Just a Girl - Becky Monson Page 0,27

butterflies and everything else I was feeling earlier having dissipated enough, the food in front of us looks edible again. I grab my chopsticks and pick up the piece I never ate, now soaked in the soy sauce, and I pop it in my mouth, letting the combination of flavors swirl around.

We eat in silence for a bit, something nibbling at the back of my mind. There was something I was going to tell him. The echo of the thought makes anxiety flutter in my gut. I know it was something important. What was it?

“You owe me a secret, you know,” he said.

“A secret?”

“Something few people know about you.”

“Oh right, that.” I rack my brain trying to think of something. What could I possibly have to tell him? My life is an open book. And something like twenty million people know I have a potty mouth. Or used to.

Oh gosh, that’s what I need to tell him. About work. About the video. The barf butterflies, as Bree calls them, are back.

“So?” Henry says, his eyebrows lifted high as he awaits my big secret.

Do I tell him now? It’s not a secret—but it is from him. I look to the side, trying to decide what I should do. “How about you tell me one first,” I say. Deflecting seems like a good idea for now. Maybe if Henry tells me something really juicy first then I can use it as leverage over him.

I can’t believe I just had that thought. What’s wrong with me?

“You want a secret from me?”

“Well, it’s only fair,” I say, fiddling anxiously with the dainty gold chain around my neck. What if my deflection doesn’t work and he puts it back on me? I just need a few more minutes.

“I see,” he says, looking down at the table. “I s’pose you’re right.”

He takes a deep breath and then lets it out slowly. He pulls the napkin from his lap and wipes his mouth with it.

“I’m waiting,” I say, tapping an imaginary watch on my wrist.

He takes a breath. His shoulders raising and lowering. He has a serious, almost vulnerable look on his face. I’ve only known Henry for less than a week; it’s strange how well I’ve come to know his expressions, his gestures. I give him an encouraging smile. What could he possibly say? He’s got a wife in London? Oh gosh. Please don’t let it be that.

“I’m a disappointment.”

“I’m . . . sorry?” I say, pulling my brows inward. I have no real response to that. I had no expectations for what he’d say, but that definitely wasn’t it.

“To my dad. He . . . he wanted me to do what he did—become a solicitor. And . . . I never wanted to do that.”

I nod my head. I’m familiar with that feeling, that knowledge of disappointing a parent. Now that he said it, I realize that I do have a secret I don’t tell anyone. It’s the same one as Henry, but for a different reason.

“I understand.” I dip my chin once, an offering of camaraderie. My silent way of saying I get you.

“I wish . . .” Henry huffs out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “I wish he’d just be happy for me. I’ve had some setbacks, sure. As anyone does. But since coming here, I’ve worked hard to carve out a life for myself, made myself into someone he should be proud of, but it’s . . . never enough. Not even my new job, which is a pretty big deal.”

I kind of want to laugh right now. It’s an odd sensation because this isn’t funny, not at all. I’ve just never realized other people know exactly how I feel. I thought this was just my thing, my burden. I don’t know why it never occurred to me—that other people would have similar experiences. My group of friends have their own parent issues, but none of us are similar.

I want to reach across the table and grab his hand, but there are too many plates of sushi to navigate around.

“I get it . . . what you’re saying,” I say, offering words instead.

He looks up at me, his lips pulling upward. “I didn’t mean to get so serious on you.”

“Yeah, that escalated quickly,” I say, making a joke to lighten the mood.

Henry lets out a small laugh. “Sorry. It’s not what I meant to tell you. I just opened my mouth, and that’s . . . what came out