Page 46 of Under My Skin
“You’re grieving. You’re allowed to be down.”
Everett opens his mouth to say something but seems to change his mind. Clamping his mouth shut, he just nods. I wonder if he was going to comment on my use of present tense. I know he’s talking about things that happened over a year ago, but he’s still grieving—and he probably will be for a while.
“Have you ever tried grief counseling?” I’m hesitant to ask, but I wonder if no one has suggested it to him this past year.
“No.” A smile teases at the corner of his mouth. “Why? Do you think I should?”
“I mean . . .” I let my words trail, my own smile mirroring his own. “It wouldn’t hurt,” I say with a shrug.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “I probably have no business trying to date anyone right now, anyway.”
A faint smile pulls at my lips. “But you know, putting yourself out there is the first step. Look at that girl who gave you her number tonight. Maybe she would have surprised you.” The thought of him going on a date with anyone has a vice clenching around my heart, but I don’t want him to be sad and alone. Everyone deserves to find someone they feel whole with.
“I wasn’t interested,” he says firmly. “I’m rarely interested in anyone. That’s another problem.” He lies back on the bed, and stares at the ceiling for a moment before looking over at me. I have no idea what my face looks like, but he seems to read through the hurt and embarrassment because his face softens. “I’m not talking about you. You’re Simon’s sister.”
It’s not an insult, but it hits me like one. “That’s not all I am.”
He holds my stare, his brown eyes jumping back and forth between mine. I wish I knew what he was searching for, but all he says is, “I know.”
I nod, taking the hint. It’s for the best. I don’t even live here, but it never feels good to know someone doesn’t feel the same.
Everett sits up, and I can almost feel the imaginary door he’s just shut. “We should probably get some sleep.”
“Yeah,” I agree, even though I hate everything about him leaving.
He gets to his feet and scratches the side of his head in a way that makes his hair perfectly mussed. He lightly taps on the doorframe. “Good night, Luce.”
I force a smile for the last time tonight. “Good night.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
EVERETT
Still not surehow I got roped into this on my day off, I toss the Transformer with missing pieces into the trash bag I’m holding. It’s weird being back in this room without it being Simon’s room anymore. I haven’t been in here since he moved into his first apartment over ten years ago. Back then, he only wanted the bare essentials. He wanted to start fresh, without his childhood belongings bogging him down. I’m pretty sure he even told his parents they could throw away everything he left, but you wouldn’t think that by the way he’s staring at me.
“Did you just throw away Bumblebee?”
Reaching back into the bag, I pull out the black and yellow tangled mess of plastic. “This is not Bumblebee. This is a broken toy.”
He snatches it from my hand and starts messing with it. “So? He can still transform. He’s only missing an arm.”
He flips the pieces back and forth like he’s trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube for the first time.
“You forgot how to do it, didn’t you?”
Shooting me a glare, he goes to sit on his old bed. “No, I can do it. Just give me a minute.”
I want to groan, but instead, I just let my head fall back as I turn to face his half-empty closet. “I thought you said you had already cleaned this place out,” I say, as I reach for another box on the top shelf, this one full of every trophy he’s ever gotten—even the participation ones from the looks of it.
His eyes stay fixed on the Transformer in his hand that now somewhat resembles part of a Camaro. “I said I took my Legos.” Shooting me a quick glance, he kicks up a half smile. “Priorities.”
I huff a laugh as I set the box down on his old computer desk. “Right.” Tilting the box toward him, I ask, “Hey, do you want any of these?” Simon never excelled much in sports. We both tried just about everything, but nothing stuck. Not until I found art and he learned how to ride a motorcycle.
“Maybe?” he says, barely looking at the box.
I shake my head. “I don’t know how you expect me to help you when you want to keep everything.”
This makes him take a break from configuring the toy. “I don’t want to keep everything. I just haven’t seen this stuff in a while. I want to go through it.”
