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I look away. “Whatever. Now neither of us has him. Happy?”

“God, Ruby, here’s another reason you annoy me: You don’t pick up on the obvious.” She gives a cold laugh. “You’ve always had him! I was everything he said he wanted, everything you weren’t, and still ... you had his heart the whole time.”

I swallow, silenced by this notion of having Lorenzo’s heart, the only thing I’ve ever really longed for. I want to ask her how she knows. If she’s certain, maybe that’s enough for me. After all, she’s perfect. Except I’m the one Lorenzo loves. And she’s not perfect. She’s as insecure and jealous and scared of not being enough as I am.

“I was never trying to hurt you, Ruby, but I’m not going to apologize. I wanted the same thing you did.”

“And what’s that?”

“To be the only girl he loved.”

I feel her words in my heart.

“And no matter who he meets or what happens in his life, the truth is you’re the only person who will ever claim that title.” Her eyes narrow. “So, no, I can’t stand you. That’s never going to change.”

Alli’spained expression is all I can see on the walk home. This girl who’s accomplished and admired and perfectly polished, so far on the opposite side of the spectrum I can barely see her, and inside she’s torn up and aching exactly like me.

I think about the energy insecurity has sucked out of me, the time I’ve spent feeding it so it could chew harder at my insides. Who told us girls we’re not good enough, and why did we believe them? Even after Lorenzo laid out his love and devotion to me with every word he could find, I still couldn’t bring myself to let go of doubt.

Little bubbles of anger surface from somewhere deep inside me. Anger at Lorenzo for taking away my best friend, anger at the stories I told myself all my life. Anger that it took me so long to see the truth.

All along, I had what I always wanted.

Him.

FORTY-EIGHT

lorenzo

It’s my parents’expressions that tell me just how bad it really is.

When I walk into our house, they’re ashen-faced, mouths drawn in tight slashes. I feel my mom’s gaze heavy on me, but every time I look at her, she can meet my eye for only a second before she blinks and looks away. I’d hoped they might have a story that would make it okay that they’ve kept a huge secret from me for two decades, but I know before we even sit down that they don’t.

“We never intended it to turn out this way,” my dad says when the six of us are finally seated awkwardly in the living room: me and my parents, Anthony, Aunt Teresa, and Uncle Sal. Dad’s fingers are laced so tightly together in his lap that they’re white, and I feel for him. I hate seeing my dad this way, and I want to help him. But when I realize he has nothing more to offer, my sympathy curdles into anger.

“Then why did it?” I say harshly.

My mom closes her eyes and swallows. I look away. I can’t stand to see her hurting, but right now, I don’t have room for her pain.

“There’s no good answer for that,” Dad says.

When silence settles heavily over the room, I ask, “Then why are we sitting here? We already know you guys fucked up majorly. Are we just here to emphasize the point?”

“We’re here to clear the air,” Aunt Teresa says firmly, taking an authoritative tone that gets my hackles up. “To explain what should have been explained long ago.”

“Then do it,” I spit, and I can tell she’s taken aback by my harshness. I am too.

My dad clears his throat. “We planned to do everything by the book—tell both of you when you were tiny so you knew from the beginning. But doing everything by the book isn’t so easy in practice.”

I shake my head and stare at the red-and-black pattern on the old Persian carpet that covers the floor.

“Look, we were all young parents,” Uncle Sal says. “We didn’t know what we were doing. And when we were growing up, the school of thought was different; back then, you waited to tell kids about adoption until they were mature enough to understand it—if you told them at all.”

I glance at Anthony, who’s staring off like he’s not even listening. Where’s his shitty attitude when I need it? Why isn’t he mouthing off or breaking a chair or something? You can always rely on Ant to make a scene.

“Well, this has been great. Super helpful, really.” I clap my hands together and stand. “But sounds like you guys have said everything you need to say, so let’s just be done here.”

“We screwed up,” my mom says softly. It’s the first she’s spoken, and it stops me. “Plain and simple. We screwed up.” She looks at Anthony and then at me. “Nothing we say will make it okay. I’m so sorry, boys.” Her voice cracks.