Page 18 of Like You Want It

CHAPTER FOUR

CARLY

“So you’ll be coming by the coffee shop soon, then?” I ask as Susie drags her butt to the door at one in the morning.

Even though I have Fridays off, which means I get a little extra sleep tomorrow –thank god– this is still the latest I’ve been up in a long time.

Well, no. I guess since Sunday. But before Fin’s night of debauchery in his sister’s new apartment, it had been a few months since I’d stayed up this late.

I think back wistfully to the days when Dina and I used to go dancing once a week at a western place that has line dancing, coming back home drunk and giggly at wee hours of the morning. Those were some rough days of waking up to work, but were totally worth it.

That definitely needs to happen again, and soon.

“Yeah,” Susie says, yawning and covering her mouth with the blanket she’s clearly planning to steal off of my couch. “I’m not sure when, though. I need to find a good coffee shop, but I also need to wait until I get paid again.”

I nod, opening the door. “I feel you sister. If you come by on Sunday, I work from ten to seven. So I’ll be there for most of the day.”

She smiles. “That might work.”

“I had a lot of fun tonight. So thanks for being willing to give me a chance,” I say.

“I’m glad I did too. Thanks for showing me you shouldn’t always listen to other people’s snap judgments.” She walks outside, then turns to look back at me. “Sunday night is normally the night I try a new recipe and watch a movie. Do you want to join once you’re done with work?”

I smile. “I’d love that! Yes, definitely.”

She gives me a little grin and a wave, then waddles off to the stairs and up to her apartment like the adorable little penguin that she is.

I close the door and head back to the coffee table, collecting our wine glasses and demolished charcuterie board and taking them to the kitchen sink.

When I was a little girl, my mom always told me that there was never a person I’d meet that wasn’t immediately a friend. I guess it was her way of saying that I’m friendly with everyone, and I loved the way she said it. It always made me feel like it was a good thing.

As I got older, sometimes I got the impression that people didn’t like that. I guess it feels disingenuous, for someone who knows nothing about you to care about you and want to spend time with you.

But there are too many people in the world that tell you you’re shit or that who you are is annoying or not worthwhile. And the fact that I can be friends with most people is one of the things I absolutely love about my personality.

It is days like today, when I can make friends with the quiet neighbor upstairs even though she worries I’m a crazy lady, that I’m glad I listened to my mom and told the world to go fuck itself.

I might not be perfect, but being me is good enough.

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As much as I love my brother, there’s something about visits with him that make me feel like I’ve literally let down everyone I know just by being me.

I think back to last night, when I was feeling so comfortable and confident in my skin, wishing I could go back. Though, maybe that was the wine talking?

I know if I ever hinted to Caleb that the things he says to me make me feel like my every action is a disappointment, he’d be mortified. But that doesn’t change the fact that his words have made me feel like my very presence in the world is a consistent drain on everyone else.

He hasn’t always been this way. When my mom was around, we were the three musketeers, always fighting against the consistent pull of my dad trying to drag us all down. Reminding us of reality and using the wordcan’tall the time.You can’t go to the beach. You can’t skip school. You can’t buy that.

But when my mom died, we became the two musketeers, and it’s hard to be an unstoppable duo when one of you is twelve and the other is a junior in college.

I tried to tell him at one point that we could be like Batman and Robin. I’d envisioned that motorcycle with the sidecar, and both of us decked out in costumes. He’d just laughed, practically patting me on the head, not taking me seriously.

He never takes me seriously.

At some point, things just… changed between us. At least when I was younger, he seemed to appreciate the things that made me different from everyone else. But as I got older, as more time passed, he started seeing the bold colors of my life as intrusive rather than beautiful.

A trait he can only have learned from our dad.