Exit Wounds

14 | my girl sadie

          I miss Nick.

          I won't admit it to Sadie, especially not after all the stress I've been putting her through during the past week, but also because I can't take someone else judging me for putting myself first and following my own agenda. I've had enough of apologizing and letting other people guilt me into regretting decisions I've made for the sake of my peace of mind.

          Missing Nick is a dangerous position to place myself in, but he's one of the few people in this world I can trust, and I need to have someone like that in my life who isn't the woman responsible for the state of my career. Whatever complicated feelings I have for him aside, he's been a constant presence in my life for years and I've grown used to our dynamic, even though half of our relationship is built on omission coming from my side of the street and, sometimes, my interactions with him don't feel genuine to me.

          It makes me wonder if he can see right through me and pretends not to just to keep me around like a lap dog. It makes me wonder if he sees right through my bravado and knows I'm not ready to talk about it. I'm ashamed to even doubt his character, especially after he's shown time and time again he's someone I can undoubtedly trust, but it's part of my character to always be distrustful. I don't know how to live if not like that, and it's a big part of my protective shell. I need it to be there.

          "Just leave it be," I beg her. "I can handle this."

          "Can you?"

          "See, it wouldn't kill you to have some faith in me every once in a while. I thought you were an apologist for facing my problems head first instead of running from them." The car speeds over a badly pavimented portion of the road, a clear indicator we're nearing the beach and, therefore, the Airbnb. Sadie and I both jump from the sudden loss of quality of the road, and vibrations buzz across my body. "It's fine. I'm fine. The quicker I get this over with, the quicker I can say goodbye to my dad and the quicker we get to go home."

          Sadie sighs, staring out of her window. Her hand, set on her thigh, twitches, like she wants to grab something. "Home, huh?"

          "It'll be just the two of us in New York, Sades."

          "The two of us and Nick."

          I wrinkle my nose. "Don't tell me you're jealous of Nick."

          "He keeps you distracted. I'm not sure how great of a thing it is." She still avoids my eyes, but her tone has softened considerably. "Sometimes, at least. I'm glad you have someone that isn't nearly as intolerable as me."

⊹˚. ♡

          Sadie decides she wants to cook lunch for the three of us and, as I settle into the living room after changing into more comfortable clothes (and getting out of those beautiful, but highly impractical shoes), I remember she's a lousy cook. I'm used to it, but Michelle isn't, and, for whatever reason unbeknownst to me, I care about my sister's opinion of me.

          Whenever we eat together—the rare times she's not scowling at her plate because nothing is ever good enough for my girl Sadie—we either eat at one of three extremely specific places (Little Ways on West Broadway is her personal favorite), we order takeout from also specific places (the burritos from Electric Burrito are my favorite), or we get those subscription boxes of prepackaged meals or fresh ingredients that come with instructions so not even we can mess up. Having her try to cook something from scratch, with the ominous clanking sounds of pots, pans, and cutlery coming from the kitchen, doesn't look like a promising omen.