Page 5 of Lines We Cross
Mom was silent for a beat or two before answering in that soft voice that got my attention. “Have you ever considered that nothing would have been good enough in your eyes for your brother? You worshiped the boy, after all.”
I must have made a sound as she sliced my heart wide open with her words. Mom jumped back in and cut off any defensive response I may have come up with.
“I’m not saying you’re wrong, because I love Emerson beyond all reason too, but don’t let that fierce love close your heart to other people’s pain. Your brother was loved by many people.”
I pulled into my garage and put the car in park, desperately trying to breathe through the weight pushing down on my chest. The signs were all there: pressure in my chest, heat behind my eyes, my throat swelling and cutting off words. If I didn’t get off this phone and flip that switch in a matter of seconds, I’d be bawling alone in my garage, my mother witness to a complete breakdown. Twenty-seven years old and I couldn’t control my tears.
Another sigh came through the phone. “Just think about what I’ve said, honey. I love you.”
Mercifully, Mom hung up with a gentle click. I sat in my car taking in huge lungfuls of air to slow my heartbeat and push back the tide. When the pressure had eased and the tears that collected—but not spilled—were blinked away, I got out and went in the house.
First order of business was ripping these clothes off and getting into my pajamas. Living alone dictated I could dress however I wanted and what I wanted was comfort. The little camisole tank showed off more skin than I’d ever show off in public, but made for easy sleeping. My pajama bottoms were pink cotton pants with tiny bars of chocolate floating all over.
My obsession with dark chocolate was legendary. I once stole a girl’s chocolate bar out of her Halloween haul one year in second grade. She hadn’t tattled or cried, just stole one of my candies the second I turned my head. I’d liked her instantly and we’d been friends ever since. Although now Kadee knew to keep away from the dark chocolate and I wouldn’t bite her hand off.
In the master bathroom, I scraped my hair off my face into a messy bun, more excited than was normal that scrunchies were back in style. My phone dinged on the countertop and I winced, hoping it wasn’t Mom texting me again and wanting to talk about Emerson. There was only so much a girl could take in one day. I grabbed my phone and headed into the kitchen to get started on dinner.
Jay:Hey, want to get together for dinner next week?
I ignored the text, preferring to think it over. I mean, we’d gone on several dates already and he was perfectly fine, if a little on the boring side. He didn’t make my heart race or lead me to absentmindedly doodle his name on my notepad. I wasn’t out of my mind with lust or motivated to go out and buy a new outfit just to get him to look at me.
On second thought, maybe he was perfect.
I picked the phone up and texted him back.
Skylar:Sounds good.
There. A date next week. Totally normal for an almost thirty-year-old woman to go out on a date with an eligible bachelor. I was living my best life. Woo! Living on the edge.
I chopped some broccoli and tossed it in a pan with olive oil, adding the chicken breast a little later. Dinner was ready in just a few minutes. Practically tasteless, but super healthy. The way food should be. Feeding my body what it needed. Or you know, saving calories for my chocolate.
After I finished eating and loading the dishwasher, I grabbed a new bar of dark chocolate out of the cupboard above the refrigerator and headed into the living room to zone out to some television.
A little voice in the back of my head wondered what Max was doing tonight just a few miles from me. He wouldn’t have asked me out on a date for the following week. He would have showed up at my door unannounced and whisked me away somewhere romantic right then and there. I didn’t know that for sure, having never dated him, but I could imagine that’s how he’d do things. A pale comparison to Jay.
Which just ticked me off and sent me to bed angry.
I didn’t want to think about Max or what he’d do on a date.
I didn’t want to compare Jay to Max and find Jay lacking.
I didn’t want to hear Max’s name.
Which was a bummer because it was his face, the one that used to look at me with a secret twinkle in his eye, that I fell asleep to that night.
3
Max
The next day dawned brighter, the angst I went to bed with having melted away in my confused dreams. Maybe it was the sun filtering through the window of my room, waking me up at sunrise. I was used to blackout curtains in hotel rooms all over the country letting me sleep at all hours of the day and night.
Or maybe it was that ridiculous rooster my parents’ neighbors, the Wilsons, had.
It was the twenty-first century. We all had alarm clocks on our phones next to our beds. We didn’t need a disgustingly loud animal alerting us to the dawn. I snorted, uncertain when I’d transformed completely to a city boy.
“Better not let Mom catch wind of that,” I muttered while trying to rub the sleep from my eyes. I was awake, but my brain wasn’t quite caught up.
“Are you awake, dear?” Mom called from the hallway through my closed door.
