“What’s your favorite movie?”
“Of all time?” he asks.
“Pick one from the past ten years.”
“I can’t,” he says. “There are so many great ones, and I love them all for different reasons. I love the technical aspect of Birdman. I love the performances in Call Me by Your Name. Fantastic Mr. Fox is my favorite cartoon because Wes Anderson is a goddamn genius.” He glances at me. “What about you?”
“I don’t think Fantastic Mr. Fox counts. It seems older than ten years.” I lean my head back and stare up at the ceiling. It’s a tough question. “I’m like you. I don’t know that I have a favorite movie. I tend to judge more on the talent than the story line. I think Emma Stone is probably my favorite actress. And Adam Driver is the best actor of our time, but I don’t think he’s landed the role of his lifetime yet. He was great in BlacKkKlansman, but I’m not crazy about some of the other movies he’s been in.”
“But did you see the Kylo Ren skit?”
“Yes!” I say, sitting up. “On SNL? Oh my God, it was so funny.” I’m smiling, but I hate that I’m smiling. It feels weird to smile when I’m so full of sadness, but this is how Miller makes me feel every time I’m around him. He’s the only thing that seems to be able to take my mind off everything, yet he’s the one person I can’t really hang out with. Thanks for that, Shelby.
It sucks. I don’t like thinking about it, even though we’re together right now. But when I eventually return to school, things will go back to how they’ve been. Miller will keep his distance. He’ll respect his relationship with Shelby, which will only serve to make me respect him even more.
And I’ll just continue to be in a depressing funk.
“I should go,” I say.
Miller hesitates before moving. “Yeah, I think my break was over ten minutes ago.” We both stand up, but I can’t get out of the aisle because he’s blocking my way, facing me, not making an effort to walk away. He’s just staring down at me as if he wants to say something else. Or do something else.
“I’m really sorry about what happened,” he says.
At first, I’m not sure what he’s talking about, but then it hits me. I press my lips together and nod, but I don’t say anything because it’s the last thing I want to talk or think about.
“I should have said that the other day. At the funeral.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “I’m fine. Or at least I’ll be fine. Eventually.” I sigh. “Hopefully.”
He’s staring at me like he wants to pull me in for a hug, and I really wish he would. But instead, he turns and walks out of the aisle, toward the exit.
I stop at the restroom on our way out. He grabs a trash can and starts to pull it toward the theater we just came out of.
“See ya, Clara.”
I don’t tell him goodbye. I walk into the restroom and don’t even bother pretending things will be the same between us the next time I see him. He’ll avoid me while being all faithful and shit, and whatever. That’s okay. I need to stop interacting with him anyway, because as good as it feels when I’m around him, it’s starting to hurt when I’m not. And I don’t need another painful thing added to my already existing pile of excruciating feelings.
When I get home, I expect my mother to be waiting up for me, pissed and ready to argue. Instead, the house is quiet. Her bedroom light is off.
When I get to my own bedroom, I’m surprised to find my cell phone on my pillow.
A peace offering. That’s unexpected.
I lie back on my bed and catch up on my messages. Lexie wants to know if I’ll be at school tomorrow. I wasn’t planning on going back so soon, but the thought of being in this house sounds way worse than school, so I tell her I’ll be there.
I open Instagram and browse through Miller’s profile. I know I said I needed to stop interacting with him, and I will. But first, I need to send him a message. Just one. Then we can go back to how things have been between us for the past year. Nonexistent.
Just wanted to say thank you for the free movie and the shitty popcorn. You’re the best sibling I’ve ever had.
He doesn’t follow me, so I expect it to go to his filtered messages and take him a month to read, but he actually responds within a few minutes.
Miller: You got your phone back?
I grin and roll onto my stomach when his message comes in.
Me: Yeah. It was on my pillow when I got home. I think it’s a peace offering.
Miller: She sounds like a cool mom.
I roll my eyes. Cool is being very generous.
Me: She’s great.
I even put one of those smiling face emojis to make my response more believable.
Miller: You coming back to school tomorrow?
Me: I think so.
Miller: Good deal. I should probably stop talking to you here. I think Shelby knows my password.
Me: Wow. That’s like next level. You proposing soon?
Miller: You love to make fun of my relationship.
Me: It’s my favorite pastime.
Miller: I guess I make it easy.
Me: Has she always been a jealous person? Or did you do something to make her that way?
Miller: She’s not a jealous person. She’s only jealous when it comes to you.
Me: What?! Why?
Miller: It’s a long story. A boring one. Good night, Clara.
It’s a boring story? Whatever. The fact that Miller has a story that includes me in the narrative is going to be the only thing I can think about for the rest of the night.
Me: Good night. Make sure you delete these messages.
Miller: Already have.
I stare at my phone, knowing I should stop, but I send him one more message.
Me: Here’s my number in case you get your heart broken again.
I send him my phone number, but he doesn’t respond. Probably for the best.
I go back to his page and scroll through his pictures. I’ve looked through his page before, but not since I’ve actually had a conversation with him. Miller is good with a camera. There are a few pictures of Miller with Shelby, but most of his pictures are of random things. None of him by himself, which I like for some reason.
The picture that catches my eye is a black-and-white photo he took of the city limit sign. It makes me laugh, so I double tap the picture to like it.
I’m still scrolling through my feed when a text comes through from a number I don’t recognize.
Troublemaker.
His text makes me laugh. I honestly didn’t like his picture with any ill intent. I genuinely thought it was funny, and for a minute, I forgot that me even liking it could send him back to the interrogation room with Shelby.
I immediately save his number in my contacts. It makes me wonder if he’s going to save my number under my real name or a fake name. Shelby would flip if she knew he had my number in his phone. And I’m sure if she has his Instagram password, she probably goes through his phone.
Me: You saving my number under a fake name so you don’t get in trouble?
Miller: I was thinking about it. What about Jason?
Me: Jason is a good name. Everyone knows a Jason. She wouldn’t be suspicious.
I smile, but my smile only lasts a fleeting second. I remember the last thing Aunt Jenny texted me. “You don’t want to be the other girl. Trust me.”
She’s right. Aunt Jenny was always right. What am I doing?
Me: Never mind. Don’t save me under a fake name. I don’t want to be Jason in your phone and I don’t want to be your fake sibling at the movie theater. Call me someday when I can just be Clara.
The dots appear on my phone. They disappear.
He doesn’t text me back.
After a few minutes, I screenshot our messages and then delete his number.
CHAPTER NINE
MORGAN
I’ve just slipped into a light sleep when I hear a banging on the door that startles me. I sit up in bed and reach over to
shake Chris awake.
His side of the bed is empty.
I stare at it, wondering when things like that are going to stop. It’s been less than two weeks since they died, but I’ve picked up my phone at least five times to call him or Jenny. It’s so natural that I just forget. Then I’m forced to relive the grief.
Another pounding on the door. My head swings in the direction of the noise. My heart rate picks up because I’m going to have to deal with this whether I’m prepared to or not. In the past when something happened unexpectedly in the middle of the night, Chris would always take care of it.
I pull on a robe and rush to the door before whoever it is wakes up Clara. The pounding is so incessant it’s starting to make me angry. It better not be Mrs. Nettle from next door here to blame me for something. She once woke us up at two in the morning to complain about a squirrel in our backyard tree.
I flip on the porch light and look through the peephole, relieved to see it isn’t Mrs. Nettle. It’s just Jonah, disheveled and holding Elijah tightly against his chest. But my relief only lasts for a second when I realize that it’s midnight, and Jonah doesn’t just randomly stop by at midnight. Something must be wrong with Elijah.
I swing open the door. “Is everything okay?”
Jonah shakes his head, his eyes frantic as he pushes past me. “No.”
I close the door and walk over to them. “Does he have a fever?”
“No, he’s fine.”
I’m confused. “You just said he’s not okay.”
“He’s fine. I’m not fine.” He hands Elijah to me, and I check his forehead for a temperature anyway. He doesn’t have a fever, so I start to check him for a rash. I can’t think of any other reason he’d be here this late at night. “He’s fine,” Jonah repeats. “He’s perfect, he’s happy, he’s fed, and I . . .” He shakes his head and walks back toward the front door without Elijah. “I’m done. I can’t do this.”
A sinking feeling consumes me. I rush after Jonah and intercept him, pressing my back against my front door. “What do you mean you can’t do this?”
Jonah takes a step back and then faces the other direction. He clasps his hands behind his head. I realize what I initially thought was fear is nothing less than devastation. Jonah doesn’t even have to tell me why he’s so upset. I already know.
He spins around, facing me again, his eyes full of heartache and lined with tears. He waves a hand toward Elijah. “He smiled for the first time tonight.” He pauses, as if what he’s about to say next is too painful to put into words. “Elijah—my son—has Chris’s fucking smile.”
No, no, no. I shake my head, feeling the heartache pouring out of him. “Jonah—” I hear Clara’s bedroom door open before I can process what this all means. My sympathetic expression immediately changes to a pleading one. “Please don’t do this right now,” I beg him in a whisper. “I don’t want her to find out what they did. It’ll break her.”
Jonah’s eyes move past me. I’m assuming to Clara.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
I spin around, and Clara is standing at the entrance of the hallway, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Jonah mutters, “I can’t do this. I’m sorry,” under his breath and opens the door. He leaves.
I walk over to Clara and shove Elijah into her arms. “I’ll be right back.”
Jonah is almost to his car when I shut the front door and rush after him. He hears me following him, so he spins around. “Why would Jenny lie to me about something this huge?” He’s full of anguish, gripping his hair and then slapping his palms against the car, like he has no idea what to do with his hands. His head hangs between his shoulders in defeat. “Having an affair is one thing, but to lead me to believe I fathered her child? Who does that, Morgan?”
He pushes off the car and strides toward me. I’ve never seen him this angry, so I find myself taking small steps backward.
“Did you know he wasn’t mine?” He’s looking at me like I was in on this somehow. “Is that why she showed up out of the blue at my father’s funeral last year? She needed to cover up who really got her pregnant? Was this some kind of sick plan?”
His words kind of hurt, because of course I didn’t know any of that. I only just recently suspected Chris could be Elijah’s father, but this is the first time I’ve seen Jonah since having that suspicion. “Do you actually think I would have let them get away with that?”
He grips the sides of his head in frustration, then throws his arms out. “I don’t know! You’ve been with Chris half your life. How could you not suspect that he was Elijah’s father?” He walks back toward his car but then thinks of something else to say that will likely make me even angrier with him. “You knew they were sleeping together, Morgan. Deep down, you had to know, but we both know how good you are at ignoring what’s right in front of you!”
Yep. I’m definitely a lot angrier than I was ten seconds ago.
Jonah steps back, as if his own words boomeranged back into his gut. His anger is immediately swallowed by the apologetic look in his eyes.
“Are you done?” I ask.
He nods, but barely.
“Where’s Elijah’s diaper bag?”
Jonah walks to the car and opens the back door. He hands me the diaper bag. He stares down at the concrete beneath his feet, waiting for me to walk away.
“You’re all he has, Jonah.”
He lifts his head and stares at me a moment and then slowly shakes his head. “Actually, you’re all he has. He’s your sister’s child. He has absolutely nothing of me in him.” His words don’t come out with the vengeance that was coursing through him earlier. Now he’s just quiet and broken.
I look at him pleadingly. I can’t imagine what this must be like for him, so I’m doing my best not to judge his reaction, but he loves Elijah. There’s no way he can walk away from an infant he’s raised for two months, no matter how hurt he is right now. He’ll end up regretting this. I soften my own voice when I speak. “You’re the only parent he knows. Go home. Sleep it off. Come back and get him in the morning.”
I walk back to my house. I don’t mean to slam the door, but I do, and it startles Elijah. He begins to cry. Clara is seated on the couch with him, so I take him out of her arms so she can get back to bed.
“What’s wrong with Jonah?” she asks. “He seemed angry.”
I play it down as much as I can, even though I know I’m a terrible liar. “He’s just exhausted. I offered to keep Elijah for the night to give him a break.”
Clara stares at me for a moment. She knows I’m lying, but she doesn’t press me. She does roll her eyes when she passes me, though.
When she’s back in her room, I take Elijah to my bedroom and sit down on the bed, holding him. He’s wide awake now, but he’s no longer crying.
He’s smiling.
And Jonah is right. When he smiles, there’s a deep dimple that forms in the center of his chin.
He looks exactly like Chris.
CHAPTER TEN
CLARA
Everyone thought Jonah would be back teaching his classes on Monday, but he wasn’t. Mom said Jonah would pick up Elijah on Monday, but it’s Wednesday now, and he didn’t.
I don’t know what’s going on because my mother won’t tell me anything, so when Lexie comes to my locker after last period and says, “What’s going on with Uncle Teacher?” I have no idea what to say.
I close my locker and shrug. “I don’t know. I think he’s having a breakdown. He dropped Elijah off with us Sunday night, and all I heard him say before he stormed out of the house was, ‘I can’t do this. I’m sorry.’”
“Shit. So your mom still has Elijah?” The way Lexie is chewing her gum makes it seem like we’re chatting about going to the mall rather than Jonah possibly abandoning his infant son.
“Yep.”
Lexie leans against the locker next to me. “That’s not good.”
“It’s fine. He’ll probably pick him up today. I think he just needed t
o catch up on sleep.”
Lexie can tell I’m making excuses. She shrugs and pops a bubble with her gum. “Yeah, maybe. But fair warning. My dad has been ‘catching up on sleep’ for thirteen years.”
I humor her with a laugh, but Jonah is nothing like Lexie’s dad. Not that I’ve ever met her biological father. But Jonah would never do something like that to Elijah.
“My mother said it was the day after Christmas when he stormed out of the house and yelled, ‘I’m done!’ He never came back.” She pops another bubble. “If there’s one thing my dad is good at, it’s being done. He’s been ‘being done’ for thirteen years.” She suddenly clamps her mouth shut and looks over my shoulder. She’s focused on something else now. Or someone else.
I turn around and see Miller heading this direction. His eyes land on mine, and for a substantial three seconds, he holds my stare. His entire focus is on me so hard he has to crane his neck a little as he passes us before he looks away almost forcefully.
We haven’t spoken since that night over text. I like that he’s not pursuing me, but I also hate it. I want him to be a good human, but I’d also very much like it if he didn’t care so much about his current relationship.
Lexie whistles out a breath. “I felt that.”
I roll my eyes. “No, you didn’t.”
“I did. That look he gave you . . . it was like . . .”
“Back to Jonah,” I say, pushing off my locker. “He’s a good dad. He just needed a break.”
“Fifty bucks says he doesn’t come back.” Lexie follows me toward the exit to the parking lot.
“Back to where?” I ask. “To school? Or to Elijah?”
“Both. Didn’t he only move here because Jenny was pregnant? He probably had a life outside of this town that he’d love to get back to. Start over. Pretend the past year never happened.”
“You’re terrible.”
“No. Men are terrible. Dads are the most terrible,” she says.
Regretting You Page 11
