Page 20 of Last Date
He peered at me from under his dark brows. “I’m already living the dream, didn’t you know?”
“Yeah,” I said quietly, “but is ityourdream?”
He grimaced. “I have it great. You won’t catch me complaining.”
I narrowed my eyes, feeling uncharacteristically sympathetic toward him. “I hope you know you’re allowed to be human.”
“Pardon?”
“You’re not a machine. We all have our moments where we wonder if we’re heading in the right direction. I know I do.”
“Do you?” His voice was soft.
“Of course.”
He wrinkled his brow. “The Dawsons aren’t big on that sort of thing.”
“I am.”
“Yeah.” He gave a grudging smile. “Your whole family is.”
“I think it’s important to keep tabs on your mental and emotional health.”
He sighed. “My dad would hate this conversation with a passion.”
“Why?”
“He would say emotions make you feeble.” His laugh was self-conscious. “Never let them see you sweat. Or cry. Or feel. One of those. Maybe all of them.”
“That doesn’t sound healthy.”
His mouth tensed. “So long as everybody thinks you’re doing great, you’re doing great.”
“Do you think that’s true?”
He lifted one shoulder. “Sure.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“Because that night you came to my house drunk, you were talking about how you hated fake, perfect people.”
“Well, I was drunk. Can’t believe anything I said that night.”
“Oh, really?” Narrowing my eyes, I asked, “Does that mean I shouldn’t believe your apology about that time you and Bobby Grant abandoned me with a broken bike chain?”
His face tensed. “No, that apology was for real.”
“Even though you were drunk?”
“Yeah, that was a sincere apology.”
“Okay,” I said quietly. “Otherwise, we couldn’t be friends.” I frowned. “Are we even friends?”
“I hope we are.”
“Do you?”
