Convincing You I'm Me

Chapter 57: DNA Differences

I S L A

I sit at Jessie's desk using her hair-dryer while she talks to someone on her phone in the hallway. I see her in the reflection, pacing up and down as she rubs her temples, her frustration has me worried.

I turn the dryer off and I begin combing through the knots, just as she re-enters. She juggles the phone in her hand, sighing to herself as she crosses her teenage-bedroom to the window. 

"What is it?" I ask her.

She opens the blinds of her window, letting the sunlight crash into the dim room. "It's just weird being back here."

"Why didn't you go home?"

She turns to look at me, I meet her eyes through the mirror. "I am home. That's the thing. This will always be home. It's just. . ." she bites on the end of the sentence, crossing her arms and dropping to the end of her bed. 

I place the comb gently onto the desk and I swivel around. "Full of strange memories?" I offer.

She flicks her hazel eyes up with a smile. "Yeah." She looks around at her bright pink bedroom, then begins glaring at the rock-star posters nailed to the far wall. "I spent all of my teenage years in this room, it's just a reminder of how old I really am."

"Twenty three isn't old." I snort.

"But it feels it. It feels like I've just blinked one day and I'm suddenly a home owner and a business owner with a partner and dogs." She scrolls her eyes across the wall, resting them on a picture collage of all her high-school pals. "It's a world away from the girl that used to sleep in this bedroom."

"You grew up," I grin. "It happens. I was the same. Although, I felt like I grew up the moment I met your father."

She flicks her eyes back to me, resting them on my face. "What do you mean?"

"He had a strong mind. A stronger mind than me. He was serious and that opened my eyes."

"Lincoln is like that. Sometimes we hardly talk. He'll just sit there, watching sports, or he'll come home from work on his phone and he won't even speak to me for an hour."

"Are you happy with him?"

She shrugs, dropping her head while rubbing her fingers against her jeans. "I don't know."

"But. . ." I bite my lip, trying to find the words to describe it. "Does he make your mind jumble when he speaks to you? Do you get a heat in your stomach every time he looks at you?"

She smiles lightly, lifting her head back up. "Yes."

"Does he annoy you sometimes to the point where you want to throw something heavy at him?"

She laughs out. "Yes."

"Does he turn that anger into laughter easily?"

She groans. "Yes."

"Then you're happy," I say. "That's how you know. If you have passion to hate them, you've found the effort to stay in their life."

She smiles at me, observing something. 

"What?" I say, awkwardly dropping my eyes.