Page 50 of Promise Me Nothing
He shrugs, but continues to stay silent. It reminds me just how much I hate that stupid shrug.
There was one time in junior year of high school when Lucas and I got into a fight. What was it over? His stupid fucking shrug. Well, that and Amie Hanover. But it was mostly the shrug.
I’ve never met someone who seems so incredibly indifferent to everything. I hate it.
“Time for you to go,” I say, picking his drink up off the counter and dumping it into the sink. “We have nothing to talk about.”
“Come on, man,” he says. “You had to know this day was coming. I tried to talk to you about this, but your stubborn ass wouldn’t fucking budge.”
“So you just took matters into your own hands? Is that it?”
He sighs. “Wyatt, we’ve been friends since we were kids…”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Lucas,” I say. “We’re not friends. As far as I’m concerned, both you and Hannah do not exist.”
He looks away, and I grit my jaw. Then I head over to the front door and open it, standing next to it, glaring at him.
“I hope you feel differently someday,” he says. “That you realize nothing is worth throwing away a friendship. A relationship with someone you care about.” Then he turns and heads to the door. He stops right in front of me and slips his sunglasses back on. “I’m taking Hannah to Mary’s for Monday Mournings with everyone. Any way you’ll consider joining?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
He nods his head a few times, adjusting the watch on his wrist. “Like I said. I hope you feel different one day. And that you let me know when that day comes.”
And then he walks out, leaving me angry and unsatisfied, and the door wide fucking open.
But that’s Lucas. He thinks he knows everything. Thinks he controls everything. But he’s wrong about this. This isn’t some game he can play. Lives aren’t a game. And that’s what he’s doing.
And that includes Hannah.
I run my hand through my hair, tugging on the short, damp strands, enjoying the tiny little bite of pain that hits my scalp.
Then I turn and finish getting ready for the day.
Mondays used to be a sacred day for me and my friends. We’d stumble our hungover asses to Mary’s and have Monday Mournings. Commiserate about the weekend. Talk about hookups and hangovers, and the girls would catch up on gossip and family drama.
I grit my teeth.
Well, not me. Not anymore. I have other priorities this summer, and they don’t include playing whatever fucking game Lucas is trying to bait me into.
Once I’m done getting ready, I head over to the main house, finding Ivy in pajamas, putting on makeup at a mirror set up on the kitchen counter.
I step in front of her and wait until she glances at me.
Since when do you wear makeup?I ask, certain that she hadn’t been wearing any the last time I saw her when she and mom came to visit me late last year.
She rolls her eyes and continues to put on more mascara. Once she’s done, she closes the tube and sets it down.Only since forever. Duh.
I blink.
Well then.
When I turn to grab an orange juice from the fridge, I see Vicky walk into the kitchen with a rag and spray bottle.
“How long has Ivy been wearing makeup?” I ask her, keeping my back to my sister so she can’t try and read my lips. The little runt is good at it and it has bitten me in the ass more than a few times.
“She’s been wearing makeup for the past year,” Vicky replies, spraying one section of the counter and starting to wipe it down.
That can’t be right, but I guess it’s more likely that I’m wrong than for Vic to misremember something like that.
