Chapter 2

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“So son,” Dad slaps Jay’s back heavily enough for me to cringe. He’s had a couple of drinks and I don’t trust him to not embarrass me. Four years of being together and of Saturday night dinners with my parents and I’m still pretty certain that one day my boyfriend will see the psychotic circus that is my family and run far, far away.

“I hear the scouts are fighting tooth and nail to get you to sign with them. That must feel good right, getting your pick?”

Jay spears some pasta into his fork and chews slowly, it’s not a subject he’s comfortable talking about and something my dad is determined to bring up.

“Yes, sir, it’s an honour and I’ll be sure to make the right decision.”

He grips my hand with his free one over the table and looks at me as he says this. A flutter goes up in my stomach but I can’t tell if it’s out of happiness.

“Your parents must be proud, if only Travis wasn’t such…”

“Dad,” I interject knowing the spiel he’s about to go on, “would you like more potatoes?”

He grunts and asks me to pass him the bowl, crisis averted.

He forgets to bring up my brother again and I try my best to keep it that way. Mom is strangely quiet during all this and I wonder if she’s popped a pill too many to contribute. Sadly enough, this is a usual occurrence at the O’Connell household through the years I’ve become accustomed to the routine.

Speaking of routines, once we’re done eating and before he leaves for the night, Jay asks me if I want him to pick me up for school on Monday and as always my answer is yes. He kisses me goodnight at the door and leaves, I know for sure that he’ll go home, watch a game or two with his step-father, do some schoolwork and then go to bed early even on the weekend. He’ll get up at 6 am the next days and go for his 5 mile run before calling me at 9 am, forcing me to get my butt out of bed. I sigh and head back inside to my room and contemplate calling Nicole but realize half way through my plan that she’ll be out with Cole. Plopping down on my bed, I grab a book from my nightstand and start to read but that only holds up my attention for five minutes. I feel antsy, like I need to get out of the house, away even from my boyfriend. Something’s been different since my birthday, since my confrontation with Cole and it’s making me slowly lose my mind. I’d convinced myself that he didn’t care whether I existed or not but the hate I saw in his eyes…it was something else. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what I could’ve done to him to warrant such a reaction and if there’s one thing that I ever want to say to him again is to ask what the heck happened between us.

Sitting up straight and with a newfound determination, I head to my closet. I send a text to Nicole her where she is and then proceed to getting ready. I don’t even allow myself the time to second guess or take the easy way out, if I need answers then I’ll have to get them myself. Saturday night parties are usually hosted by either the baseball or football players and I’d rather it be the latter tonight since Cole’s on the football team. Once I’m dressed in my black skinny jeans, tight white sweater and high heeled black boots I head downstairs where the television is playing loudly over the sound of my parents screaming at each other. Briefly I consider telling them that I’m going out but think better of it. By the time the argument ends, I’d have gotten at least a couple hours of sleep. The Range Rover Sport my parents got me for my seventeenth birthday is still my baby and as I buckle myself in I try and remember why I’ve always ridden with Jay to school. I have a car, a pretty butt kicking one too, but for some reason I’ve also needed him as my security blanket.

And then there’s impressions, you’ve got to make the right one and make sure you’re always considered to be the perfect couple. For me that means to always be the dutiful girlfriend, to be the one in the background with a big fat smile on my face. It’s been four years of more or less the same and never has it gotten to me as much as it’s recently started to.

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