He pauses halfway up.
“Please, listen to me. You need to understand.”
“I don’t need to understand anything other than you lied to me. You lied to me, Willa. There’s a piece of my brother in you and you didn’t even tell me.” His brows knit together. “Do you not see how messed up that is?”
“I understand if you’re grossed out by it—”
“I’m not grossed out by it, but this is something you shouldn’t have kept from me. I came to you so many nights and sat with you spilling my heart out, because I trusted you and I lo—well, that’s not important now. But you clearly don’t feel the same. Go home, Willa. Whatever this is between us … it never really existed in the first place since it was built on lies.”
“Jasper,” I breathe, my tone begging.nbsp;
“Go.”
He turns his back on me and continues up the rest of the stairs. A moment later I hear the soft click of his bedroom door, which somehow seems even louder than if he’d slammed it.
I stand there for I don’t know how long before arms wrap around me.
“Come on, sweetums, let’s get you home,” his grandma says, guiding me to the door.
Her comforting presence only makes me cry harder.
***nbsp;
Jasper’s grandparents pull the car alongside the driveway to my house.
“Willa, dear?” his grandma inquires, and I pause with my hand on the knob. “He’ll come around. Our Jasper … he’s passionate. He loves hard and he hurts harder for it. But he’ll see. He’ll understand.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “But I’m not so sure.”
I slip from the car, waving goodbye under the assumption I’ll never see them again.
In a matter of minutes, I’ve lost a whole part of myself I’ve recently discovered.
I’m resilient. I’ll move on. And I’ll be stronger for it.
That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt in the meantime.
I let myself into the house and immediately my parents pounce like a bunch of leopards on a defenseless gazelle.
Do leopards even eat gazelle?
“Surprise time,” my mom cries, pulling me into the kitchen. She’s overflowing with excitement and my dad too wears a huge smile he doesn’t normally sport.
They direct me to sit on one of the barstools, totally oblivious to how upset I am.
Harlow sits up from the couch. “Is it time? I want to know what’s in the box.”
“Get over here then,” my mom tells her.
Harlow scurries over, nearly slipping and falling in her sock feet. “I’m okay,” she cries upon recovery.
“Here you go.”
Mom hands me a small box wrapped neatly in white paper with rainbow polka dots. I shake it, trying to get an idea of what it is but I have no clue.
I tear off the paper finding a small white box. I lift off the lid, confused at what I’m looking at.
At first, I think it’s a concert ticket, but I quickly realize that isn’t right.