Leaning my head to the side, I look my mom in the eyes and say, “I like her.”
She purses her lips, trying not to smile. “Okay.” She’s pained, holding back her glee, but I don’t allow her to let it out. It’s her punishment.
“And things are weird with us. We’ve talked about being friends and we’ve grown this strong relationship, something I’ve never felt before. It almost feels like a stronger friendship than what I have with Hartley and Asher. I go to her for everything and every Sunday, we hang out. Doing stupid shit like playing games and watching movies. It’s our day to relax since we both have Sundays off; at least for now we do.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It was. Everything was good.” I press my hand to my forehead, still trying to figure out what was going through Indie’s mind. “Indie had her conference championship and of course, the boys and I went down to cheer the team on. She was incredible out there, Mom. Mesmerizing. Light on her feet, quick with the ball. She scored the winning goal. And after the awards and celebration, she came up into the stands and gave me a hug. It was so natural for her to jump into my arms and have her wrapped around me. And then . . . her mom cut in.”
“Beth was there?”
“Yeah. Indie didn’t think she was going to be there. It got increasingly awkward after that. Indie tensed up and that night, at the baseball loft where we were celebrating the conference win, Indie was a completely different person. I had to find her first and when I did, she tried to hook me up with a freshman on her team.” My mom winces and looks down at her hands. “It was as if going to dinner with her mom flipped a switch. We haven’t been physical with each other. The closest we’ve ever gotten to something is holding hands.” I don’t mention cuddling in bed because that feels weird to confess. “I thought maybe we were just taking things really slow, moving toward that direction of crossing the line into relationship territory.”
“Do you want to cross that line?”
“I did,” I say on an exhausted breath. “I didn’t want a relationship. I didn’t want to start anything serious, but the more I got to know her and hang out with her the more attached I’ve become. I was uh . . .” I scratch my head, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I was going to kiss her the other night, see if it was an okay next step, but then she tried to set me up with someone else and went off to talk to a guy on the basketball team.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. And I don’t want this to sound rude, but what does Indie’s indecision have to do with me?”
“What you told Beth, about leading me on, all that bullshit. Beth told Indie, and I think it freaked her out. I didn’t even recognize her. Then she was asking me about the last time I had sex and telling me I needed to get laid.”
“Oh jeeze.” My mom bites her bottom lip. There’s something she wants to say, but isn’t.
“What, Mom?”
She shakes her head. “It’s not my business to say and if I do talk about it, it would only be adding to the gossip I shouldn’t be spreading.”
“What are you talking about? Is it about Indie?”
She shakes her head. “It’s about Indie’s parents.” She squeezes my hand. “I’d cut her some slack. Try and talk to her.”
“I really don’t want to talk to her right now.”
“Lies.” My mom pokes my side.
“She’s the one who hurt me, Mom.”
“I understand that, but sometimes the person who does the hurting, is actually the one hurting inside. She might be feeling too broken to try and fix things between you two. She might not really know where to start, and as I know you well, you may not be willing to listen.” Fuck. I didn’t. I wasn’t willing to listen.
My chest grows tight from the thought of Indie holding something in that could be hurting her.
“If she’s hurting about something, she should have told me.”
“Probably, but she could also be in denial. It’s up to you, Linc, but I’d reach out, especially right now, when she’s back home. She probably needs a friend more than ever.”
Mom pats my leg and stands, leaving me there to stew in my own thoughts.
Is she broken? Am I really that unobservant that I haven’t noticed she’s hiding something painful?
I think back to our interactions and the only thing that stands out to me is how desperate she is to be cuddled at night, how she wants me to hold her close and not let go. Does that have anything to do with what my mom is talking about?
The idea that Indie could be hurting, that maybe I’ve missed something, burns terribly. She’s not very open about her deeper feelings, although I suspect she shares everything she wants shared with Scarlett, but there have been moments I’ve wondered if she’s happy. I haven’t seen the angry girl from our initial interactions for a while. But that doesn’t mean she’s been okay.
And that means I need to push my pain aside and listen to what's going on for Indie. I also need to be honest with myself.
The truth? I hate that Indie attempted to push me into the arms of another girl . . . when all I want is her.
I know what I have to do. Just hope it won’t backfire stupidly.
Nerves. That’s what I feel as I stand outside Indie’s home. Which is ridiculous. It took me a few wrong turns in her neighborhood to remember where she lived, but I finally made it. However, all the wrong turns made me increasingly nervous about what I’m going to say to her.
Hell, it took me all day to set aside my anger and to gain enough courage to make the twenty-minute drive. Well, and a push from my mom out the door with a plate of more freshly baked cookies. She apologized for talking about my personal life, something she swore she wouldn’t do again, unless it was with Mama. After the apology, she told me to talk to Indie.
Here I am.
At her doorstep, still unsure about everything.
But when the door opens and Indie appears wearing one of my Brentwood baseball hoodies with puffy and red eyes, that anger disappears as my heart lurches.
“Lincoln,” she says in surprise and then quickly wipes at her eyes. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
Oh shit.
This is not my Indie. My strong, iron-willed girl.
This Indie is . . . pained.
Vulnerable.
Miserable.
Fuck. What’s going on?
Whatever it is, I will shoulder this pain with her.
Because that’s what I should have been doing already.
“Put your shoes on. You’re coming with me.”
“Lincoln, I don’t know if that’s—”
“I’m not taking no for an answer. Shoes. Now, Indie.”
She wavers for a second before reaching behind the door and slipping on a pair of UGGs. She pulls her phone out of the pocket of the hoodie and says, “Let me text my mom real quick.”
When she’s done, I head down her driveway to my Jeep where I open the door for her. After she gets in, I shut the door and steady my breathing. Soon, with the roar of the engine, I’m taking off down the street to a nearby park that I realize I’ve been to multiple times.
It feels so weird knowing that Indie grew up only twenty minutes away from me and yet we’ve never run into each other.