âMaybe I had pretty boy syndrome and wanted to hear you say it first, cuz you were the only one who never did.â
I clutch the box until it dents - canât help but fire back, âWhat if I had ugly girl syndrome, and I needed to hear you say it because nobody ever did?â
That same knowing nod - almost like a chastised child, apologetic and penitent.
âIâm sorry-â he starts to say - but I cut him off, feeling the anger and hurt spill out like sentencefuls of vomit-
âYou spent your entire life being fawned over by everyone because you were so beautiful - so charismatic. I just wanted a little bit of assurance, a little bit of proof that somebody - anybody wanted me - that I was more than just the charity and leftovers everybody threw at me. Were you ever going to tell me?â
The pain in his expression is agonizing.
âI guess I thought I had time,â he whispers meekly, âI guess I thought that if you liked anyone at all, it would be meâŠ.â his hands tremble, clutching the blankets until his knuckles turn white, his voice drops to an almost inaudible breath, âand I was scared.â
He smooths the covers nervously, his sentences running together as he avoids my gaze, âScared that my mother was rubbing off on you. That you would come to the conclusion that you were too talented for âthat sort of nonsenseâ - that you didn't have time to waste on a guy.â
I lower my head.
Kattar shakes his head at the blankets, trying desperately to explain - to defend himself - as he falls to pieces âDonât get me wrong, Lise, I love my mom. But sheâs always been all about how much guys are a waste of time. âThey drain you dry.â âThey hold you backâ âThey get in your way.â I didnât want to hear you say you didnât need me. I thought Iâd prove myself useful - worth your time, and then someday, maybe Iâd have the daringâŠto...â
âYou? Lacking daring?â the words slip out before I can stop them, âMr. extreme sports, bicycle motor-cross, professional stunt driver-â
He looks at me miserably, his lashes lowering until his eyes are nothing but a line of shadow.
âThereâs a big difference between the guts it takes to do extreme sports and the ones it takes to tell your best friend that you wantâŠwant toâŠâ he looks back at the blankets, âAnd how did you expect me to say anything now? Now that Iâm good for nothing - being washed and tended to by caregivers like an infant! Living off my momâs money! Iâm supposed to pitch myself like that?! Well then âHi! Iâm useless! Do you want me?!ââ
His eyes are locked on me now, burning with years of frustration and anger tied âround with a silent plea. Is that what I looked like when Mrs. Moon asked him to tell me I was beautiful?
I meet all of the rancor and pain in the eyes with my own and donât flinch.
âYes.â
Mamma, I think I broke itâŠ
