Page 51 of Escaping Our Reality

“What happened with the birthday dinner?”

She takes a deep breath. For a moment she avoids eye contact, but then faces me, boring her blank stare into my eyes. Ilike it much better when Lulu stares at me. Fire and passion and anger and happiness gleam in Lulu’s eyes. Ella is nothing but politeness, resignation, and controlled defiance.

“I waited. They always walk over and get me when my father gets home from work. Tonight, they never came.” She purses her lips together. “My sister is missing. There was no phone call to remind them. So, they obviously forgot.”

“Why don’t we just walk across to the Big House, find them, and confront them? I’ll come with you.”

“They’re not home.”

“How do you know they’re not home? You already checked?”

She grabs her phone off the coffee table, clicks on something, and tosses it across to me. I catch it with one hand. “Didn’t have to. That’s the truly disgusting thing about social media. I know where they are and what they are doing without much effort.”

Glancing down at the phone, I see a smiling picture of Lulu’s parents, sitting at a dining table decorated with candles, shining crystal, and red roses. You can tell it’s a table for four, but you can’t see who the other couple is with them. The menu laying in front of them is embossed with the name of the most expensive and most exclusive restaurant in a four-county radius. The caption to the photo reads,“Valentine’s Day on a Friday night? Reservations are no problem when your husband (and love of your life) is a real-life superhero. Saving lives and still making my heart swoon, even after all these years.”

It’s even got a hashtag with it. #hothusbandsurgeon

I wanna throw up.

I toss the phone on the matching loveseat so I don’t have to look at the vile picture anymore.

Sitting right next to Lulu, she stiffens even more. Her body actually leans to the side, avoiding direct contact with me. I don’t even think she’s aware she’s doing it. It must be some sort of habit. A coping mechanism. Like her scar. Nearly the whole timeI’ve been here, she’s been rubbing the scar on the back of her neck.

I can’t stand the thought of losing My Lulu.

I kick my leg out and push the coffee table away from us. Swinging down in front of her, on my knees, I haphazardly fling her one leg off the other, uncrossing them, and yank her forward so she’s gripping my waist with her thighs. Good thing I’m fast because I’m not giving her a chance to react. I pull her head down, crashing her mouth onto mine. I suck on her bottom lip and tease her with my tongue.

Now, I know for sure that she’s been crying; I taste the salt of her tears on her lips.

For a few seconds, it’s like kissing a zombie. I whisper against her, pouring my breath into her lungs. “They don’t matter, Lulu. It’s just me and you. Me and you.”

And she gives in. I know the exact moment she releases and becomes her true self again. She does that little moan that she always does when she’s ready for me to kiss her.

And I do. I kiss her to not only heal her heart, but mine as well.

Minutes pass before we pull away from each other. She stares at me, with her Lulu eyes, and quickly wipes an errant tear, trying to catch it before I see it.

I run my hands up her arms. “Tell me something. Something no one else knows.”

She bites her lip, hiding the sad smile of her soul. “When I was little, I would lie in bed at night and pray that I was adopted. I wished that Uncle Ray and Aunt Teresa were my parents. Or Janine. Or my teachers. Even the postal lady. She always had the kindest smile. Anyone but my parents. I wanted parents who would play with me, pay attention to me. In first grade, there was this girl who said that every night after dinner, she and her parents and her brother would play a game together. Old Maid.Or Crazy Eights. Or Uno. I wanted that, you know? A simple card game. Fifteen minutes. I wanted fifteen minutes of my parents’ time. I just wanted parents who loved me.” She swallows loudly, choking her sob back down to the pit of her stomach. “I want parents who love me.”

Fuck them. I don’t say these things to her but try to convey the feelings with my actions as I kiss her breathless.

I love you, Lulu.

It’s me. I’m the one who loves you.

Chapter 23

ELLA

“I’m excited. When did you plan this?”

“I told you it was supposed to be for tomorrow night when we saw each other, but it’s perfect now. We can celebrate Valentine’s Day and your birthday on the actual day.” Ry looks at the clock on the dashboard of the truck. “Well, as long as we do it in the next three hours before the clock strikes midnight.”

I look out my window, studying the road, judging how far we are from the homestead. I’m distracted by my reflection playing against the darkened window and run my fingers over my hair. “It’s called a French Dutch into a fishtail braid. I can’t do it. Carrie can. She always did my braids for me. I paid for this. I went to the salon and had this done today for my birthday, so it would look nice for dinner with my parents.” I turn to look at Ry. “That’s stupid, isn’t it?”

Reaching across the seat, he wraps his hand around mine, squeezing tightly. “You’re beautiful, Lulu. Your hair is gorgeous. I can’t imagine you looking any different tonight. You’re perfect.”

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