Page 86 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Kate: Is it okay if I still text you?
Kate: I know I left without much explanation. And the fact that you didn’t respond makes me think you probably don’t want to talk to me.
Kate: Brody, there’s so much I want to tell you.
Kate: For example. You remember those pictures I showed you of me as a baby? And you said they looked like they were taken on your front porch?
Kate: It’s because they WERE taken on your front porch.
Kate: Before my parents split, my dad lived in Silver Creek for a couple of years when I was a baby. And SURPRISE WE LIVED IN YOUR HOUSE.
I appreciate Kate’s all-caps yelling. I can easily imagine the inflection in her voice if she were telling me this in person. But also,WHAT ABOUT US?There’s my all-caps yelling.WHAT ABOUT US?
Another message pops up.
Kate: So many things I thought were true actually aren’t. Example two. My dad cheated on my mom. That’s why they got a divorce. Can you even believe that? And I never knew.
I run a hand across my face. I know Kate well enough to understand how much learning these things about her dad has impacted her. But I can’t be the person she turns to for stuff like this if I can’t be her person for everything. My heart can’t take it. I can’t just be her friend.
“Brody,” Perry calls. “Come tell us the story about the bear sitting on your tent.”
In other words: We are in this together, and you better get back over here so I don’t have to handle this conversation alone.
I stare at Kate’s text thread for another moment then close it out and silence my notifications so I won’t even feel the buzzing if she texts me again. She can have her realizations, but she didn’t have the most important one. The one I need her to have—that she loves me.
The woman who asked me about kayaking smiles as I return, and I smile back. It’s forced, but hopefully she won’t be able to tell. What is it people always say? Fake it until you make it? I’m definitely faking it, but it’s all I can do at this point.
The conversation has moved on past Perry’s Appalachian Trail stories, so I never do tell the story about the bear, but Rebecca—that’s the woman’s name—seems perfectly content to monopolize all my attention.
She’s very nice. She’s an accountant. She has a goldendoodle named Dragon. She runs marathons. She’s great at maintaining eye contact. She can talk five consecutive sentences without needing any oxygen. And she seems genuinely interested in everything I have to say.
But that’s the problem. I don’thaveanything to say. I’m trying my best to answer her questions, but I’m not thinking of any questions to ask in return and as hard as I’m trying, I just...don’t care.
Rebecca is looking at me now, like it’s my turn to say something, and I can’t remember what she said last. I think back through our conversation, but she might as well have been speaking a different language. “I, um...” I run a hand across my jaw. “I’m not—”
She stops my words with a hand on my forearm. “Hey,” she says gently. “We don’t have to do this anymore. Your mind is clearly somewhere else.” She cocks her head. “Maybe onsomeoneelse?”
I sigh. “I’m sorry, Rebecca.”
She shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. But leave the acting to your brother, okay? You aren’t fooling anybody around here.”
I grimace. “It’s that bad, huh?”
“What it seems like is that it’s been that bad foryou.” She smiles, and I am so grateful for her kindness. “Do you want to talk about it? I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”
I consider her question, but it feels like all I’ve done is talk about Kate. I’m tired of talking. Tired of thinking. “I appreciate the offer, but it’s...more than I feel like unpacking right now.”
She nods. “Fair enough.” She studies me, her lips pursed. It feels like she wants to help me, and she’s trying to figure out how. “What if we dance instead?”
I raise my eyebrows. It isn’t a question I’m expecting. “Dance?”
“Sure. It’s a great way to stop thinking. Especially if you’ve got a few drinks in you.”
When I don’t respond, she stands up and extends her hand. “Come on. It’s just dancing.”
Over her shoulder, the party is picking up, the music thumping. Flint is near the center of the gathering, dancing with a blond woman who’s smiling like she just won the lottery.
It’s a very unBrodylike move. Which is exactly why I say yes.
