Page 53 of Pretty Broken Things

ChapterTwenty-Four

Tessa

“It’s not sobad here in the summer. The rain is mostly gone away, and there’s a nice breeze blowing in.” Tracy tips her head back and soaks up the sunlight we don’t get all that often.

“I kinda liked the rain,” I mumble.

She shakes out her hair, and leans back on her elbows. “Of course you did,” she comments without cracking open an eye to look at me. “The rain matched your gloom and doom mood, but even you can’t fight the mood boosting endorphins the sun brings. Can’t you feel it?”

I shrug, even though she’s not looking. “I guess. I think it has more to do with time passing than the sun coming out.”

I know where this conversation is venturing, and I don’t want to talk about Ford today. She’s right, the sunshine has lifted my mood, and I want to enjoy it for a while. “You’ve been here for a few months now. Do you plan to stay?”

She sits up and brushes the grass off her hands. “Who knows. This place works for now. I don’t like to think farther ahead than that.”

“Well, maybe you should think about it. I’ve been thinking about applying to the University of Washington. It’s too late to get in for the fall, but I could get a job and an apartment close by and hopefully start spring semester. Your grades were as good as mine, you should apply with me,” I suggest.

“I’m not saying no. Maybe we should call Lydia and see if we can finally drag her ass up here,” she replies.

A rare smile pulls at the corner of my mouth. I made a few casual friends during the half of my senior year I went to private school here in Seattle. It was nice blending into the crowd, and not having to deal with the trappings of popularity. But, I can’t deny it would be great to have Lydia here. In the year or so that we’ve been hanging out, they’ve both become the best friends I’ve ever had. I can’t imagine not having them in my life now. Living with both of them sounds like the best way to transition into adulthood.

My phone rings from inside my bag. Of course I’m carrying around a giant hobo bag with all sorts of things I might need like a sweater, a compact umbrella, emergency make-up, a change of shoes, and all the usual items like my wallet, keys, and phone.

“Maybe that’s Lydia now,” Tracy muses.

I resort to dumping out my bag on the grass before I miss her call, only to see Shane’s name lighting up on the screen.

“What the hell is he calling me for?” Shane swore he’d help me make sure that Ford forgave me, but I haven’t heard from him since I left town.

“Only one way to find out, sweet cheeks,” Tracy says, and scoops up my phone.

“Hey asshat, long time no talk,” she greets him.

He’s loud enough for me to hear him without her putting the call on speaker. “Nice to talk to you too, Trace. Put Tessa on the phone.”

She presses the speaker button and puts her finger against her lips to signal me not to tell. “What do you want?” I ask him, curtly.

“It’s time you come home,” he says.

I laugh. “I am home.”

“No you aren’t. He’s your home, and we both know it, so don’t bullshit me. I get enough of it from him. I’ve been trying to get him to come find you, but he’s as stubborn as you are. One of you needs to bend, and I’m sorry Countess, but it’s going to have to be you.”

“Fuck you,” I snap. It’s been over a year since anyone has called me that horrid nickname, and I could go the rest of my life without ever hearing it again. Before I started school my mom helped me legally change my name from Contessa to Tessa. If I had really been thinking I should have changed my last name too, but I didn’t. At least, I haven’t yet.

“I know you left to protect him. Everything you’ve done has been to protect him, but he won’t hear it, and you’re the only one who can convince him,” he argues.

“Why now? I’ve been gone for ten months, what is the emergency now?” I push.

“That doesn’t matter,” he evades.

“Bullshit, McKinnick. What benefit do you get if we come back now?” Tracy demands.

“We?” I mouth.

She nods. Just like that she goes from planning to stay in Seattle to agreeing to return to Playa. I want to resist, but a big part of me needs to try at least one more time to get through to Ford. Even after a year I’m not over him. I’m starting to wonder if I’m doomed to feel this way for the rest of my life.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask him.

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