Page 97 of The Fast Lane
I whipped the door open to confront Theo. He was sitting on the bed with his elbows resting on his knees and his head hanging, a little like a man defeated.
“Seriously?” I marched up to him ready for a confrontation, my wet hair dripping everywhere.
Confront someone? This was not my MO. This was Mae’s MO. But the anger vibrating through me needed a release.
“I’m sorry.” Theo lifted his head, his skin pale. “You didn’t get a lot of sleep and I know it can be a trigger for you. When I heard that crash, I thought something had happened and you’d fallen. Maybe you were hurt and…and it scared me.”
“Did I not tell you last night you were the one person who didn’t treat me like I was going to break any second?”
“Yes.”
My hands curled into fists. “You can’t be like them, Theo. I cannot handle one more person who treats me like that. Do you know what that feels like? To be the person everyone is always, always worried about?”
“No, I?—”
I paced the area in front of the two beds, stepping over a pile of dolls Hallie had been playing with earlier. “Let me tell you. It’s the worst. It’s awful to know I keep my mom up at night with worry. It doesn’t seem to matter I am a fully capable adult. All my family ever seems to see is a teenage girl who could blow any minute.” I paused and pressed a hand to my chest. “You are different. Or you’re supposed to be.”
“Alicia…”
“No, don’t you Alicia me and try to get on my good side.”
“I’m not trying to get on your good side.” He stood. “I’m trying to say I’m sorry.”
“Fine. Whatever. I accept your stupid apology.”
“Yeah, it sounds like it. I am sorry for bursting in on you. But I’m not sorry for being worried.”
“Then I don’t accept your stupid apology.”
Throwing up his hands, he growled, “I don’t want to see you get hurt. What is wrong with that?”
“Why would you even care?” I blurted out.
“Really?” he said with no small amount of amazement.
“Yes, really.” I poked him in the chest. How had he gotten so close to me? “I could kick myself for saying all those things last night.”
His eyes fixed on me with that laser-like intensity. “You remember what you said last night.”
“You are missing the point here.” I stuck my fists on my hips. “You could have knocked on the door at least.”
“I did. You must have not heard me over the music. I want to go back to the thing about you remembering our conversation. Do you? Remember it?”
“I’m not sure.” I bit my bottom lip.
“You’re lying.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I know all about you, too, Ali. I know when you’re sad or happy or about to bring down the patriarchy with one well-placed banana.”
I took a tiny step back and crossed my arms. “I’m way past bananas at this point.”
“Ali.” He said my name, not in anger or exasperation, but I couldn’t quite place the tone; it did strange things to my pulse.
I closed my eyes. “Yes, okay. I remember everything.”
The air in the room changed, became almost electric.