Page 76 of The Kiss Principle

That line of thinking helped me hold it together for about five seconds. And then I burst into sobs.

Augustus held me. I didn’t hold him; he held me. And he rubbed my back. And I wanted to pull myself together, make it all okay again, tell him this was a blip. But those were old instincts, and I was too far gone.

Eventually, I stopped crying, and we ended up at the kitchen table. Augustus brought two beers from the fridge.

“So, you and Theo are day drinkers and swingers,” I said scratchily. “Great role model you’ve got there.”

“Drink your fucking beer,” Augustus said with a grin.

I took a swallow. And then another. I was still hiccupping from the sobs, and my eyes had that sticky itchiness that came after a hard cry.

“I’m sorry,” Augustus said, turning the beer in his hands, “that I messed up your life.”

I snorted, but it was, admittedly, a wet snort. “Give me a fucking break. You’re my baby. You love being my baby. I love that you’re my baby. God, Augustus, I love you so much I wouldpull off my own skin for you. I didn’t even complain when you turned out to have a raging dick addiction.”

“You did complain, actually. You complained nonstop. You still complain.”

“I love you, even if you are a giant billboard for free boy pussy.” My throat tightened, and my voice thinned. “I have never, not once, wished you weren’t in my life or that a single fucking thing with you had been different. I’m so fucking proud of you. I’m so grateful I get to be your brother.”

Augustus nodded, still looking at his beer. “But you gave up so much—”

“Knock it off. I shouldn’t have said that; that’s not what I meant.”

“But Fer, I think—I think maybe it’s okay for you to feel that way. I mean, I know you love me. And I know how much you’ve done for me. I know you’d do it again if you had to.”

“I wouldn’t buy you that fucking prom ticket again if I’d known you were going to spend the whole night dreaming about going down on your boy Kris.”

Another grin splashed across Augustus’s face. “God, he was cute.”

“That ticket cost a hundred fucking dollars, Augustus, and you didn’t even get laid. You could have dry-humped Kris for free.”

“I think it’s okay for you to be angry. I think it’s good, actually. You can be angry at the universe, or at fate, or at the unfairness of being asked to give up a life you’d built for yourself. You can be angry at Chuy. You can be angry at Mom. You can even be angry at me if you want; I can handle it.”

It was a funny thing, breathing; my body couldn’t seem to remember how to do it.

Neither of us spoke for a while. Augustus set down his bottle, and the glass clicked against the tabletop. “I’ve never heard youtalk like that,” he said. “About Mom and Chuy and—” He didn’t sayme. Instead, he said, “—everything.”

“Yeah, well.” I shrugged. Somehow, my beer was empty. “I don’t know. I guess it’s been in there for a while.”

“I’m glad you told me.”

I rolled my eyes.

That made him smile, but it faded quickly. “They’re right, you know. I think they’re right.”

“Oh yeah? In your professional opinion, you think they’re right?”

“I don’t think you’re happy, Fer, and you deserve to be happy. I think you feel responsible for everyone. And I think maybe—maybe Chuy’s right. Maybe there’s a part of you that wants things like this because—” He stopped and touched his bottle and dropped his hands in his lap.

“Because what?”

He didn’t look up.

“No, please. Tell me, Augustus. Why do I want my life to be a fucking shitshow? What a profound psychological insight. Please, tell me more.”

“I don’t know, Fer. I think maybe that’s something you could talk to someone about.”

But I could hear myself answering the question—a series of flashbulbs, like my brain had been ready to go. Because your dad told you a man takes care of his family. Because your mom never had time for you, never had time for anyone but herself. Because you were a child the first time you knew she’d tried to kill herself, and you’ve been terrified for thirty years that she’ll get it right.

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