Page 43 of Unwrapped
“There really isn’t much youdolike about me, is there?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Her indignance infuriates me almost as much as the truth in my words. I have never been good enough in her eyes. Nothing I accomplish will ever compare to the golden child. I am forever second best.
“You know what? It doesn’t matter. Merry Christmas, Ma. I’ll talk to you next week.” I end the call and flop onto my bed.
I stare at the wall for a few minutes, wallowing like I’ve been doing since I left New York. It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m alone once more. What would my life have been like if I’d demanded the attention I needed? What if I was the one who people made sacrifices for? I tasted happiness when Camille was in my arms. I saw a glimpse of what we could have shared. But I let her walk away. Now the hollow hunger aches deeper than it did before I knew how perfect we were together.
The anger inside me flares to life, burning with the heat of a wildfire. I snatch the phone and dial my mother’s number.
She answers on the first ring. “I hope you’re calling to apologize.”
“I’m not.”
“Have you changed your mind about church?”
“Nope.” I clench the phone in my fist. “Would it have killed you to ask why I’m upset?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Maybe I didn’t want to be the strong one all the time. Maybe I needed more from you. Weren’t my needs important? Didn’tIdeserve the fucking advantage now and then?”
To my surprise, she doesn’t reprimand me for swearing. “You aren’t making sense.”
“You were always so concerned with Ryan. Everything was about him. All I ever heard was Ryan this, Ryan that, Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. What about me? Didn’t I matter to you?”
“Of course you did. What the hell kind of question is that?”
“You’ve always treated me like a second-class citizen.”
“That’s not true.”
“Bullshit.”
“Where is this coming from?” She has the audacity to sound confused.
“When was the last time you asked about my life?” I snarl, squeezing the phone in a death grip now.
Several moments pass before she finally speaks. “Is something going on with you?”
“There’s a lot of shit going on, Ma. There always is. You’ve just been too busy worrying about Ryan to notice.”
“Well, his campaign—”
“Fuck his campaign. What should I do to be worthy of your interest? Fly a fucking spaceship to the moon? Run for President? Get shot by a sniper?”
“Jesus Christ, Dean! You’re talking crazy right now.”
“You know what’s crazy? I’ve spent my whole life waiting for something I’m never gonna get. I’m fucking hurting, and you don’t even care. That’s fine though. I’m used to it. Go ahead and make some more Senator West stickers to stick all over the fucking place. Don’t worry about me. I’ll keep doing the same shit I’ve been doing.” I hang up and throw my phone across the room.
My head is throbbing, and I want to punch something, but I roll to my side and stare out the window instead. I’m not sure whether I feel guilty for screaming at her, or relieved to get things off my chest. All I know for sure is the aching void where my heart used to be.
My phone rings. Convinced it’s my mother calling to tell me what a shitty son I am, I stagger across the room and snatch it off the floor to silence the ringer. Sawyer’s name appears on the screen. I don’t feel like talking, but I answer anyway.
“Hello?” Plopping onto my bed once more, I press the speaker icon, too lazy to hold my cell.
His voice fills the room. “Hey. What’s up?”
