Page 81 of Broken Princess

We end our call and I dial Jordanna’s number, frowning at the phone when it goes straight to voicemail. I regret leaving her in the balcony after we fucked, but that was better than putting her in the line of fire. Claire thought showing up meant she had a chance at something. And after that stunt she pulled at the nightclub, I didn’t want to risk seeing what she’d do in a room full of horny young adults. I’m sure it would’ve been something along the lines of putting Jordy in a position where she might’ve been trying to survive the sexual version of Hunger Games, or having to watch Claire try to seduce me.

My cousin’s an idiot. I’m not sure how we have the same blood flowing in our veins. He lacks that cutthroat instinct and natural distrust the McKay men have. More simply than that, he can’t see that Claire doesn’t give a shit about him. Sure, she’ll marry him and probably pop out a baby, but the vows about fidelity won’t be worth the paper they’re written on.

I thought Claire and I were the most compatible out of everyone I’d been with. But, every time I nudge Jordy past the point of normal, she fearlessly base jumps off the safety cliff with both eyes open.

I try her number again, and she still doesn’t pick up. I’m just about to lock my phone when I notice a new alert on my Prospectus account.

My hand clenches into a fist as I stare at the pic. Jordy’s been posting on her wall more and more. Today’s post is like a punch in the gut.

Her friends, Tiffany and Marina are in the picture with her, but I can spot Noel and Sterling in the background. The caption reads:

In the city with the besties. Time to teach them how to party VDU style.

She spent another weekend ignoring me and showed up here at my studio unannounced an hour ago. She’s behind her easel painting, while I’m working on my next sculpture. The stress lines on her face are like a road map to the turmoil she’s feeling. It’s an easy silence, but it’s way past time we should talk. I checked the calendar, so I know we’re coming up on the anniversary of her father’s death. It’s likely the only reason she’s here. Trying to avoid whatever she’s feeling.

“Do you miss him?” I ask, breaking the silence.

“Who?”

“Your dad.”

She lifts her eyes to mine and swallows. I think she’ll ignore the question, but she doesn’t. “Every day.”

“Is it worse this time of year?”

Shaking her head, her brush pauses mid air. “Summer and mom’s birthday are the worst days for me. They’ll probably tell you something different. I think each of us experiences his loss during different times of the year. You can tell because one of us will be so quiet, and it’s hard to get us to do anything but hide away from the world. Mom was better at hiding it when Penn was around. But now…”

“Is that why you’re here? You’re using my studio to hideout?”

“Do you mind?”

It’s my turn to shake my head. “No, baby. I don’t mind at all.”

We fall back into silence, and another hour passes before I turn off my pottery wheel. Wiping my hands on a rag, I pick up my phone to order dinner.

“You know you’d save way more money if you learned how to cook.”

“I know how to cook, but I never know when I’m coming here, so buying a ton of groceries, and taking food out to defrost during the week would be a waste of money.”

“Why don’t you know? It’s not like you need permission to stay at your own studio.”

“Because, since meeting you, it’s hard to pin down what’s happening in my life from one minute to the next.” I hadn’t meant to say that. It sounds like an accusation and it’s not.

“What do you want to happen?”

“Today? I want to feed you and forget everything else in the world exists.”

Over dinner I ask her more about her dad, and sit quietly as she shares story after story. Eventually we settle into bed. I pull her into my arms, and finally the emotion behind it all bubbles to the surface.

Her voice is pained when she asks, “Did you know the reason I don’t drive is because of the way he died?”

I didn’t know, but it makes sense.

“People think I’m crazy for taking the bus, or a cab. It’s a waste of money when I don’t have any to begin with, but whenever my hands close around a steering wheel, I freeze up.”

“Baby, you never have to drive if you don’t want to.”

“Eventually, I’ll need to, because one day there will be someplace I need to get to and a bus or cab won’t be an option.”

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