Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
"But what about the rest?"
The rest… I know. But I can still answer as a kid sibling. "If I tell you something, you have to promise to be cool about it."
"No way! What if you tell me you're cheating on my sister?"
"About me. My family."
"I'll try."
"Fair." I offer my hand.
She shakes.
"My sister died by suicide."
"Shit," she mutters.
"Before… she was weird. Evasive. Pulling away. It felt like something was off, but I didn't say anything. I hid from it."
"Is that what happened with Imogen?" Her eyes go wide. "Did she tell you?"
"She hasn't told me anything."
"But you know something?" she asks.
Yes.
"How do you know?" She looks at me. "Did someone tell you?"
I don't want to lie to her, but I can't be the one to tell her either. "Let me start over."
She frowns but nods go ahead.
"I didn't give my sister space to talk to me. I abandoned her. I think she felt that. But Molly, our older sister, she pushed. And she felt that too."
"Okay…"
"You need to tell her you're there… when she's ready, and let her come to you."
She pouts. "This all sounds very mature."
"It can be."
"I don't like it."
"I know."
"Are you sure you don't want to tell me everything?" she asks.
"I am."
"But she freaked out the other day over something she found. And it was about you. It must have been about your sister."
Shit.
"Is that what happened with her, too? I know more than she tells me. She was depressed. It was obvious. I don't know how she thinks I didn't see it. I've seen her medication. And Mom… she thinks I don't understand Vietnamese, but I do."
I say nothing.
"Did she try? Is that why things have been so weird?"
"Julie—"
"She did, didn't she?"
"She hasn't told me that."
"What if she did? Wouldn't that bother you?" she asks.
"Does it bother you?"
"Yes. It's scary. Why couldn't she tell me?"
"Do you really need me to answer that?"
"Right. Your sister is dead. Mine is here. I'm an immature asshole."
"You're scared. It's okay."
"What if she did?" Julie asks. "Would you stay with her?"
"Who would break up with someone over that?"
"Don't be naive."
That's true. The guy I used to be would have run from a disclosure like that. "It would scare me, sure, but I would still love her."
"You love her?"
"I haven't said it yet."
"I won't tell her." She walks past the pink and green matcha shop and rolls her eyes. "How can people act like matcha is this trendy new superfood? It's been drunk in Japan for two thousand years. White people. No offense."
"None taken."
"Did she tell you what happened?"
"You trying to trick me?" I ask.
"Is it working?"
I shake my head.
"Will you talk to her, for me?"
"Yeah, but it's better if you talk to her."
"Stop being mature."
"Okay. Then tell me about your girlfriend."
"You're trying to distract me."
"Tell me anyway," I say.
She does.
We make it to the beach, then halfway to Santa Monica, before Julie decides to text Imogen to let her know we're okay.
"Do you want to do the honors? Or should I?" I ask.
"We both can." She pulls out her cell, reads the message, taps a text.
I do the same.
Imogen: Hey! No rush, but let me know if Julie is okay.
Patrick: She's good.
Imogen: Thanks. Oh. She's texting now.
Patrick: She decided to not torture you.
Imogen: Did she torture you too much?
Patrick: No. She's a good kid.
Imogen: She is.
Patrick: She's just worried about you.
Imogen: I know. I should talk to her. It's just… complicated. Are relationships supposed to be complicated this fast?
Patrick: I'm not an expert. But I don't mind it.
Imogen: Are you sure?
Patrick: Yeah. I can wait to learn more about what's in your big, beautiful brain.
Imogen: I can't believe she said that.
Patrick: She's right. You're a thinker. I get it. I love it, actually. And I can be patient with it.
More or less.
Maybe less.
I need to stick with where I'm good here.
Patrick: I'm glad to be here for her. Besides, we can make up for the lost day later this week.
Imogen: Oh?
Patrick: Yeah. When I call you Monday night.
Chapter Forty-One
IMOGEN
When I take Julie to breakfast, I expect her to demand an explanation. Instead, she says she's sorry for pushing and she's here when I need her.
When I promise I'm okay, she believes me.
When I change the subject to her off-season fitness routine, she talks about sprinting on the sand, hitting the batting cages at Boomers, and running drills with her girlfriend.
For a few hours, I feel like an actual big sister. Like a good sister. Then, I hug her goodbye, and slip back into Patrick's place.
A million questions swirl in my mind. What the hell did he tell her? It must be more than a younger sibling to younger sibling explanation.
Nothing clears my head, not Patrick's goodbye hug or his promise to call Monday.
After an extra swim, a double-grilled cheese sandwich dinner, and a study session on the couch, I give up.