Page 40 of What If It Was Us
“Don’t act like you care,” I muttered.
“Stop acting like I don’t,” he shot back.
Don’t let him affect you.
He handed me a cold bottle of water, and I ripped it out of his hands to chug shamelessly. “Big Blind” by The Story So Far was playing, but neither of us sang along. I was irritated by how well the lyrics fit with our situation.
When we pulled into the driveway, Jackson covered his mouth while balancing his elbow on the window ledge like he was thinking.
“Hey, Addie?” His voice was laced with emotion. I turned away, staring through the windshield at my house. When I didn’t respond, he talked anyways. “Please don’t just leave me like that again.”
His sentence rocked me. I was falling down a cliff, rolling and tumbling and getting scratched from every side. He sounded like he was talking to eighteen-year-old Addison—the Addison who got in her car without telling him where she was going, and without saying goodbye.Not the Addison now, who left the restaurant without telling him first half an hour ago.
“You can’t disappear again,” he whispered. I couldn’t respond even if I wanted to, because my throat was on fire from how hard I was fighting back the tears.
I grabbed the door handle to leave, and Jackson said, “I’ll text you.”
I nodded my head, but didn’t promise I’d answer.
Chapter 19
BEFORE
December, Twelve Years Ago
Julie didn’t fly back for Christmas like she said she would. She was too overwhelmed with school, and didn’t want to travel. She was also thriving in the California sun, her skin more tanned than when she left, and her dark-brown hair looking a shade or two lighter.
Julie knew how upset I was over her promising to come home and then bailing, so she triple-swore she’d be back for Jackson’s eighteenth birthday next summer. That meant it would almost be a full year before I saw her in person. I had to keep telling myself she wasn’t my mom—she would come back.
Since Julie wasn’t going to attend Christmas, Sam decided he would stay in New York, so Christmas Eve ended up just being me, Jackson, Marie, and Phil. This year they were going to one of Marie’s sister’s houses, and Jackson had already given me a heads up that it was going to be just as chaotic as his parent’s anniversary party. I seriously couldn’t wait.
Julie told me I could pick out an outfit from her closet—her way of sliding back into my good graces—and I felt like I was shopping at the mall as I went through her closet.
Jackson was laying on his back on her bed as I perused, totally uninterested as he scrolled through his phone.
“I don’t think Julie has even worn half this stuff,” I said as I pulled out a black denim jacket that still had the tags on it.
“No wonder she has no money to fly back home; she wastes all her money on clothes,” Jackson said bitterly from where he was laying.
Jackson was just as upset as I was that Julie wasn’t coming home, and even more aggravated because he bombed his classes this trimester. He wasn’t studying for the ACT in the spring, and for the first time ever, he had actuallyfaileda class.
“She didn’t stay in California because of money. She stayed because she’s stressed over her classes.”
“Keep on telling yourself that, Addie,” Jackson quipped. “It’s winter break; she doesn’t have classes till January.”
God, he was so grumpy these days. Argumentative with the entire world.
“What are you wearing to the party?” I asked as I put my hands on my hips to face him.
“A pair of sweats and a hoodie. I’m not dressing up for these people who are just going to call me Sam a hundred times tonight.”
I tried to think of something to say to pull him out of his black mood. “I don’t think you have to worry. Your hair covers half your face these days; they won’t know who you are at all.”
This was the longest Jackson had ever gone without a haircut, and his dark hair was so long now he had to constantly push his bangs behind his ears on one side, and it had started to flip up at the back of his neck. It didn’t look bad—it made him look like he belonged ata heavy rock show. I just missed seeing the entirety of his face all the time.
He propped himself up on his elbows and gave me a wicked grin.
“You don’t like my long hair?” He sprung up from the bed, shaking his head in my face so his bangs brushed against my cheeks. I laughed and pushed him away from me, wiping a hand down my face to scratch the tickle.
