Page 53 of Always Knew It Was You

“No, of course not. But it wouldn’t kill you to at least give something back. Show some empathy, damn it. Care about someone else other than yourself.”

He’s silent for a few seconds, pinning me with a look. “You think that’s what this is? You think I lack empathy?”

I raise a challenging eyebrow. “Don’t you? You don’t seem to care about anyone else, and you actively get mad when you see me trying to help people.”

He laughs, loud and long. “You think what you’re doing is helping people? By what? Spending time buying cans of beans?” He chuckles again, shaking his head. “What’s the point of doing this when you know nothing is going to change? None of this matters. You’ll give cans of beans today and then what? What will they get tomorrow? Because you know they’ll still be hungry and homeless tomorrow. And the day after that and the day after that too. You won’t make a difference because the system is built against positive change. There will always be people suffering because therehasto be. And that number will only grow because more and more cities are built to be unlivable by the common population. You see, the rich like comfort, opulence, and mega-mansions. And cities like the rich. So forget about sustainable buildings and rent control. The cost of living will continue to skyrocket and there will only be more and more homeless people until eventually humanity eats itself.” His eyes glitter. “I didn’t create the game, darling. I’m only playing it.”

I blink. That was not at all the answer I expected. I expected him to laugh and say something flippant, not to be unexpectedly profound.

It sounds like he has thought about this problem in depth.

And he doesn’t stop there, eyes blazing as he continues, “In the grand scheme of things, giving someone a few cans of beans doesn’t even matter. I know it doesn’t matter. And secretly you know it doesn’t matter too, besides making you feel better for a few hours. So let’s not stand here and pretend any of it makes a difference. I don’t have the stomach for that much hypocrisy.”

I’m quiet for a second, some of my ire dissipating in the face of what he’s saying. He’s right of course. But in a funny way, he’s also being short-sighted.

“Do you think it matters to them?” I ask quietly, watching his eyes glitter. “The people we just gave the beans to, do you think it mattered? Or would they rather we just walked by pretending that we didn’t see them?”

His mouth closes, jaw clenching as he looks back in the direction that we just came from. His expression shifts slightly as though he’s struggling with himself.

“No,” he finally answers. “I think it mattered to them.”

I nod. “And that’s all I need to know. So what if it makes me a hypocrite? I’d rather be a hypocrite for at least trying to do something good than accept that I can’t make a change so do nothing. Sure, I’m not going to change the world. But I don’t think I have to. I think it’s okay if I just change one night, for one person. Or a couple of people. Or just do something nice, no matter how small it is. Sometimes that has to be enough.”

The air whistles after my speech and I pull Micah’s jacket tighter around me. He gave it to me in the grocery store and it smells like him. I enjoy the strong scent as he ponders on what I said.

He’s thinking about it deeply; I can see it in his face. I give him a few seconds to consider it, and then finally, he grants me a weak smile. “I guess you’re right.”

I smile back too. As we continue to the food bank, I realize that I may have just unlocked a facet of his personality. Perhaps he’s not as callous as I once thought. He’s not Prince Charming by any means and he’s probably never going to be a super kind and affectionate person.

But perhaps his lack of consideration doesn’t necessarily indicate a lack of care.

Or maybe I’m just being delusional for trying to see the good in him again.

The food bank is closed by the time we get there, so we put the food in a collecting receptacle and leave. Micah takes hold of my hand and we walk back to the limo, the silence now filled with a different, familiar warmth.

“You seem to have really done your research about homelessness, huh?” I inquire.

He runs his thumb across the back of my hand. “Yeah. It was part of a project I once proposed that my brother seemed interested in.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah. Tristan told me he wanted to run for office in New York someday. I told him if he won, we could do something about the housing problem. Like a joint venture.”

“That was nice.” It makes me see him in a whole new light. “But…”

He sighs. “But Dad wanted him to take over the family business and so he did.” His eyebrows ruffle and he sighs. “And I guess he let his political dreams die there. He was never good at resisting Dad. I thought eventually he would snap out of it but he never did. He lived for that man until the day he died.”

Bitterness leaks out of Micah’s tone and I squeeze his hand. I also make a note to be careful when asking questions about his brother. Seems to still be a sore topic.

When we finally get back into the car, Micah pulls me close, wraps his hand in my hair, and kisses me, murmuring against my lips, “Finally. I’ve been thinking about that all night.”

The next day, after we fly back and Micah drops me off at Mrs. Peach’s home, I feel a little like Cinderella after the clock strikes midnight. All the fancy clothes are gone, and so are the fancy buildings and people. I’m back to my regular life.

And it isn’t a bad life at all.

It’s just that, as I walk back to my house, I realize that my regular life is especially loud and chaotic.

“You cheating bastard!” I can hear my mother screaming from outside the house. “I’m going to kill you if you come near me!”

---