Jenna
This weekend at the lake house was—well, I can’t explain it. I just needed it. It was the perfect end to a screwed-up beginning. I won’t admit this out loud, but I’m actually happy Charlie talked me into going. At first it was difficult for me to be social and open up, but Logan made it easy. No, I didn’t open up one hundred percent about myself. But there were times this weekend when he brought out a side of me I hadn’t seen for a long time. I miss that part of me. And even though I get this tingly feeling in the pit of my stomach when I’m around him—which is more than what a friend should feel for another friend—I like that we agreed to be just friends.
Because deep down I know he’ll never want to be with someone like me. The real me. The me he has yet to see. The question is if I keep spending time with him, will I be able to keep that part hidden?
We’re on our drive back to Jersey now. Charlie’s chatting away as I lean back in the passenger seat. My eyes catch the reflection of my smile in the passenger window. Smiling. It’s such an odd expression for me. And it’s because of Logan. The way he treated me this weekend. The way I felt around him. He made me laugh, made me feel comfortable with being a goof, playful even. And for the first time in as long as I can remember, it was okay to feel those things.
I must admit, when I first laid eyes on him in my backyard by the swimming pool, I would’ve never pegged him for the friendly, gentle goofball—probably one of the biggest I’ll ever meet—that he is. So what if I only spent a few days with him? I still can’t imagine Logan being the person Blair Mega Bitch claimed him to be. If she’s anything like she was back in high school, I’m certain it was just a ploy to get back at Logan—or me, for that matter—for one thing or another.
“You and Logan seemed a bit friendly this morning,” Charlie prods.
I turn my head, facing her, “What do you mean?”
Charlie looks straight ahead, focusing on the long tree-lined road. “Well, for starters, he was practically all over you this morning…and it was kind of awkward.”
I’m caught off guard. “He was not all over me this morning. And what was awkward?”
“Yeah, okay. He was sitting beside you with his arm over your shoulder, and you were leaning into him. The both of you kept whispering in each other’s ears and laughing.”
She’s talking about when Logan and I were cracking jokes about Blair Mega Bitch during breakfast. “And what’s so awkward about that?” I ask.
“It’s not a bad awkward. It’s just like, I don’t know—it felt weird watching you like that. You seemed happy.”
“It’s weird to see me happy?” I retort. Charlie’s little statement causes a flash of heat between my ears, and I’m sure my face is flushing right now. Have I been that out of touch with myself that I haven’t even realized how miserable I’ve been? So miserable, in fact, that seeing me happy is out of place? Now I’m kind of angry with myself.
“No. No, Jenna. I’m just curious. The two of you were, well, out on that swing the entire night in your own la-la land. Did something happen? Are you guys, like, well…hooking up?”
I laugh self-consciously. “Hooking up? No. We realized we have a lot in common, that’s all. And I told him I’d prefer to just be friends. He was fine with that. I don’t know Logan entirely, but it’s nice to have someone to talk to.”
“You can always talk to me.” Her voice is soft, perhaps with a bit of jealousy.
I reach out, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Charlie, I will always have you, and you’ll always have me. You’re an amazing friend. But you’re the one who said I should stop being the antisocial kid. This is me stopping that.”
She sighs, nodding. “You’re right. I just want you to be careful, ya know? I want to make sure you’re careful. That’s all.”
“I already told you I don’t feel like he’d hurt me.”
“I know he won’t harm you physically, Jenna. I’m talking about emotionally. I don’t want to see you get hurt, emotionally.” I stare at her, taking in what she just said. I know exactly what she means. Slowly, I push my feelings for Logan aside. I tuck them away in the back of my chest, hiding them behind a large brick wall. Charlie peeks over at me. “Did you tell him? About…you know,” she asks. She’s referring to my illness.
I look straight ahead, and only the memory of a smile remains on my face. “No. And I’d like to keep it that way,” I respond.
The sound of Charlie’s tires screeching to a stop is much louder in my head than in actuality. My chest feels heavy as I look out the window and see my home. Home. What actually defines a home? Is it simply a place you reside, surrounded by four walls and topped with a roof? Or is home a place someone looks forward to returning to after being away for a long or short period of time? A place where someone can feel safe? A place that, if you were alone on a deserted island, you could dream about in order to keep your hopes for survival alive? Is that what home is?
For me? I dread home. Every bit of it.
I haven’t faced my mother since I ran out of the house during my last episode. Fear of what will be waiting for me pulls at my chest.
Charlie reaches for my hand and brings it down from my face. I didn’t realize, yet again, I’ve been chewing the inside of my cheek. “Do you want to stay at my house? You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” she says softly.
I shake my head, let out a long shaky breath, and force a smile as I face her. “No, but thank you—for everything.” I reach over, wrap my arms around her, and squeeze her in a hug.
“Of course,” she mumbles into my hair. “Always, Jenna. If you need me to come pick you up, I’m only a phone call away. Okay?” I nod and pull away.
After collecting my luggage from the trunk, I wave good-bye to my friend and walk up the pathway toward the double wooden doors. The entire time, my mind races with various scenarios of what to expect on the other side. I freeze once I reach the first step of the porch. My hand grips the handle of the black luggage. My teeth skillfully maneuver the raw meat of my inner cheek, gnawing away. My heart thump thumps in slow motion, yet every nerve in my body is sensitive, on high alert.
Take a step, a soft voice in my head urges. I’m not sure if it’s mine, but I do what it says. Another step. I do it again. One more. Now at the top, I move forward to the door. Grab your keys. I reach in my purse and dig them out, searching for the right one. I place it into the keyhole.
Click.
It unlocks. Cautiously, I tap a finger against the door. It swings open. I blink a few times and look straight ahead. It’s exactly the same, except the black and white marble tiles in the foyer are shinier. The large round table is still there; the only difference is the color of the fresh-cut roses in the center. These are pink. It’s quiet. Eerily quiet. Swallowing back my anxiety, I step in, close the door behind me, and quickly run up the stairs.
One Day Later.
“Hello?” I answer the call on the first ring.
“Hello, Jenna. It’s Tiffany.”
“Hi, Tiffany,” I respond to my father’s assistant for the last ten years.
“Your father asked me to call you. He wanted you to know he received your text, and it just so happens an opening for tomorrow is available. Would you like to have lunch with him at noon at the restaurant Moon?”
“Okay.”
“Great! I’ll schedule you in. I’ll have a driver pick you up around an hour and a half prior. How does that sound?”
“Sounds great. Thanks again.”