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“My sister is the best person I know,” he says. “And she always dates the worst guys, but then when she brought you home, I thought you would be good for her.”
“I know,” I reply, softly tapping my forehead in defeat. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry to me,” he argues.
“I’m trying to find her to say sorry,” I reply. My sign language is slow and awkward, but Jonah is quick to understand but not so quick to forgive. And somehow, this makes me like him even more.
“I thought you were smart,” he says, which makes me laugh.
“I thought so, too.”
“But you’re not. You’re stupid,” he argues, and I laugh a little more. Suddenly, I’m reminded that Jonah is still a kid, fueled by base emotions like anger and fear. It makes things simple. I fucked up, and he’s mad at me for it. He doesn’t care that these things are complicated, and there are so many layers of my own personal trauma that made me the way I am, Sadie too.
According to Jonah, I made his sister cry. Which makes me stupid. And it’s as simple as that.
I couldn’t agree more.
I tap on the side of my head again. “I know.”
He breathes angrily through his nose as he glares at me. Finally, he adds, “Don’t hurt her.”
“I don’t want to,” I reply. “I…I love her.”
“She loves you too,” he says, and I don’t know if he knows that because she told him or because he could tell. Neither one makes me feel better. I know that she loves me, but I still didn’t do right by her, so what should feel good to know only feels like shit.
“I want to take care of her,” I say. “I want to make her happy. I’m going to put her first.”
He stares at me for a while as if he’s judging me. I’ve never wanted someone’s approval more than I want his—an angry kid who loves his sister more than anyone.
“Good,” he snaps. “Prove it.”
“I will.”
With that, he backs up toward the door until he reaches the handle, keeping an eye on me as he goes. I awkwardly wave goodbye to him before climbing back into my car.
Thirty-Nine
Sadie
I’m spinning in the office chair, staring at the ceiling with boredom. I don’t spend as much time on the floor as I used to. If I can manage to hide my stomach with oversized clothes, I do, but these days, that’s more and more impossible. And no one wants to see a pregnant woman at a sex club.
I’m like a walking consequence.
So, I spend most of my shifts balancing books, checking numbers, and reviewing incident reports, which is less and less frequent now.
Most of the floor staff can handle the club. So I let my eyes drift closed and relive the baby shower today. Not the presents or the cake or seeing my family again.
But the awkward encounter in the parking lot.
Did he really come just to give me a book? It wasn’t even a gift for the baby. It was a collection of poems from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, which I assume was meant as an homage to the baby’s (possible) name.
I glanced through it, but once I realized they were mostly romantic poems between him and someone else, I just got sad and threw it on the shelf.
Why would he give that to me? And why today?
If I know Luke, and I think I do, I’d say he’s still very torn about what he wants with me. He gave me that book because he couldn’t do nothing, but he is still married to his job, so he couldn’t give me anything more. This means nothing has changed and he still won’t commit.
Deep down, I’m proud of myself for not giving in and rushing into his arms the way I wanted to. Indulging in unhealthy behavior will not solve any of my problems.
