Page 42 of When We Were More
Especially when she can’t meet my gaze, but stares across the living room. She looks like she’s almost in a daze.
“My sister, Claire, is three years older than me. She and my dad always had this special bond. I think he’s capable of love, but only for a select few. Now, looking back, I assume he used up all of his ability to care about another person on Claire. I got what I got. In retrospect, it was so obvious, even in everyday things. But I was a kid, and I didn’t understand. I assumed I had to work harder, do better, and he’d love me, too.”
She pauses, and her lower lip slips between her teeth. She’s biting down slightly.
That fucker.
Her sass and independence may make me nuts sometimes, but I’ll take that any day over the lack of confidence I see in her right now.
She shakes her head. “Shoot, sorry. That got depressing real quick. Let’s talk about?—”
“Why do you still see him?” My voice is calm, even though I’m anything but inside.
Downcast, she rolls the fabric of her sweater between her thumb and forefinger.
“I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s because it’s what Gram would have done, so I do it to honor her. But that’s not the only reason. I guess I want to make sure that, when all is said and done, I can live with myself. That I was true to who I am, and I was compassionate and kind, even if he doesn’t deserve it. Growing up, I believed I had toearnhis love. It took me a long time to realize I was never going to be able to do that. I sure tried long and hard enough, though.”
“What do you mean, you ‘tried hard enough’?”
“I did whatever I thought a good daughter did. I got great grades, I didn’t talk back, and I did my chores. Everyone probably says this, but I trulywasa good kid. Especially because I knew how easy it was to get into trouble around there.”
“Gosh… my dad was like the extreme opposite. I grew up confident there was nothing I could do or say that would make him love me any less. I’m fucking sorry you didn’t have that.”
“It’s okay. I’ve dealt with it. It’s odd because I realize now, as an adult, howhardit is to love him. But when I was a kid, I loved him without effort—I just did—and that made me weaker. I’ve made a lot of dumb mistakes because of it.”
“Tillie.” My voice is rough. Fuck, I want to decimate anyone who’s ever hurt her.
“Shit.” She makes a show of looking at her watch. “I’m missing the start of my show.” She grabs the remote and turns on the television, clearly done with the direction of our conversation. She turns and looks directly at me, a forced smile on her pretty face. “You’re welcome to stay, but I doubt you like true crime shows. I can walk you?—”
“I’ll stay.” It’s almost amusing how big her eyes get, and I’m secretly happy when her mouth hangs open. “What? You don’t know if I like true crime or not. Maybe I love it.”
She narrows her eyes at me.
“You’re not one of those people who talk during TV shows, are you? I don’t like that, so if that’s how you are, then…”
I take my left hand and pretend I’m zipping my lips. I can see the hint of a smile trying to escape her tight hold on it, while she rolls her eyes, then shakes her head.
“All right. I guess we’ll see how it goes.”
Two hours later, I’m freaked out by what I’ve seen on the show, but I wound up sucked in. It was like a bad accident that you don’t want to see but also can’t turn away from. Oddlyenough, when Tillie turns the television off with the remote, I’m disappointed.
“That’s it?”
“There’s more, but let’s save some for another night. I’m ready to go to sleep.”
She stands and grabs my beer can and her wine glass off the table. When she disappears into the kitchen, she’s back in less than a minute. I rise, and she walks me to the door.
“Thanks for letting me hang out tonight. Also, for introducing me to your world of true crime addiction. I’ll be sure to call you at three a.m. when I’m having nightmares,” I tease.
“Hey, I gave you the option to leave.”
“You did. It wasn’t that bad.”
“How would you know? You talked through half of it.”
“Well, I had a lot of questions.”
Our conversation is light and teasing. I’m happy we’re ending the night like this instead of after all that talk about what a dickhead—my words, not hers—her father is. We’re at the door now, and I slip on my coat and step into my shoes.
