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“It’s okay.”
It isn’t. Why would I trust Jesse with this information? He’s not only a cop, but he’s also the one who arrested Billy, who made it his mission to make sure my brother always got into shit. I’ve lost count of how many times Billy’s called me to tell me that Jesse was hassling him.
“Angel,” he says, softly. “None of what happened to your father is your fault. Neither is what’s going on at the diner.You’re doing your best. On your own. It can’t have been easy, trying to raise a kid like Billy as a fucking teen.”
I stand up. “I should go to bed.”
“Marci.”
“I’m tired.”
“Marci.”
I take my bottle of beer with me, heading for my bedroom.
“There are extra blankets and a pillow in the hall closet.”
“Marci.”
My name comes out rough.
I spin around and stare at him.
“What? What do you want me to say? Thank you for being nice to me for once in your fucking life?”
“Once?”
“You don’t think I’ve forgotten, have you?” I ask. “I haven’t forgotten the bullshit you put me through in high school.”
“I was an idiot,” he says.
“Stringing my underwear from the flagpole, telling people to stay away from me, leaving me mocking notes, showing up when I acted inRomeo and Juliet,and smirking at me from the audience. You don’t think I didn’t see it? And then Billy? Fucking arresting him, following him around, and?—”
“I donotfollow your brother around. I’ve arrested him once, Marci, because he stole a fucking car.”
“Whatever. This isn’t about him. You’ve spent my entire life trying to make me uncomfortable, and I won’t let you. I won’t let you do it anymore. So don’t pretend you care about me. I don’t believe you.”
He stands there, his shoulders tense.
The silence rings in my ears. I enter my room and slam the door behind me.
“Marci.” My name is muffled. “Marci, I’m sorry.”
I press my back to the door and sink down until my butt hits the ground. It’s not Jesse. It’s everything. The diner, my family, even Hannah’s going through a tough time. Havinghimhere when I’m at my lowest point is not easy.
“Marci, I—Fuck.” He mumbles.
“What?”
“I was an asshole.”
“Still are.”
“Still am,” he calls back. “I was an asshole to you because I didn’t like how much attention you got when we were kids. My family loved you.”
I take a sip of the beer.
“And I was a dumb kid who hated you for that. Then, when we got older and you started… You became… Fuck. Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being an asshole to you and making you feel that way.”
