“Dating someone is more serious than hanging out with a friend, Kay.”
“How would you even know? You got engaged to Brad the moment he got in your pants.”
“Why are you being so mean?” Allie whispers.
“Wait, Allie…”
Too late. She’s hung up already.
I sigh as I put down the wireless phone on the carpet and blink. This always happens when I talk to my sister. She means well, but she gets me riled up. We’re just too different. I am too different—from the rest of my family. From the world I grew up in. I never fit in their molds and boxes. Leaving the nest for college felt like breathing fresh air for the first time in my life.
But a call from a member of my family is enough to throw me back through time, to when I felt out of place and so depressed I d
idn’t know what to do with myself.
I mean, who Wyatt wants to date is his own business, and if we need to talk about it, then we should be able to do so like civilized people.
Talking about otherness in our society without getting caught up in prejudice should be possible. It should be the norm. I mean, hell, this is part of this country, of who we are. And it’s rich that a family like mine with a half-Italian, half-Estonian background should act like this.
Surging to my feet, I pad to the kitchen to grab a glass of juice. It’s Thursday night, and I’ve had a full day at college and then sewing clothes to sell, and I can’t sleep.
While there, I caress in passing the plants lining the sill of the small window, stroking the frilly leaves of a parsley sprout and the long, silky stalks of the onions. I planted them along with tons of other plants when I first moved here. I love watching things grow.
Back home we had a big garden, and my parents had trees and trellises and herbs growing. I loved it as a child. Still love it.
And it’s still there. I’m the one who left.
Opening the fridge, I pour myself a glass of OJ, trying not to think about that—about the things I miss about my family. They piss me off so much sometimes, but I had a happy childhood. Before the doubts hit, and I started feeling like a weed in their rose garden, everything had been perfect.
Even now I sometimes wish I could go back. Back in time, I guess.
The sounds drifting from Amber’s bedroom reach a high pitch. I almost choke on my juice when a very loud moan reaches my ears. Heat climbs up my neck.
I tug the turtleneck of my sweater higher and lean back against the counter. I wiggle my toes in my pink monster slippers and pretend I can’t hear them.
Amber and Jesse Lee. Going at it like bunnies on acid. Not uncommon in our little apartment, and despite having left behind my conservative upbringing, the noise they make always gets me all flustered.
Hey, a girl can’t help herself, okay? Especially since Jesse Lee is kinda hot. Kinda lots of hot. Five chilies.
Okay, not five, if I want to be honest. No, that number is reserved for another boy who works at the same tattoo shop, Damage Control, one with messy blue hair and laughing blue eyes, and a body that looks like it was chiseled from stone and polished to perfection…
But let’s not go there, okay? Because said blue-haired boy isn’t interested in me.
And hey, it’s okay. Even if he was, he is totally not my type. A funny boy, all sunshine and laughter, easy-going and confident. He’s too perfect. Too beautiful. Untouchable. I’m more into broody, tragic types, like the ones in the romance novels I read on my phone on nights I can’t sleep—like tonight.
Besides, I need to figure out my life, and I don’t need more complications.
We could have some fun, though. If he were interested. I’d love to be introduced to his muscular body, do some hands-on mapping of his chest and shoulders, with optional excursions to the areas below his waist.
But he isn’t interested, as I mentioned before. I put my glass in the sink and check my hot pink nails, wiggling my fingers. He hasn’t even let me read his palm yet. Or the cards. And he’s been avoiding me ever since I asked him about it.
I get it, okay? Not everyone is obsessed with palmistry and card reading like I am. I don’t even know why I am so hell-bent on finding out what the future holds. It’s as if knowing will allow me to shape it, and it doesn’t work that way. I think.
Dreaming of the future and living it are two different things, and I know that. I know the cards won’t magically show me what I need, what I feel is missing from my life. But I am hunting for clues, okay? Trying to figure myself out, and the fact he refuses flat-out to let me do the same with him… it bothers me.
It’s like a black spot on the sun. It doesn’t fit with who Ocean is. I want to grab Windex and clean it off.
I slide down on the carpet and turn on the TV—loud, to drown out the banging of a headboard against the wall and Amber moaning. It’s the middle of a movie, and there is a group of friends dancing in a night club.