I should have been happy I was nothing else to him now, but the title still hurt, like it always had, coming out of his mouth.
He took a deep breath, and then I saw his hands tapping on the wheel while he murmured something to himself.
“Are you seriously meditating right now?” Like I was the one pissing him off.
“If I don’t, I’m going to lose my shit on you,” he said, his voice low.
“You’re the one critiquing my outfit.”
The light turned green, and he practically floored the gas as he snapped back, “You’re the one dressing like you want a guy to lick you all the way from your pretty head down to those toes.”
“Oh my God.” I couldn’t believe this was where the conversation was going. “I’m so happy you haven’t seen the rest of my wardrobe.”
“If it’s anything like what you’re wearing, you’ll be getting a new wardrobe.”
I scoffed. “You’re ridiculous.” He’d always seen me as this young girl. And even after everything, he still wasn’t veering from it. I was an adult now. I’d had my legs around his head, for God’s sakes.
And yet when he talked to me like this, I was reminded that he was also the guy my mom asked to drive me to school when no one else could, because she trusted him that much. I’d gotten so ready for that day, knowing I’d be alone in the car with him. Then, even though the conversation in that car had been going so well, we’d been halfway to school when he said softly, “My mom told me you got your period for the first time yesterday. Let me know if you need anything.”
Yep. That actually happened.
I’d literally wanted to die.
He’d meant well.
That was Dante, always caring, always present. Always there for every embarrassing story but not actually making fun of me. The guy would have gotten me tampons, I swear it.
It felt like, to him, I was a little girl he was taking care of as a family duty.
Our relationship was doomed from the very start.
Handing him my v-card had been a colossal mistake. One that grew in me for two-and-a-half months after.
I’d carried his baby.
I’d thought I’d have to raise a child on my own. I struggled with so much that first semester at college that I could barely bring myself to go to class.
And through it all, my twin sister was gone, the only one who probably would have understood my pain. When she was released after a few months, I’d planned to tell her. But she’d continued to hang with other people and continued to ignore me, continued down the wrong road. We talked still, but it wasn’t the same. Then, that next summer, she called, so happy to report that Dante was taking her on a date.
Somehow, Dante, the man I dreamt about was going out with my prettier, more rebellious sister, even if he’d given me the only orgasms I’d had that year.
Not that I could blame him. I’d pushed him away. I’d pushed everyone away after my miscarriage. I was depressed and had to seek so much help for it.
And even though Izzy told me nothing big happened between them, I knew they talked. I knew they were good friends. I knew Dante had accepted her like he’d never accepted me. As an equal. Not as a kid sister.
“Just so we’re clear, my twin sister and yourfriendwere probably dressed worse than me.”
“Izzy’s always dressed differently than you.”
“You would know,” I grumbled.
He sighed and pulled at his shirt collar before he continued. “Lilah, I don’t want to frustrate you anymore than you already are, okay? This is awkward for both of us.”
“Awkward because Izzy and you have some sort of relationship that you’ve been hiding?” As much as I hated to admit it, my voice sounded dejected.
Had they been sleeping together all this time?
Back when I’d heard he was taking her on a date, I almost called him to tell him off. But at that stage, I’d been trying hard to handle my emotions better. I was seeing a therapist for my miscarriage, I was discussing my downfalls and I was growing. Sliding back to a place where I didn’t feel good enough or to a place where memories of my miscarriage would surface wasn’t healthy.