Highly Suspicious and Unfairly Cute(55)

“You’re fine,” Dad says, then falters. “I mean. Are you fine?”

I shrug. “Yeah?”

“Okay.” He nods. “Okay. Well, all I’m saying is, let’s keep it that way.”

Have I missed something? “What’s that got to do with Celine?”

Dad hesitates before speaking in his tread carefully tone, like I’m a bomb about to go off. “I love Celine. But I know you’ve always had…strong feelings about her.”

Now I’m annoyed, because I was ready to argue, but that is technically true. My feelings for Celine have been positive and negative, platonic and combative and…and this new thing where I want to hold her hand for the next millennium, but no matter what, they’ve always been strong. “Okay,” I say, trying to force my jaw to unclench.

“I don’t know if now is a good time for those feelings to get even stronger,” Dad finishes. “Aside from anything else, do you need all that added pressure right now?”

“Oh,” I say tightly while feelings pop up like volcanic geysers in me. Ten minutes ago, I was having a fantastic time making out with the hottest girl on the planet and now I’m being lectured about my delicate soul. (Well, my delicate brain chemistry, but whatever.) “I don’t see why liking Celine is pressure, though.”

Dad opens his mouth, then closes it. “I can’t tell you what to do, Brad,” he lies, before telling me what to do. “I’m just saying maybe you should think twice before adding torrid romance to your list of things to worry about.”

“Okay, but I’m not worried.”

“And if you and Celine apply to universities miles apart, or you’re too busy studying to go out on dates, or whatever, you won’t be worried then?” There’s a deep furrow between his eyebrows and his hands are flat against the chopping board, chilies forgotten. “You were always stuck on something or other that happened with Bella—”

“Don’t compare them!”

Dad raises a hand like he’s granting a point. “Right. No. Sorry.”

Bella and Celine are not the same. There’s no reason to mention their names in the same sentence. Plus, Bella didn’t know about my OCD and she had…different ideas about relationships than I did. It was complicated. Me and Celine, we’re simple. I know her and I want her, and she definitely knows me.

But she wants to talk, whispers that annoying little voice in the back of my head, the one that picks up on things I’d rather not notice.

“I’m just saying,” Dad finishes, grabbing his knife again, “that first BEP expedition took a lot out of you. I know you haven’t managed to finish your uni applications yet. And final exams are going to be…Law school requires very high—”

The words “I don’t care about law school” burst out of me, like when you open a bottle of pop and it all fizzes over. I thought they were staying inside, but then something shook and twisted a bit too fast, and now the counter’s all sticky and half my bottle is empty. There’s no undoing it.

Dad drops his knife and looks at me with an expression so astonished and concerned (concernished, perhaps) you’d think my head had fallen off. “Pardon me?” he asks.

Now I feel like a dick. He’s just trying to give me advice, the way he always does, and how do I react? By throwing inconvenient truths at his face. “Nothing,” I say, picking up my garlic. “Sorry.”

“Brad, are you—”

“I’m fine.”

“You know you can tell me anything. If you’re not feeling…If you’re having any—”

“I’m in a bad mood.” I force a smile. “You kind of rained on my parade, old man.”

His expression softens. “Son. You know I’m not trying to be negative. I just want the best for you.”

“I know.”

“But I can’t tell you what to do,” he repeats.

Parents love to say shit like that, as if their words, their looks, their expectations, aren’t as heavy as a small planet. Usually, my dad’s word is law whether he knows it or not.

But not this time.

Turns out, when it comes to Celine, Dad’s right: he can’t tell me what to do. No one can.





CELINE


     SUNDAY, 3:12 P.M.


Minnie: You did WHAT?





Celine: IT WAS AN ACCIDENT





Minnie: lol no it wasn’t, you’ve been drooling over him for centuries





Minnie: just astonished YOU finally noticed???





I have no idea why I tell Michaela anything. She’s a deeply annoying human being.

After hovering in front of the Graeme house for a bit, I’m speed-walking home (very irresponsible while texting, I know, but needs must). Then I hear my literal worst nightmare behind me: it’s Brad. Calling my name. Right after we just kissed.

And, God, the way we kissed. It was completely mortifying. Like, I saw fireworks and forgot my own name and momentarily considered putting his hand on my boob, all of which is very dangerous indeed because—because no one is supposed to feel like that. Like everything.

Brad can’t be everything.