Page 11 of Unrequited (Woodlands 4)

"No, it's good for me. That's what recovery is all about, right? Asking for forgiveness from the ones I've hurt. Step eight, right?"

Step eight: Make a list of all persons harmed, and when wrong, promptly admit it. I’d learned those steps in the Al-Anon meetings.

She sighed so deeply and so long that I wondered where she got the oxygen. "I cheated on him. Several times."

"On Finn?" I didn't mean to sound so incredulous, but that was inexplicable to me. If she had Finn, why look elsewhere?

"I was drinking. I would get drunk, and I would hook up. Finn wasn't into the party scene like I was. He played intramural sports and he went out, but even then he didn't drink hard. He started leaving me behind because I'd refuse to leave a party even if I had a test the next day."

"Did you break up with him?"

"No, he finally broke up with me after some chick in his chem lab started making noise that she'd love to be in his pants."

"Do you miss him?"

She was silent for a few too many heartbeats, and the guilt of the one night eight weeks ago made me hot and cold. Was it shame or something else? The memory of that night was filled with contradictory emotions. There was the bliss of being held by Finn and the glory of having his big, strong body rub against mine. There was his shocking lack of inhibitions and the mind-numbing pleasure he brought forth because he knew what to do with his body and was constantly listening to mine. But underneath it was the thought—like sand in the bottom of your shoe that you can't find but knew was there abrading your foot with each step—that I shouldn't have done it. The best time in Ivy's life was when Finn was her boyfriend. Post-Finn, her life was a disaster.

"I miss the idea of Finn more than I miss Finn himself. Having someone there to shoulder your burdens, always having that sure thing. That's really great. But I don't miss him. I mean, let's face it. The moment shit got tough around here, he bailed. He just kind of distanced himself emotionally after Mom and Dad died. I think he thought I was too clingy, and that's half the reason I cheated on him. I was trying to get his attention. The more I cheated, the less he seemed to care. We still occasionally had sex, but he stopped calling and making plans. When we saw each other, it was almost by accident. My grief and problems were an inconvenience for him."

Her bitter words were a surprise to me. It didn't jive with what I knew of Finn. He'd always made time for me when he was dating Ivy. He seemed sincere and loving. Had I built a completely mistaken image of him?

"Who's he dating now?" Ivy pondered.

It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but I answered anyway, unthinkingly. "I don't think he's seeing anyone."

She scoffed. "That's not the Finn O'Malley I know. That boy always has to have a girlfriend. He likes sex too much but has this thing about monogamy. He likes to think of himself as the good guy because he only sleeps with women he has relationships with, but they aren't relationships because that would require him to actually be emotionally vulnerable—which he isn't."

That did sound like Finn, unfortunately. Hadn’t he done that with me? Slept with me for the physical release and then turned me loose? Yes, he’d called after a couple of weeks. He’d texted and asked if we could meet, but I didn’t want to be hurt. Or maybe I wanted to reject him before he had a chance to reject me. I was confused about a lot of things including my desire to see him again.

"It sounds like you have strong feelings for him, still."

"No. Not at all," she protested. "Shit, anyone could date him. I wouldn't even care if you dated him."

It was so quiet in our room after she dropped that bomb that we heard the crickets chirping. It was quiet because I'd stopped breathing. And she noticed.

"Are you kidding me?" She sat up and turned toward me. "Do you want to date Finn?"

"No…I, ah," I stammered awkwardly.

"Holy shit. Do you still have that middle school crush on him?" She was incredulous but after a moment, I realized not angry.

"I was fourteen and in ninth grade," I responded weakly.

She flopped back on the bed and rolled her head from side to side in disbelief. "I knew you had a crush on him. He knew it too, but I thought you grew out of that."

"I just—he’s attractive. I mean, he’s interesting," I got out in an awkward jumble of words. "It doesn't matter anyway. Family first."

When I was ten, my mom took me aside and told me family came first. No matter what was thrown at us, you never, ever turned away from your family.

Ivy had always been good at that.

When I was in second grade, Eli Parsons, a snot-nosed, round-headed kid with a sharp tongue, asked me in the bus line if my face was flat because I'd fallen off the monkey bars and landed on it. I'd been too shocked and hurt to say something back, but when Ivy had seen me sniffling on the bus, I'd spilled my guts. She got on her bike, rode two miles to Eli's house, marched up to his front door and rang the bell. When he came out, she punched him in the nose and then got back on her bike and rode home.

Eli had to apologize, and he never said another mean word to me after that. Ivy's hand had swollen up, and she got grounded for a week because violence never solved anything, according to our mom.

"I'm so sorry," I'd whispered when I crawled into her twin bed that night.

"Nothing to be sorry about," she'd said, cradling her hand on her chest. "Actually I am sorry. Sorry that I didn't punch him in the eyes too."

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