My hand comes up to my chest as I struggle to catch my breath.
Is my type just ‘emotionally unavailable and impossible’? No. That isn’t me. I’m not into guys who behave like jerks. I don’t … I’m not finding myself attracted to Parrish just because he’s hot, or because he’s a bastard. No, it’s in spite of those things. It’s the way he watches out for Tess, how he cares so much that it’s hurting him.
I recognize that because I do it, too, put other people first at the expense of myself.
As Maxx Wright is the opposite of me, an ideal of confidence and self-care that I ascribe to be, Parrish is just the same as I am.
The question is: do opposites really attract? Or can we fall for ourselves in somebody else?
With a huff, I turn on my heel and shove open my bedroom door, neglecting to turn on the light as I flop onto my bed in the corner. Outside the wall of windows, Lake Washington sparkles under the moonlight, white crested waves beating a steady and comfortable rhythm against the curvature of the shore.
Standing up, I pad over to the windows and find that none of them open. None of them. Not a one. Here we are with this beautiful view—this privileged view—of the water and yet I can’t crack a window?
Suddenly desperate for the steady heartbeat of mother earth, I turn and head into the bathroom, finding that at the very least the window above the bathtub opens. I push it as wide as I can, manipulating the screen until I can pull it into the bathroom and toss it aside. Crossing my arms on the windowsill, I lean out and close my eyes, letting moonlight and the distant taste of sea salt from the Puget Sound wash over my face.
Even with Parrish’s brush off, I feel better somehow, like I at least understand where he’s coming from.
I'm going to be okay, I tell myself, because in that moment, with the sound of the water, and the wild thumping of my heart, it truly feels like I will be.
That is, until I wake up the following morning.
I come to at the sound of knocking on my door, a small groan slipping from between my lips as I turn over and find my freshly charged phone. It’s not quite ten in the morning, but it’s also Sunday. Do the people in this house never sleep in? I’m tired from the party, but there’s also no way to admit to that without admitting to sneaking out.
With yet another grumble of disapproval, I stand up and pad over to my bedroom door, opening it to find Tess waiting with a handful of balloons. They say Happy Birthday on them. I blink a few times in surprise and then try to force a smile.
“Whose birthday is it?” I ask, wondering if it’s Ben’s or perhaps the twins’. Hopefully it isn’t Kimber’s. Tess laughs, like I’ve just told the most wonderful joke. Apparently, I’m the butt of one. Or … I’m about to be.
“I don’t know how you usually celebrate,” she starts as I look past her shoulder and notice Parrish relaxing in the doorway to his bedroom, leaning shirtless against the doorjamb with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s watching me carefully, frowning as usual. It feels like things should be different between us this morning, considering we were partners in crime last night, but apparently I’m the only person who feels that way.
I’m also the only person in that house who doesn’t know that it’s my birthday.
“Oh, you just wait until you see what you’ve gotten as a birthday present.” Parrish said that to me the other day, but I didn’t … I thought he’d meant for next year or … something. Shit.
Dakota Banks’ birthday is October twenty-fourth, exactly one week before Halloween, sixteen years ago.
Mia Patterson’s birthday, apparently, is February twenty-seventh.
I wasn’t sixteen until … now. I’ve been fifteen for four months longer than I expected.
A chasm opens up beneath my feet, and I feel suddenly like I’m falling. Somehow, I manage to stay on my feet, but I don’t feel good. No, my head is spinning, and my belly swims with nausea.
Tess hands the balloons out, but I can’t seem to force my hand to move to take them. After several long, agonizing seconds, I do. Mechanically. My face feels frozen into this caricature of a human being.
“Come downstairs,” she says excitedly, and I realize that she’s been waiting for this moment for fourteen years. Fourteen years of missing Mia, of missing her birthdays, of finding February twenty-seventh roll around again and again as hope dwindled. I’ve often wondered what sort of thoughts went through Tess’ head during that decade and a half. It’s an important part of empathy, after all, trying to understand what others are going through.
