I still remember last Thanksgiving. Shit was already bad with Rosie. She was already pretending, already on drugs. But the four-day weekend was a perfect respite. It was the four of us, but really the two of us. We watched movies all night, plowing through the pumpkin pie, the pecan pie, the chocolate pie. There was a lot of pie. We spent the entire day shopping, emptying our checking accounts. And, for the first time since she started dating that awful Jared, it felt like she was my sister and not my enemy. It felt like we were being honest.
She was probably high the whole time.
I push off the couch and inspect the mantel. There are tiny dents in the plaster in all the spots that used to house Rosie's trophies. I was so jealous of those trophies. Rosie had everything—perfect grades, perfect friends, perfect boyfriend. She was athletic, smart, fun.
But with the drugs, she was nothing anymore. All those parts of her disappeared.
The back door slides open.
"Can I skip breakfast and have you instead?" Miles shuts the door. He stands in front of the sleek glass windows, shirtless and dripping with sweat. His eyes meet mine. "You okay?"
"No. I hate it here. I hate everything about this house."
"It will get better."
"How? You don't stay at your uncle's place in Malibu alone. Tell me how it gets better."
"I stay there with you." He moves closer. "You want to join me in the shower?"
I shake my head. I can't handle that right now.
"Talk to me, Meg. I'm here because I want to help you."
"Which is it—do you want to help me or do you want to be alone? Do you care about me or is this strictly sexual?"
His brow furrows. "Suit yourself."
He storms up the stairs and slams the door behind him.
I want so badly to join him. I want so badly to have my body pressed against his, nothing between us but the running water.
I want to be his plaything. But I need to be his everything.
* * *
It's Black Friday. Might as well go shopping. I text Mom, suggesting we meet for dinner at the nearest mall, Fashion Island. We nail down a restaurant and a time. The organic place, seven o'clock.
Leaves most of the day for me and Miles.
He's sitting on the couch, scribbling something in a tiny notebook. Lyrics, probably. Does he have another itch he needs to scratch?
I sit next to him. "We're meeting my parents for dinner at seven at Fashion Island."
"Mhmm."
His eyes stay on the paper. His body is turned away from mine, locking me out.
Deep breath. "You want to go now? We can walk around. Watch the koi swim."
"Sure." He closes his notebook and slides it into his pocket. His eyes turn to me, studying me, picking me apart. "You eat breakfast?"
"Yeah."
"So you won't be cranky?"
"Shut up." I grab my purse and make my way to the door. "You coming or what?"
"Such threats from someone who doesn't have the keys to the car."