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“And then he tricked me into agreeing to drive to the surgery together.”
Pops coughs, but I would swear it started out as a snort. “Just so I understand, you’re mad at the boy because he got sick and didn’t tell you?”
“No. I’m mad that he lied about it when I asked him.” My roll comes out of my hands harder than I intended, and the dice go bouncing onto the floor. I huff in irritation, crouching beneath the table to retrieve them.
“Hmm. Okay. I agree that was a bad move on his part. But, sweetie, I think you might be going a little hard on the boy.”
His words shock me, and I swing my head up to tell him just how wrong he is. The only problem is, I haven’t cleared the table, so I end up whacking my head so hard that the game pieces rattle.
“Ow,” I wail, clutching my throbbing skull.
Pops clucks his tongue in sympathy, kneeling down in front of me to gently take my head in his hands. He skims his fingers over my scalp, and I hiss when he reaches the sore spot.
“Didn’t cut yourself, but you’re gonna have a knot the size of a chicken’s egg.”
I settle back in my seat, Marcus running his eyes over me in concern, and my dad leaves the room, only to come back with a bag of frozen peas.
“Hold this on there.”
The icy vegetables help take away some of the tenderness, but my mood is officially as sour as a whole bucket full of lemons. A box of lemons? A tub? I don’t know how large quantities of lemons are transported, but let’s just agree that it’s a gigantic amount of lemons.
“You’re wrong. I’m not being too hard. He lied to me, and I don’t put up with liars.”
Marcus frowns, and Pops shakes his head.
“I’m not saying you should. You were right to tell him he hurt you. But, baby girl, the world isn’t black and white. Just ’cause someone makes a bad decision doesn’t mean they always will. If that’s how things worked, I wouldn’t be sitting here today. I’d be drunk at some bar, forgetting my name and drowning my worries.” He reaches across the table to squeeze my shoulder, holding my gaze with his. He looks so deep into my eyes; I think he sees more of myself than I can. “Now, you want people to be honest with you. How ’bout you be honest with yourself? Why’re so mad at the boy?”
“I told you. He lied.”
“Nah, sweetie. That’s why you’re mad. But why’re you so mad?”
The game is on pause while Pops forces me to push past my barriers. As the peas make my hand go numb, I think back over everything Ben told me, trying to figure out what my dad is getting at.
And I realize my anger was there before I even asked Ben about his hospital visit. Before he had a chance to lie to me.
Finally, a slice of understanding splits through my fog of pain and betrayal.
“If he doesn’t tell me when he’s hurt, I can’t he-help,” I whisper the revelation, the effort of holding back my tears making me stutter on the last word. My teeth bite down hard on my lower lip to keep it from quivering.
“You can’t control the things you don’t know about, huh?” Pops raises his eyebrows in question, and I nod. “But, see, there are lots of things in life you won’t be able to control. Especially people. And, if you keep letting that get you riled up, it’ll eat you up inside.”
I fiddle with my plastic houses, worried that, if I try talking again, I might start crying. Besides, what do you even say when all your insecurities get laid out on the table?
“We don’t have to talk about it anymore. Just think about it.” He waits for me to nod again before placing the dice in front of me. “Now, let’s get back to it, so I can beat you both.”
Marcus scoffs. “Yeah, right, old man. Prepare to be bankrupt.”
The game goes for another couple of hours, and I’m able to push aside thoughts of my unhealthy approach to relationships by systematically bleeding my dad and brother dry.
29
HOLLY
Luckily, the surgery doesn’t require me to have working-order hands because I’m pretty sure Ben is crushing my finger bones.
“Ben.”
He doesn’t look down at me as we make our way through the parking garage, and the distance between us is starting to scare me.
