Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Why? I don’t understand how someone can be so cruel. How a parent can be so cruel. But then, do some people need a reason? There’s hate all over the world. People abuse those they love every single day; we just don’t see what’s going on behind the closed doors.
“Baby…that doesn’t sound like he was easy on any of you.” But I’m not surprised Rhett has made himself the bad guy, the one who didn’t suffer as much. He takes too much responsibility for everything. He’d take it for the whole damn world if he could.
“I’m supposed to shield my brothers from pain. I’m supposed to deal with shit so they don’t have to.”
“No. You’re not.”
He turns his back to me, adding the sauce to the meat. I kiss his shoulder, his neck, wrap my arms around him.
“It wasn’t ever your responsibility. Your dad had a responsibility to treat his children right.”
“What about her?” he asks, surprising me. “Sometimes I feel angry at her, for staying, for not telling him to lay off Morgan, or not forcing me to put the books away and go outside to play. And then I feel guilty. How can I feel that way about her? She was a victim too. That doesn’t make me a very good person.”
“You’re the best person.” My words feel hollow, but I’m doing my best. “That’s natural to feel, and you’re right.”
“She really loved us. She tried to give us the best life she could,” he defends.
“Baby, both things can be true at the same time.” I turn him around. “She can be a wonderful person, someone who loved you and wanted what’s best for you, but some of her choices could have hurt you too. Too many people look at the world as black and white, and it’s just not like that.”
Rhett nods, then swipes at his eyes. No tear has fallen yet, but they’re glassy. “I’m sorry. Tonight was supposed to be fun, and I dug up all my shit. I don’t want to ruin this.”
“You’re not.” I cup his face. “You’re letting me in. I want to know everything about you. I want to be one of the people who’s always there for you—good and bad. Life is made up of both. You can’t share your life with someone and only want the good things.” And I think that’s how April was. She checked out when things weren’t fun, when it was time to be responsible. When she realized we always had to put our child first.
“I don’t know what’s happening here.” Rhett drops his forehead against mine. “It’s difficult for me when I don’t understand what’s going on or what’s expected.”
“I don’t expect anything from you other than for you to be you. As for what’s going on, I gotta tell you, Rhett, I’m in deep. Maybe I shouldn’t be already, or maybe I shouldn’t tell you, but I am.”
“I’m in deep too. And I’m not sure how to do that, how not to mess it up.”
My damn heart feels like it’s going to float away. It’s so light, I need to tether it before I lose it completely. “Me neither. But we’ll figure it out together.”
Rhett nods. “Yeah, together.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Rhett
We don’t speak about anything else heavy as we finish getting the ziti ready to go into the oven.
Once it’s baking, Tripp and I sit at the table, each with a beer, and talk. I can’t remember a time I ever talked to anyone as much as I do Tripp. Probably because I never have.
I still can’t believe I shared all that. I feel like I’m a different person with him, like I don’t have all this weight on top of me, or at least, like the load is lighter. And honestly, it feels good to let someone in, to show someone pieces of myself I’ve been too afraid to let anyone else see, and so far, they haven’t chased Tripp away.
“I’m in deep,” he’d said, and while I find that hard to believe, I have to because it’s Tripp. He’s too damn good to lie about something like that.
A little while later, while I’m pulling the ziti out of the oven, he says, “It smells good.”
“I haven’t made it since my mom died. I hope it turned out right.”
“I’m sure it did.” He’s so sure about everything. Tripp walks through life with this confidence that everything will be okay. I’ve never been like that. I’ve always faked it. But when I’m with him, it’s easy to believe that everything will, in fact, be okay.
I scoop a helping onto each plate, then watch as Tripp digs his fork into the pasta—I’m not able to take a bite until he does. Tripp blows on it for a moment, then pushes his fork into his mouth. He gives a deep moan that somehow vibrates inside me, waking up more parts of me that have been asleep for years, maybe forever.