so close to the version I’d always found so irresistible—the mischievous, playful version. Seeing it made me long for more of it so intensely, it was physical, like an ache.
I didn’t want to want him. Or long for him. Or yearn.
Since my epilepsy had come back, I’d tried very hard not to want things I couldn’t have.
And I feared now that Duncan fit easily into that category—in part because of how he’d changed, and in part because of how I had.
Deep down I knew that even if the old Duncan resurrected himself tomorrow, I shouldn’t let myself want to be with him. Because I wasn’t the same person now. I was better in so many ways—but I was also worse.
I’d gone a whole semester without having a seizure—without collapsing in the library in front of the kids, or in the cafeteria line, or on the playground at recess. I was passing as a person who was perfectly fine.
But I wasn’t fine. I had this … condition. One I couldn’t hide forever. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but over and over in my life, people I cared about had acted as if it were. The more time I spent with Duncan, the more desperately I wanted him—and the more I wanted him to want me back.
And also: the more I feared that he wouldn’t—couldn’t—once he knew the truth about me. Or, more specifically: once he’d seen it.
That was the crux of it, just like I’d feared all along. He was making me want something I couldn’t have. Him.
Better to stay away. Better not to go to a cozy diner and spend a whole afternoon laughing and joking with them in a big semicircular booth with my thigh grazing against Duncan’s. Better not to feed the addiction.
Better to shut it all down, and fast—before it got worse.
thirteen
I didn’t wind up going with Babette to Austin for Christmas.
In fact, I wound up spending Christmas alone. Mostly because just as we were packing up Babette’s SUV, Tina showed up—with Clay. And two suitcases.
Tina parked right behind me as I was loading my bag into the back.
For a minute, I thought maybe Tina had left Kent Buckley.
Tina’s face went sour when she saw me, but Clay dropped his suitcase and hugged me around the waist.
I worked very hard to make my voice pleasant. “Hey, buddy. Are you here for Christmas?”
“Yes,” Tina answered for him, and then she turned to Clay. “Go find Baba and tell her we’re spending the night.”
After he ran off, I turned to Tina, glanced at the suitcases one more time, and said, “Did you leave him?”
Tina frowned. “Leave who?”
“Kent Buckley,” I said, like Who else?
She looked affronted. “Of course not. He went on a last-minute work trip to Japan.”
Oh. Oops. “Japan,” I said, nodding. “Wow.”
Just then, Babette and Clay came clomping down the porch steps and out to the car, rolling Babette’s suitcase behind them.
“You’re coming for Christmas!” Babette cheered when she reached Tina, holding out her arms and pulling her into a big hug. It was the happiest I’d seen Babette since summer.
“We’re coming for Christmas!” Clay echoed, and they pulled him in, too.
This was what it must be like to belong. You could utterly ignore people, and not be there for them, and let them down, and forget about them—but then, when you finally showed up, they were happy.
I didn’t have anyone in my life like that.
And if I did, I thought, I wouldn’t abuse the privilege. If I had anybody anywhere who loved me like that, I would be grateful every day. I would meet all that love with the same amount in return. It made me wish I didn’t have to try so hard with everybody all the damn time. It made me miss my mom—again, as always. It made me wish I had somebody—anybody—in my life who would love me no matter what.
Did this mean our weekend in Austin was off?
I stood by awkwardly, watching how unreasonably happy it made Babette to see Tina. And then it hit me: Tina showing up here meant my trip to Austin was off.
I turned and pulled my suitcase back out of the car.
Babette noticed. “What are you doing?”
I threw Clay’s suitcase in the back. “These two should go with you,” I said.
“No!” Babette said. “We’ll all stay here.”
But I shook my head at Babette. “You need to get away.” Then I gestured to all three of them. “And you all need some time together.”