The Distance Between Us(51)

“Wow,” I say, spinning in a circle. “This is where we need to watch The Shining.”

He lifts one side of his mouth into a half-smile then goes to a bookshelf full of DVDs and pulls out the one with Jack Nicholson sticking his creepy face through a gap in a door.

“You got it?”

“I did. You said we were going to watch it so I got it.”

I plop down in a recliner. “Well, put it on, then.”

He shakes his head. “Not tonight. Tonight we talk.” He replaces the movie and settles into the recliner next to mine.

“What were you doing before I got here?”

“Let me rephrase that: tonight we talk about you.”

“Can we just work up to it first? I’m not good at things like this.”

He nods. “Okay, before you got here? Let’s see, I was working on a history assignment.”

“Do you go to Dalton Academy or Oceanside?” They’re both private schools. I’m sure he goes to one or the other.

“Dalton.”

“Dalton . . . that’s your grandma’s last name.” Before I even finish the sentence I feel stupid for saying it. “Duh. That’s not a coincidence.”

He laughs. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For reminding me what it’s like to be treated like a normal person. It’s been a long time since I’ve been around someone who didn’t know who I was.”

I tilt my head. “Wait, who are you?”

He tugs on my hair with a smirk.

“Your parents are really nice.”

“When they get what they want, yes they are.”

“So have you been working on the website for your dad, then?”

He draws out a sigh. “That’s the thing. I have. I know, I know, I shouldn’t.”

I hold up my hands. “I said nothing.”

“So I had all these great ideas for the website to make it fresh and exciting and my dad completely disregarded all of them. He said, ‘No, clean and classic.’”

“For your clientele that’s probably better.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s not like teenagers are going to book rooms at your hotels. It’s businessmen and wealthy people. Clean and classic work for them.”

He closes his eyes for a second then says, “You’re right. Why didn’t he just say that?”

“Maybe he tried. You don’t listen to your dad very well.”

“Because he wants to shape me into this perfect little version of him and I feel smothered. I’m not him.”

“Isn’t it funny that you want to be nothing like your dad and I wish I knew if I am even a tiny bit like mine?”

“I’m sorry. I’m being insensitive.”

I touch his shoulder. “No, you’re not. I get what you’re saying. You don’t want to be defined by your father. Especially when from the outside you are so similar to him. But you aren’t him. You’ll always be different.” You’ll always be amazing. Why is it still so hard to say that last sentence out loud?

He takes my hand in his and runs his thumb along the back of it. “Your father would be so proud of you. Of who you are.”

My entire throat closes with the comment and my eyes fill with tears. I keep them at bay but am surprised by the strong reaction. By how much I needed to hear someone say that. “He lives in New York. He’s some fancy lawyer there.”

“You’ve looked him up?”

“I had to. I might need a kidney one day.”

He laughs.

“When I was twelve I read this story about some guy who hadn’t seen his father in years and then he ended up getting cancer. His father was a bone marrow match. Saved his life.”

Xander stares at me for so long I start to feel uncomfortable. “You don’t have to be on your deathbed to reach out to your father, you know.”

I rub at my forearm. “He walked away from my mom.”

He nods slowly. “You feel like wanting to see him means betraying your mother?”

I look up at the light but another tear escapes anyway. “He left her.”

“Her relationship with him doesn’t have to define yours.”

“He left me, too.”

“I’m sorry.” He runs the back of his knuckles along my cheek. “And what about your mom? Why is her possible pregnancy so devastating?”

“You think I’m overreacting?”

“I did not say that at all. I know I’d be upset if it were my mom. I just don’t want to project my reasons onto you. Tell me what’s going through your head.”

“I’m angry and hurt and ashamed all wrapped together into one emotional mess. I just don’t believe she would do this again.” I pull my knees up onto the chair and turn sideways to face him. “I feel guilty and selfish for wishing a person out of existence but I don’t want this change.”

“You’ll work through those feelings. You’ll melt when you hold the baby in your arms.”

“No, I won’t. I don’t like kids and kids don’t like me. We’ve come to this general consensus long ago.”

He smiles. “Well, at least you have a long time to get used to the idea.”