and I like how they aren’t. I expected them to be fake ones—gel or pink and glittery or something, but nope. They’re just plain, average, everyday toes.
“What happened to you? Are you okay? Why aren’t you getting up? Did you have a drink again? Please tell me—”
“Nope. It’s not a habit. Last night was a one-off and one I regret. I wanted to apologize to you for that. Properly.”
“That’s why you’re face down in the carpet?”
I sigh hard, my chest hampered by the floor, so it comes out sounding more like a long belch. Ugh. “I’m just tired.”
I’m tired of everything. I’m tired of fighting so hard. I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of having to be an asshole to protect myself so that no one gets close to me again. I’m tired of not being good enough for some people while being too good for others. I’m tired of just not being able to get it right. I’m also so exhausted. I’m exhausted from trying to raise Shade alone, I’m exhausted from work, and I’m exhausted by what I’m doing right now with Feeney. I need her in ways she can’t imagine, and I need to get her to understand that, but right now, that’s what makes me feel the most exhausted.
“I can see that. You look awful.”
“How can you tell? You can’t even see my face.”
“Umm, because it’s pressed into the carpet. I imagine it must look awful. Do you want me to get a stick and pry you up?”
“I’d actually really like to see that.”
“You’re different. Last night and today. You’re not so mean to me.”
“I’m not mean to you.”
“Yes, you are! Well, maybe not overtly, but you’re like…it’s like you’re always waiting for me to fail or something. You look at me like you find pleasure in all my mistakes. It gives me freaking performance anxiety, and you’re also mean because you know so much about me while I know nothing about you.”
“You know lots about me. Everything that matters anyway.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything.” Her foot taps in impatience. “I seriously don’t, which is fine. I can deal with that. But I want to know what you know about me because maybe you haven’t been told correctly. You seem to have some pretty big assumptions about who I am, and I think you’re wrong.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes!” Her foot taps again. “Are you going to get up now?”
“No.”
“Argh!” Spinning around furiously, she goes and sits down hard on the bed. I can almost hear her footsteps with my cheek pressed into the floor, even with the carpeting.
It’s not that I don’t want to. I’m just physically so exhausted and worn-out that I need a few minutes to pick myself back up. I almost want to take her up on the offer of a good prying, but I’m not sure she’d find anything appropriate to pry with. It’s not like we have any spare lumber lying around. If we did, a two by four would probably work wonders on my inert ass.
“Tell me something about you. Something I don’t know.”
“My dad hates me, and Britt’s parents don’t like me either. It’s exhausting. I can’t please either of them. I’m never going to be good enough for my dad—classic—and for Britt’s parents, I’m doing too well.”
“But it’s…it’s been…it’s been two years!”
“I know. It doesn’t matter. I’m always going to do too well, and it makes me feel guilty. No matter what I do with the company or the money, it’s never enough for Dad. I’ll never be successful enough because I didn’t choose to follow in his footsteps and be a mechanic.”
“Your dad’s a mechanic?”
“Yeah. He can fix anything while I can’t. And he hates that. I was always hopeless when it came to fixing anything. I was shit at maths and science in school, but I liked History and writing shit. Somehow, I still took Business in college because it’s what Dad wanted. He wasn’t going to pay for it otherwise. And somehow, I still passed, but it was a struggle, and every elective I could, I took other shit—shit I actually liked. I can paint, you know that? Well, Britt knew, and she loved that about me. She fucking loved that I was artistic, could write, and liked to read. We used to share books and read to each other at night from the same book. When she didn’t want to do that, she’d read first, and then I’d read the book, and we’d discuss it—our