are coming up this summer, my sister’s schedule has intensified. Everything has to be perfect, and my parents will spare no trip or expense.
“Oh, nice. Tell Kath I say hi.” My voice loses some of its luster.
“How are classes? You did so well last semester, you think you’ll land that UN internship this summer?”
It’s nice to know that sometimes they do listen and keep track of what I’m doing. I may be the older sibling, which lends itself to being the more doted upon child, but I’m lucky if Mom and Dad remember I made the Dean’s List.
Flipping over onto my stomach, I hear someone rumbling in the kitchen down below. I wonder if it’s Austin.