The One Without Words

❀ chapter thirty | second guessing ❀

I'd expected one of his usual smug looks, but all I got from Jack after my confession was pure shock. A priceless image: his eyes wider than I'd ever seen them, eyebrows shot up his forehead as he stumbled forward.

As if he didn't expect that answer all along. As if he was in denial himself, even though he was the one accusing me of having feelings for him in the first place.

Already, the embarrassment of my confession died down. Maybe the art of expressing how I felt was not as vomit-inducing as I thought. Or maybe the rejected kiss last week had prepared me for worse.

"Danke," Jack muttered, out loud, and just like that, he bolted for the trees. Simply ran down the trail to the pond as if all he wanted was to jump in with the ducks.

Typical. I knew better than to be offended by his dramatic storm-offs by now, and so I turned and walked the other way, back to the bus stop where I had to wait another fifteen minutes to go home.

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That week, I ended up spilling a lot more than I wanted to with Srinidhi—the first psychologist I didn't hate. She responded with what at first sounded like a load of self-help nonsense, but maybe she was onto something.

Empathy is a skill. How could you have learned it if you didn't receive it from your family?

Do you think this is why you feel disconnected in your relationships?

Culturally, girls are labeled as the more "emotional" gender, and those who deviate from that standard may face social pressures. Would your behavior be perceived the same way if you were a boy?

"Probably not," I said. "You should see the shit my friend Seth does. And barely anyone questions it."

For the same reason I'd shocked past psychologists with crazy, half-true stories, I had the urge to tell Srinidhi about Penelope's offer. The coordinates in the middle of a forested park. Would she think I was putting myself in danger? Weren't psychologists obligated to let authorities know if they thought a patient was in danger? But how dangerous was this, really? Was I... actually nervous? Even though Penelope was 90% talk 90% of the time anyway?

I shouldn't have been feeling nervous. And I couldn't tell if it was nerves that made me keep my mouth shut about the topic. Or maybe this was my way of playing it safe.

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As Talia and I finished up the bouquets for our monthly subscriptions, she hit me with the question: "So, what are we doing to celebrate your birthday?"

My birthday was the last thing on my mind right now. Not with my fingers pricked by rose thorns, thoughts occupied with figuring out the best placement for the pile of pink carnations in the crate beside me. And the fact that a portion of the profits we made from this batch would inevitably go to the new unofficial owner of the shop—Grace.

I might've not been working there anymore, but did it matter if I still spent hours on these bouquets? Sure, no one asked me to. But I missed getting lost in the rhythm, clashing colors and varying scents.

I missed flowers more than I ever missed my mother.

"I don't know how I'm celebrating yet," I said. Usually, I partied the day after and forgot about everything. But this year, money was on my mind. Not that I'd ever admit my plan to Talia.

"We need to do something," she said. "As a family, don't you think? I'm finishing my second to last quarter until graduation, so it's almost like I'll be celebrating, too. Exams are sucking the life out of me this week."