Page 169 of You've Got Hate Mail
“It’s good,” I say with my mouth full. “Wanna try?”
His lips twitch like he can’t decide if he’s horrified or amused, and he finally settles on a smile. “I stand corrected. Your life will never be boring, no matter where you are or who you’re surrounded by.”
“Thank you for bringing me out. I—this feels normal. Like I didn’t have anything to be afraid of.” I gesture to the room. “No one’s even looking at us.”
He tilts his head at me with a soft smile ofI told you so.
He didn’t.
Not exactly.
But he wouldn’t have brought me somewhere I wouldn’t feel safe.
“How are you honestly so good at basically everything you do when I can hardly pour coffee without spilling it some days?” I ask him.
He barks out a rough laugh. “I’m not. It’s all a facade.”
“Lav doesn’t think so.”
He pauses mid-bite, his eyes meeting mine, and there it is.
That naked vulnerability that I sometimes see in him.
The question of if he’s doing a good enough job.
“Did you ever wonder if your parents truly knew what they were doing, or if they were just good at faking their way through it so that you’d feel safe and loved and everything a kid should feel?” I ask.
He lowers his burger, chewing slowly, eyes still locked on mine.
“I had a friend with the best parents when I was growing up,” I continue. “My parents—they did their best, but their version of best was comparing me to my sisters like that would make me want to be more perfect instead of making me feel like I’d never be good enough to deserve their love. My friend’s parents though—they were like you. They let her run wild and explore things and flirt with trouble. I never heard them yell at her, though, clearly, you never know what goes on behind closed doors. But they’d do science experiments with us and talk to us like we were grown-ups, but not like, in an expectation that we behave like grown-ups kind of way.”
“That sounds like my childhood,” he says.
“When she got married a few years ago, I saw her parents again, and they were the same as ever. I complimented them on how they were there for the day instead of the stress—weddings can be awful, you don’t even want to know what my sisters’weddings were like—and I’ll never forget the way they looked at each other. It was like,yes, we fooled her. And I realized that everything I loved about them growing up—they worked hard to make a good childhood for my friend, and they were afraid they hadn’t done a good enough job. It wasn’t as easy as they made it look. But me and my friend—we just thought itwasthat easy.”
He keeps staring at me.
“Have you ever asked your parents if it was easy?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
I shrug. “Then maybe you’re holding yourself to too high of a standard.”
He still doesn’t break eye contact with me while he takes another bite, and there’s something in his eyes that I can’t look away from.
Worry.
Insecurity.
Maybe even the weight of the entire world.
“You don’t have to be everything for everyone,” I say at the same time he says, “I was a shitty husband.”
“What?” I gape at him. “No.”
He sets his burger down and looks down at the table with a sigh. “I don’t—I don’t tell people that. But I was.”
“Olivia and Samantha told me you were amazing when Ava was sick.”
