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He looks down at my hand, places one of his over mine. His warm touch doesn't burn the way Kyle's does. Doesn't feel like I'll burst into flames at any moment. Instead, it's soothing, comforting. Like being curled up in a fuzzy blanket in front of the fireplace. Or watching your favorite movie for the thousandth time. Getting lost in a good book. The first hike after the flowers bloom on the mountain.
"I'm sorry, Jen," he says as he lightly squeezes my hand.
For some reason, I don't think he's apologizing about his leg brushing against mine.
—
I slowly make my way to Matt's jeep. Even from a distance, I can tell he and Audra are fighting. He's leaning against the passenger-side door, arms crossed over his chest, looking uninterested in whatever she's carrying on about. Her arms flail wildly, her whole body rigid as I stop a few feet away.
"First you eat lunch with her? Now you're going to drive her home?" I hear. "Do you know how bad that looks, Matt? My boyfriend driving home the girl who's been in love with him for years? Everyone knows it. God, Matt, it's written all over her face every time she looks at you. It's so pathetic."
I clear my throat awkwardly. Audra's body stiffens before she turns to face me, her face red with anger, maybe embarrassment.
Matt stands up straighter, his face softens as he wearily eyes me.
"Hi," I quietly greet Audra, watch her face fall when her eyes meet mine. "Sorry to interrupt your monologue about how pathetic I am," I look over to Matt, "but I'm ready to go." He pushes off the Jeep, steps forward and opens the door for me.
"Jenny," Audra says with so much sincerity I almost feel bad that I walk past her, ignore her completely, and let Matt shut the door behind me, safely confining me within the walls of his yellow Jeep.
I don't know if they talk, fight some more, kiss goodbye, whatever it is they do when they part, but hot tears begin to trickle down my cheeks as I stare out the windshield, a blurry mess.
I can't even hide the sobs that pour from my mouth. My body arches over and I clutch my chest, wonder how the hell I have a beating heart in there after everything I've done to it over the past month.
A cool breeze brushes against my arm. Matt's hands find me and the next thing I know, he's tugging me into his arms from the open passenger-side door. I rest my head on his shoulder, bury my face there, let the tears soak his grey shirt.
Pathetic.
That's what I am.
I know it. Matt knows it. Hell, the whole freaking school knows it.
But I'm not pathetic because I have unrequited feelings for Matt. Feelings that feel less raw, less battered.
I'm pathetic because I stupidly slept with Kyle thinking it could just be sex. And, when he put up boundaries, reminding me that we are 141 miles from each other, I'm the one who naively thought we could make it work, somehow be together, even with a mountain range separating us.
Audra's right.
I am pathetic.
Chapter 16
Three weeks pass in a haze. Homework assignments. Matt sitting next to me at lunch every day. Filling out the necessary forms for CU Boulder. Snowy, overcast days followed by warm, sunny ones. Mom asking me why I look so pale. Binging on chocolate while watching Dirty Dancing. Dad taking me driving in the evenings. Family dinners on Saturday nights. Wearing Kyle's sweatshirt, he gave me when he bought me hot chocolate. Crying because I can't smell his cologne on it anymore.
I know I should text him, be the bigger person, and bridge the gap. But the deafening silence from his end is brutal, distressing, heart-wrenching. The longer I go without making contact, the harder it is to actually do it.
I hear a knock on my bedroom door, slide the bag of Hersey's chocolate under my pillow, throw the blankets over the mountain of silver and black wrappers before saying, "Come in."
Mom's face peers in as the door creaks open.
"Hey, baby," she smiles at me, her hazel eyes soft, worried. "It's our turn to bring Mrs. Henderson dinner. Can you take it down for me?"
"Sure," I tell her as I stand from my bed, run a nervous hand over my black leggings, hoping the evidence of chocolate and tears aren't plastered all over my face. I know she wants to ask where I got the sweatshirt from, why I immediately change into it the moment I get home from school and live in it on the weekends. But she hasn't yet. Maybe she knows it's Kyle's. I'm not sure.
"Great," Mom says as she pushes my door open further, motions for me to follow her.
"I didn't know what to make," Mom explains as we make our way down the stairs, "but then I called Kyle and he said lasagna was Mrs. Henderson's favorite."
My heart thuds loudly in my chest at the sound of his name, my breath catching in my throat. "Why did you call Kyle?"
