“You need to tell her the truth.” She points an accusing finger at me, her voice sharp. “If she truly likes you back, she’ll forgive you.”
Because this is my first time genuinely liking a woman, I’m filled with doubt and fear. “I don’t know. And besides… this thing’s probably not destined to last anyway, right? I never stick around for the long haul.”
“Except you’ve pointed out in gory detail how much you do like her,” she reminds me.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pushing out of my seat and heading to the fridge. “I need another beer, and maybe you can convince me of the right thing to do.”
Anna ends up hounding me the entire evening. Even after we finish dinner and I work on her dishwasher, lying in a distinctly uncomfortable position on the floor after having removed the door and attempting to remove a leaky seal, she continues to snipe at me for keeping the truth from Jaime.
And berating me for not promising to tell the truth. The most I give Anna is a sincere statement that I will give it a lot of thought.
Jaime and I agreed Sunday night at the top of the incline. What we have is easy and effortless. Talking to Anna is making me feel like it’s too much work, and I don’t want that dragging me down.
Yes, I need to tell Jaime the truth. It’s absolutely the right thing to do, but I’m just not sure when is the appropriate time to do it. My gut says now isn’t because we’re not in deep enough for her to forgive me.
Maybe after some more time passes and we get closer—and I am sure these feelings are going to last and she cares enough about me to forgive the lies—then I can admit my stupidity.
Until then, despite Anna’s misgivings, I’m fine keeping things just the way they are.
CHAPTER 9
Jaime
My parents live in the Hazlewood neighborhood on the east side of Pittsburgh, which is only about fifteen minutes from the plant in Braddock where my dad works. I grew up in this small three-bedroom split level composed of red brick and yellowed siding. It’s built into a slight hill, because Pittsburgh is nothing but hills, and there’s a small basement where my brother currently lives.
While we don’t necessarily do it every weekend, we do try to get together on most Sundays for a late lunch or early dinner after my parents get back from Mass, depending on which service they go to. Growing up, my siblings and I were always expected to go to Mass, but when we turned eighteen, it became our choice. Brian was the first to give it up. My parents, who are pretty devout Catholics, were distressed. By the time I left the house for college at Penn State, and decided to use my Sundays for either schoolwork or socialization, my parents’ heartbreak wasn’t as keen. I think they figured it was coming.
Same with Laney, although she actually tries to periodically go with them, which makes her the apple of their eyes. The one thing we always do though, is attend midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. It’s a tradition none of us kids mind keeping.
After I park out on the street, I climb the concrete steps built into the hill that leads to the house. I balance a lemon bundt cake in one arm and a bouquet of flowers for my mom in the other. Her birthday is in three days, and I won’t be able to see her then as it’s almost impossible to get extra time during the workweek.
Especially since I spend some of that time with Cage, I think guiltily.
I bang my elbow on the front door. Within moments, my dad is opening it with a big grin. He’s a bear of a man, carrying more of his size in his belly these days, but still strong as an ox. Had I not had my arms loaded—most importantly with his favorite lemon cake—he’d be picking me up and swinging me around.
“There’s my little girl.” He beams.
“Not so little anymore, Dad.” I laugh.
“You and Laney will always be my little girls.” He bends to kiss me on the cheek.
We move from the living room, still with the same wood-paneled walls, but at least the carpet has been updated from shag to Berber. The furniture is also newer in the last ten years, but it’s still an old house with sagging parts and popcorn ceilings.