Page 59 of Even After This
I mirror her stance and don’t allow her assessing gaze to intimidate me.
Her face softens. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I grasp her hand.
She nods. “I don’t understand what’s going on with you, Meredith. First you wouldn’t let me go with you when you traipsed off to Colorado. Then you come back and you don’t want the usual volunteer jobs. Something about you is off.” She points a finger at me. “Don’t deny it.”
Stupid sister who knows me too well. But self-preservation leads me to a silent response.
She sighs. “You talked to Gwen lately?”
My hand jerks at her intrusive inquiry about my therapy, but wanting to keep the peace, I force myself not to let go of her grasp. “I’m supposed to check in with her soon.”
“You know I love you.” Her voice cracks, and she squeezes my hand.
I return her gaze and wince at the worry in her eyes.
My sister only understands one way to love, and her smothering increases when she’s anxious.
“I know you love me.” I step around my luggage to wrap myarms around her. “I’m okay, Molly. Promise. I’m just thinking through what I should be when I grow up.”
She pulls back from the hug but holds my shoulders in a firm grip. Her lips purse and twist to the side in her signature face of disapproval. I thought she mastered the expression when we were teenagers, but it matured into adulthood with the addition of a single eyebrow raise.
As she releases me, a text alert sounds again from my bag. I sort through my purse to find my keys, refusing to check the screen on my down-turned phone.
“Those texts could be from Stanley. You gonna answer them?” she calls back as she rounds her car to open the driver’s door.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Thanks for the ride, Molly.”
I stand at the curb while Molly’s SUV careens out of sight.
My skin tingles, but maybe the pricks aren’t about pain. Maybe I’ve been asleep so long, the sensation is the nerves coming back to life.
14
As I glance downat the bootcut jeans, running shoes, and University of Texas sweatshirt I threw on this morning, it occurs to me I’m not cool enough to be in the Apple store.
A salesman approaches and interrupts my thoughts of escape. “May I help you?”
Can he help me? The super-trendy teenager standing in front of me sports a signature cobalt-blue T-shirt with an Apple icon adorning the center of his chest, paired with dark-wash skinny pants. His brown hair is swished to the side in a way that defies both gravity and hair product.
I shift my weight from my right foot to my left. “Uh, I know there’s a fancy system to sign up for appointments here, but could I speak to your manager, please?”
His hair sways with his nod, causing a different but equally perplexing disheveled look. “Can you give me more information about what you need? I know I resemble a twelve-year-old, but I have a college degree and I’m married with a kid on the way.”
I can’t mask my shock. “Really?”
“No. But I’ve worked here for two years.” His genuine smile improves his appearance, upping his estimated age to twenty. “My name is Cade. How can I help you, ma’am?”
Cade. I bet having a hipster name is required for employment here.
My gaze travels from one side of the store to the other, looking for someone born in the 1900s. The giant room is packed with hopeful patrons, eyes glazed, ready to sign their latest paycheck over to the computer cult to obtain a pristine white-packaged electronic device of the modern era.
“My screen has lost sensitivity, so when I try to do things, either I have to stab the screen into submission or it won’t complete the task at all.”
“Unfortunately, that can happen,” he says. “Can you tell me specifically what doesn’t work?”
“Texting. And some settings.”
