“Sirsounds better, but we’ll work on that.”
I bite back a smile as I take a seat at the table and start eating.
“This is so good, James.” I shove another forkful into my mouth. “Like, ridiculously good.”
“Now you can make it any time.”
“I don’t think it’ll come out like this.”
He tilts his head. “You don’t believe in yourself much, do you?”
I shrug and swallow. “I do when I’m good at something.”
“You can be good at anything if you believe in yourself.”
I chuckle. “You sound like my therapist.”
His fork stops moving. “You see a therapist?”
My stomach clenches, but I refuse to be embarrassed about it. “Yeah. It helps. I think everyone should see one at some point in their lives.”
He nods, gazing down at his plate.
“You’ve got darkness inside you too, you know. I saw it the night you kicked Leo’s ass on my front lawn.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to pretend like you are. Not with me at least. I know how heavy it gets carrying around that weight all the time.”
“I can handle it.”
“You shouldn’t have to. Not alone.”
“I’m used to being alone.”
My heart breaks at those words, because I know how lonely life can be when you’re destined to be alone. “Just because you’re used to it doesn’t mean that’s the way it should be.”
He pins me with his hard stare. I can feel the emotion radiating off him, the things he’s keeping inside and too ashamed to share. I can see it all burning behind his eyes.
Then he asks, “Why did you have a falling-out with your family?”
I inhale, long and slow, thinking of how to navigate this question. “I don’t think my mom wanted to have me so soon after my brother, and I think I ruined her plans. That’s the way she’s always treated me. Like I was a nuisance.”
“And your brother? How did she treat him?”
“They tried for my brother, so she always wanted him. He’s the golden child.” A sad smile touches my lips. “I always looked up to him. He knew what he wanted; he knew who he was.”
James takes a sip of water and sets down his cup. “You don’t feel like you know who you are?”
I shrug, pushing the shrimp around my plate with my fork. “My mother wishes I were someone else.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I pause. “I know who I am. I’m just not anything special. Not like my brother.”
His grip on the glass tightens, and his eyes narrow. “You don’t have to be like your brother to be special. Everyone’s different.”
“Tell that to my mother.”