Page 55 of Play Pretend

The leather creaked as I opened the notebook. Her loopy handwriting was stark against the cream-colored pages. “You’re sure?” I repeated, trailing my fingertips over the paper, feeling the grooves left behind by her pen.

“I’m sure.”

My gaze traveled over the page, and I took a deep breath before I started reading.

I shouldn’t have lied, but it’s too late to take it back now. The shock in Dad’s voice hurt more than I thought it would. Was he really that surprised someone would want to date me? I still don’t know why I chose Ronan, of all people. He’s such an asshole sometimes, but he’s also…sweet.

Like this morning, he helped me carry a bag of fertilizer to the porch and changed the lightbulb above the door. He lingered there for a minute, and I thought he was going to say something, but he didn’t. He just ran back to his house like he always did.

It’s clear he can’t stand me, so there’s no way I can ever make this lie a reality. I could never ask him out or wait for him to ask me. He tolerates me, kind of, because I’m his neighbor and he’s too nice to tell me to fuck off. ButI know he wants to. Especially when he stares at me the way he did this morning.

Sweat gathered in my shaky palms as I moved onto the next passage.

I ignored Dad’s calls again. I can’t bring myself to answer. There’s so much baggage and history between us, and a part of me doesn’t want to repair anything. I’ve spent so much time, so many years, trying and I’m just so tired.

And now that I’m done putting in extra effort, he feels the strain. But when I used to answer his every call, just to listen to him judge me and berate me and remind me of how amazing his life was, how amazing Vanessa was, he never saw an issue.

A part of me wants to talk to him, to get all my feelings out in the open, but what would that really solve? He’ll apologize like he’s done before, but nothing will change.

Maybe Gracie is right—maybe it’ll be best if I cut ties with him completely.

A lump formed in my throat as I finished the entry. I looked up, meeting her gaze across the table. She stared back, her bottom lip between her teeth and an expression on her face likeshe was expecting something bad to happen. All I could do was stare at her, though.

There were clearly a lot more complications between her and her father than I initially thought. There was a twisted history between them, and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever fully grasp it. It felt complicated and painful.

But the part that really stung, the part that stood out, was the fact she thought I only tolerated her. I remembered the day she wrote about. It was a day when I felt particularly alone, and when she laughed and smiled and tried talking to me, I was too miserable to try to acknowledge her.

I was too wrapped up in my own self-loathing to even pretend. Maybe if I would’vetriedto be present with her, we could’ve been more. We could’ve had something real all this time.

Maybe she wouldn’t have felt the need to lie to her family to make her life seem better than it was.

Maybe neither of us would’ve been alone.

My heart hurt for her, and from the way she dropped her gaze, I could tell I had pity written all over my face. And I knew better than most how infuriating pity could be.

I cleared my throat and schooled my features into neutrality. “So, your dad seems like a piece of work, huh?”

Her eyes snapped to mine. “What?”

“He’s the reason you told this lie,” I said, and she nodded. “And you said he left when you were a kid.” Another nod. “And he hasn’t tried to maintain a relationship with you?”

“I guess he tries,” she muttered. “He calls me all the time and tells me about?—”

“Does he include you? Does he knowanythingabout you? Did he know anything about you before you moved here? Did he ever try? Truly?”

She paused. “No,” she whispered. “Even before he left, he never knew me. I morphed into a version of myself that was easier for him to love. I told myself I didn’t enjoy things I really did because they were silly to him. I forced myself to hate the color pink, or to make fun ofTwilightwith him because it wastoo girly. It was stupid in his eyes. And if something I liked was stupid, then did that mean I was stupid, too?”

“No,” I said sternly. “He shouldn’t have made you feel like that. He should’ve let you be a kid, should’ve let you explore the things you might’ve liked—he should’ve let you be a little girl and adjusted himself toyourneeds. To your likes. To your wants. Not the other way around.”

She looked out the window and reached up to wipe at her cheek. I couldn’t stop staring at her. Anger burned in my chest on her behalf. She’d been dealing with this her entire life? The way she acted, the way she made herself smaller, made sure that everyone around her was happier than she was…it all made sense.

Lola chose that moment to bring our food. She set it on the table, and it was like Willow transformed into a totally new person. Her smile was bright, and the tears were gone as she thanked Lola for everything. It was like the emotions she’d just been feeling disappeared entirely, just like they had at The Taphouse last night.

I wanted to read more entries or ask her more about her childhood or relationship with the rest of her family, but the words never came. Even if she pretended like she wasn’t, she was sad, and it fucking killed me.

For the rest of the meal, we ate in silence. And that was somehow worse than eating alone.

willow

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