Page 52 of If My Wishes Came True
I shake my head, perplexed. “But wasn’t he with you the other week, when my video went viral? You said you’d just shown it to him, and he liked it. And every Sunday, when we talk, you tell me you and Kyle are about to go running in Central Park. I don’t get it. Are you broken up, but still living together?”
Christy sniffles. “Not exactly.”
“I’m so confused right now.”
She sighs. “I’ve been lying to you. Kyle moved out after I ended things. We haven’t spoken since.”
My jaw drops.
It was one thing for Christy to sneak peeks at my journal when we were in high school. That kind of behavior is to be expected among teenage sisters. But to lie to me about her breakup, at this stage in her life, doesn’t make sense. Why would she keep it a secret?
She starts sobbing again. “The truth is…”
When she doesn’t finish her sentence right away, my heart sinks. Did Kyle cheat on her? Did he gamble away their savings? What if he’s not the man he says he is? My mind races, thinking of every episode ofDatelineI’ve ever watched, while Christy remains quiet (except for all the sniffling). What is this truth my sister’s so reluctant to tell me?
“What is it, Christy?”
I brace myself to hear something shocking.
“The truth is,” she continues, “I…really…hate running.”
“You hate…running?”
“Yes. More than hate. I despise it. And it’s all Kyle ever wanted to do. He had every day of our lives mapped out, and it was all running, and marathons, and the same lackluster protein shake every morning, and it was just so…so…boring, Jenna!”
I stifle a chuckle. I always found Kyle a little boring, too—but I never told Christy that, of course. I always figured his predictability was part of the appeal for my sister. I mean, it’s not like she’s a wild child. For as long as I’ve known her, she’s been a planner. In high school, she inventoried her entire closet, made a list of outfits, and wore them on rotation, so she never had to think about what to wear.
But maybe she’s changed. Or maybe I don’t know her as well as I thought.
“I couldn’t take it anymore,” she continues. “My life was flashing before me, and I knew exactly what it looked like. There were no surprises. Saturdays were for groceries and meal prep, and Sundays were for long runs, and on Mondays we folded laundry, and on Tuesdays we ate turkey meatloaf, even when I wanted tacos—and he even scheduledsex, Jenna!”
“Oh,” I say, my cheeks warming. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Christy say the word “sex” before.
“He’d only sleep with me on Fridays, because he didn’t have to be at the hospital early on Saturdays. And, quite frankly…it wasn’t enough for me. But god forbid I try to get in his pants any other day of the week! I mean, would it have killed him to be a little more spontaneous? It’s not unreasonable to want to have sex on a Wednesday, every now and then, is it?”
“Not at all,” I assure her. I catch a glimpse of my face in themirror over my dresser, and I’m beet red. It’s not that I mind Christy opening up to me—I want her to. I’m just not used to hearing her talk this way.
“I had no idea you were unhappy,” I continue. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You and Kyle were together for so long…I can’t imagine it’s been easy keeping these feelings bottled up.”
“I wanted to talk to you about it,” Christy admits. “But my issues with Kyle seemed trivial compared to what you went through with Hunter. I guess I didn’t feel right venting to you, because you were still in so much pain. When you told me you started therapy, though, I figured it would be okay. You already sound so much better.”
Now I’m the one sniffling. “Your breakup isn’t trivial. It’s your life, and you’re my sister. I want to be here for you whenever you need me—no matter what I’m going through. That’s what family’s for. And…I love you, Christy.”
When the words come out of my mouth, I realize how infrequently I say them to her. My heart stings with regret, and I vow to do better from now on.
“I love you, too, Jenna,” she whispers.
For a minute or two, it’s just blubbering and sniffling and nose-blowing, before either of us can speak again.
“So, howareyou doing with the breakup?” I ask.
“I was relieved to begin with. I mean, no more protein powder and twenty-mile runs—what could be better than that? I’ve already gained five pounds, and I couldn’t be happier,” she says with a chuckle. “But now…I think I’m beginning to freak out a little.”
“You’re lonely.” It’s a feeling that’s practically defined me—until recently.
“Exactly,” she says. “And dating in New York City feels impossible. There are too many people. Too many options.”
“Then come here,” I tell her. “Chicago needs literary agents, too.”
