Page 35 of The Way I Hate Him
“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I know you’re doing the best you can, Ryland.”
“I could be doing better.” He pulls out a knife and then looks over at me. “Did you know they have spirit days in preschool? Apparently, all last week was spirit week, and I had no goddamn idea. I picked her up from day care, and she was crying hysterically because she didn’t have crazy hair like everyone else.” He shakes his head and starts cutting the hot dogs straight into the pot, not bothering to use a cutting board. “The girl has crazy hair every day because I don’t know how to fucking do it. You would think she’d fit right in.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” I say.
His eyes fall to mine. “I’m not. Cassidy would expect more.” He shakes his head and blows out a heavy breath. “Tell me about the internship.”
“Ryland,” I say softly. “Don’t change the subject like that. If you’re struggling, it’s okay to admit. I can help—”
“You need to focus on school.”
“Jesus,” I say. “What is with you and Aubree? You know there’s more to me than school, right?”
“There shouldn’t be,” he says. “That’s what you should focus on. That’s what you should be figuring out. Hell . . . you should be graduating this semester, but you took an internship instead.”
My brows pull together. “It was a smart move.” We all know I’m in defense mode, so ignore the lying on my end. Thanks.
“Better than graduating?” he asks. “I don’t see how that’s possible.”
“Can we not talk about it?” I ask. “I didn’t come over here to get lectured, Ryland.”
“You’re right,” he concedes. “Sorry. It’s just been . . . stressful.”
“If it’s so stressful, why won’t you and Aubree ask for help?”
He finishes cutting the hot dogs and picks up a wooden spoon to stir his concoction. “Because you’re in school. And there’s a transition stage. We’re just trying to figure that out. It will take us a second.”
I nod. “I can understand that, but I can help.” He grunts in disapproval. I won’t get anywhere with that narrative, so I switch things up. I look around the open space, noticing the stack of blankets in the corner as well as the pillow. That must be Ryland’s bed, pushed out of the way so Mac doesn’t notice. “Are you sleeping on the couch?”
“Yeah.” He sets the spoon down and then turns toward me, leaning his hip against the counter. My eyes roam over him, noticing how his eyes are sunken with dark circles under them. He’s always been extremely fit, but he’s lost weight, and not in a good way. Now it’s almost like his skin sits on top of muscle. And the smile he used to carry as a fun-loving guy is nowhere to be found. In its place seems like a ball of stress rests directly on his chest.
“I can’t convince myself to sleep in Cassidy’s room. I barely go in there.”
“Does Mac?”
He shakes his head. “Not really. She said it makes her sad to go in there. She doesn’t like to remember the place where her mommy passed away.”
“God,” I say as my throat chokes up. “That’s heartbreaking.”
“Tell me about it.” He crosses his arms. “I try to talk to her about Cassidy, but she just shakes her head and tells me Mommy will be back. She’s just gone for now, but she’ll be back.”
Well, fuck me.
Tears cloud my eyes, and I take a few deep breaths because I don’t want Mac to walk in and see me crying.
“What do you tell her?”
“Nothing,” Ryland says. “I don’t have it in me to tell her any differently.”
Just then, Mac comes barreling down the stairs, her feet pitter-pattering across the hardwood floors. When she flies into the kitchen, she has her pants on backward and one side of her hair tied up into a ponytail.
“Oh yeah!” she says, shaking her bottom. “I went potty.”
Ryland smiles softly at her. “Good job, Mac.” He reaches into the cabinet and says, “Can you set the table for us?”
“Can I use the fancy napkins?”
“Always,” he says as he pulls out the cloth napkins Cassidy made from a drawer.
