Текст книги "After We Fell"

Автор книги: Anna Todd

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Текущая страница: 27 (всего у книги 49 страниц)

chapter

eighty-one

TESSA

I can’t help the anxiety that fills me as I drive through the campus. The WCU Seattle campus is not as small as Ken had made it out to be, and all the roads in Seattle seem intent on curving and going up and down hills.

I prepared as best I could to ensure that everything would go as planned today. I left two hours early to be sure to make it to my first class on time. Half of that time was spent sitting in traffic, listening to talk radio. I’d never understood that whole fad until this morning, when a distraught woman called in and told the story of her best friend betraying her by sleeping with her husband. And the two of them running off together, taking her cat, Mazzy, with them. Through her tears, she held on to a certain amount of her dignity . . . Well, about as much as someone calling in to a radio station to relate her own tale of woe possibly could. I found myself sucked right into her dramatic story, and in the end I got the sense that even she knew she was better off without that guy.

By the time I stop by the administration building and retrieve my student identification card and parking pass, I have only thirty minutes before my class. My nerves are stretched to the limit, and I can’t shake my anxiety over possibly being late to my first class. Luckily, I find the student parking lot easily, and it’s near to where my class is, so I make it with fifteen minutes to spare.

As I take my seat in the front row, I can’t help but feel a sense of loneliness. There was no meeting Landon at the coffee shop before class, and he’s not in the seat next to mine now as I sit in this classroom remembering my first half year of college.

The classroom fills with students, and I begin to regret my decision when I notice that besides me and one other female, the entire class is guys. I thought I’d sandwich this course—which I didn’t really want to take—between some others this semester, but overall I just wish I hadn’t decided to take political science at all.

A handsome boy with light brown skin sits down in the empty chair next to me, and I try not to stare at him. His white button-up shirt is crisp and perfectly ironed at the seams, and he’s wearing a tie. He looks like a politician, bright white smile and all.

He notices me looking at him and grins. “Can I help you with something?” he asks, his voice full of both authority and charm.

Yeah, he’s certainly going to be a politician one day.

“No, s-sorry,” I stammer, not meeting his eyes.

When class starts, I avoid looking at him and instead focus on taking notes, reading over the syllabus repeatedly, and looking at my map of the campus until class is dismissed.

My next class, art history, is much better. I feel more comfortable surrounded by a casual crowd of art students. A boy with blue hair sits next to me and introduces himself as Michael. As the teacher has us all go around and introduce ourselves, I find that I’m the only English major in the room. But everyone is friendly, and Michael has quite a sense of humor, making jokes throughout class and keeping everyone entertained, including our instructor.

Creative writing is last, and most certainly the most enjoyable. I’m lost in the process of writing down my thoughts on paper, and it’s freeing, entertaining, and I love it. When my professor releases us, it feels as if only ten minutes have passed.

The rest of my week comes and goes in this fashion. I oscillate between feeling like I’m finding my way around more easily and thinking I’m just as confused as ever. But most of all, I feel as if I’m constantly waiting for something that never comes.

BY THE TIME Friday evening arrives, I’m exhausted and my entire body is tense. This week has been challenging, both in good ways and bad. I miss the familiarity of the old campus and having Landon there with me. I miss Hardin meeting me between classes, and I even miss Zed and the glowing flowers that fill the environmental studies building.

Zed. I haven’t spoken to him once since he rescued me from Steph and Dan at the party and drove me all the way to my mother’s house. He saved me from being thoroughly violated and humiliated, and I haven’t even thanked him. I put down my political science textbook and reach for my phone.

“Hello?” Zed’s voice sounds so foreign, despite the fact that it’s been no more than a week since I’ve heard it.

“Zed? Hi, it’s Tessa.” I chew on the inside of my cheek and wait for his response.

“Um, hey.”

I take a deep breath and know that I have to say what I called to say. “Listen, I’m so sorry for not calling you to thank you sooner. Everything has happened so fast this week, and I think part of me was trying not to think about what happened. And I know that’s not a good excuse . . . so, I’m a jerk, and I’m sorry, and—” The words are rushing out of my mouth so quickly I can barely process what I’m saying, but he interrupts me before I finish.

“It’s all right, I know you had a lot going on.”

“I still should have called you, especially after what you did for me. I can’t tell you how thankful I am that you were at that party,” I say, desperate for him to understand how much gratitude I feel toward him. I shiver at the recollection of Dan’s fingertips trailing up my thigh. “If you hadn’t shown up, God only knows what they would’ve done to me . . .”

“Hey,” he says to silence me, but gently. “I stopped them before anything could happen, Tessa. Try not to think about it. And you definitely don’t have to thank me for anything.”

“But I do! And I can’t help how much it hurts me that Steph would do what she did. I never did anything to hurt her, or any of you—”

“Please don’t include me with them,” Zed says, clearly a little insulted.

“No, no, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to say that you were involved. I just meant your group of friends.” I apologize for the way my mouth has been moving before my mind has approved the words.

“ ’S’okay,” he mumbles. “Anyway, we aren’t much of a group anymore. Tristan is leaving for New Orleans early—in a few days, actually—and I haven’t seen Steph on campus all week.”

“Oh . . .” I pause and look around this room I’m staying in, in this massive, somewhat alien house. “Zed, I’m also sorry for accusing you of texting me from Hardin’s phone. Steph admitted that it was her during the . . . Dan incident.” I smile, to try and counteract the shiver that person’s name induces.

He lets out a little breath that might also be a chuckle. “I have to admit, I did appear to be the most likely candidate to have done that,” he replies sweetly. “So . . . how’s everything?”

“Seattle is . . . different,” I say.

“You’re there? I thought maybe since Hardin was at your mom’s house—”

“No, I’m here.” I interrupt him before he can tell me how he, too, expected me to stay for Hardin.

“Have you made any new friends?”

“What do you think?” I smile and reach across the bed to grab my half-empty glass of water.

“You will soon.” He laughs, and I join him.

“I doubt it.” I think of the two women who were gossiping in the break room at Vance. Each time I saw them this week, they seemed to be laughing to themselves, and I can’t help but think they were laughing at me. “I really am sorry it took me so long to call.”

“Tessa, it’s okay—stop apologizing. You do that too much.”

“Sorry,” I say and lightly smack my palm against my forehead. Both that waiter, Robert, and Zed have said that I apologize too much. Maybe they’re right.

“Do you think you’ll come visit anytime soon? Or are we still . . . not able to be friends?” he asks softly.

“We can be friends,” I remark. “But I have no clue when I’ll be able to come visit.” Truthfully, I’d been wanting to go back home this weekend. I miss Hardin and the traffic-less streets further east.

But wait—why did I just call it home? I only lived there six months.

And then I realize: Hardin. It’s because of Hardin. Wherever he is will always feel like home to me.

“Well, that’s too bad. Maybe I’ll make a trip to Seattle soon. I have some friends there,” Zed says. “Would that be okay?” he asks after a few seconds.

“Oh, yeah! Of course.”

“Okay.” He laughs. “I’m flying down to Florida to see my parents this weekend—I’m running late for my flight, actually—but maybe I could try next weekend or something?”

“Yeah, sure. Just let me know. Have fun in Florida,” I say just before I hang up. I put the phone down on my stack of notes, and mere seconds later it vibrates.

Hardin’s name appears on the screen, and taking a deep breath and ignoring the flutter in my chest, I answer.

“What are you doing?” he asks immediately.

“Um, nothing.”

“Where are you?”

“Kim and Christian’s house. Where are you?” I sarcastically respond.

“Home,” he says matter-of-factly. “Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know . . . the gym?” Hardin has been consistently going to the gym, every day, all week.

“I just left there. Now I’m home.”

“How was it, Captain Brevity?”

“Same,” he curtly remarks.

“Is something wrong?” I ask him.

“No. I’m fine. How was your day?” He’s quick to change the subject, and I wonder why, but I don’t want to push him, not with the phone call to Zed weighing on my chest already.

“It was okay. Long, I guess. I still don’t like my political science class,” I groan.

“I told you to drop it already. You can take another class for your social science elective,” he reminds me.

I lie back on my bed. “I know . . . I’ll be okay.”

“Are you staying in tonight?” he asks, warning clear in his voice.

“Yeah, I’m already in my pajamas.”

“Good,” he says, which makes me roll my eyes.

“I called Zed, just a few minutes ago,” I blurt. Might as well get it over with. Silence looms on the line, and I wait patiently for Hardin’s breathing to slow.

“You what?” he says sharply.

“I called him to thank him for . . . last weekend.”

“Why, though? I thought we were . . .” I can hear him barely controlling his anger as he breathes heavily into the receiver. “Tessa, I thought we were working on our problems.”

“We are, but I owed it to him. If he hadn’t shown up when he did—”

“I know!” Hardin snaps, like he’s trying to keep something at bay.

I don’t want to argue with him, but I can’t expect anything to change if I keep things from him. “He said he was thinking about visiting,” I say.

“He’s not coming there. End of discussion.”

“Hardin . . .”

“Tessa, no. He isn’t. I’m doing my best here, okay? I’m trying really fucking hard not to lose my shit right now, so the least you can do is help me out on this.”

I sigh in defeat. “Okay.” Spending time with Zed can’t possibly end well for anyone, Zed included. I can’t lead him on again. It’s not fair to him, and I don’t think he and I will ever be able to have a strictly platonic relationship, not in Hardin’s eyes, or, really, in Zed’s own.

“Thank you. Now, if it were always that easy to get you to comply . . .”

What? “I will never just comply, Hardin, that’s—”

“Easy, easy, I’m just teasing. No need to get all testy,” he says quickly. “Anything else I should know about while you’re at it?”

“No.”

“Good. Now, tell me what’s been happening on that shitty radio station you’ve become obsessed with.”

And as I go into detail about a woman who was looking for her long-lost love from high school while she was pregnant with her neighbor’s child, the lurid details of the story, and the scandal that ensues, have me animated and laughing. By the time I mention the cat, Mazzy, I’m laughing hysterically. I tell him how it would be hard to be in love with one man while pregnant with another man’s child, and he doesn’t agree. Of course, he believes the man and woman brought the scandal upon themselves, and teases me for getting so involved in talk radio. Hardin laughs along with my story, and I close my eyes and pretend that he’s lying next to me.

chapter

eighty-two

HARDIN

I’m sorry!” Richard says with a ragged breath. A layer of sweat has coated his entire body as he wipes his vomit from his chin. I lean against the doorframe and debate whether or not to walk away, leaving him in his own filth.

He’s been doing this all day, vomiting, shaking, sweating, whining.

“It will be out of my system soo—”

He leans back over the toilet and expels more vomit, like a geyser. Fucking great. At least he made it to the toilet this time.

“Hope so,” I say and leave the bathroom. I open the window in the kitchen, allowing the cold breeze to waft in, and grab a clean glass from the cabinet. The sink creaks as I turn the faucet to fill the glass, and I shake my head.

What the hell am I supposed to do with him? He’s detoxing all over my goddamn bathroom. With one last sigh, I take the glass of water and a sleeve of crackers into the bathroom and place them on the rim of the sink.

I tap his shoulder. “Eat these.”

He nods in acknowledgment—or from delirium tremens and/or withdrawal. His skin is so pale and clammy, it reminds me of clay. I don’t actually think eating crackers will help him, but the possibility is there.

“Thanks,” he finally groans, and I leave him alone again to vomit all over my bathroom.

This bedroom—my bedroom—isn’t the same without her. The bed is never made correctly when I climb into it at night. I’ve tried time and time again to tuck the corners of the sheet under the mattress the way Tessa does, but it’s just not possible. My clothes, clean and dirty, are scattered across the floor, empty water bottles and soda cans clutter the end tables, and it’s cold. The heat is on, but the room is just . . . cold.

I send her one last text message to wish her good night and close my eyes, praying for a dreamless sleep . . . for once.

“Tessa?” I call from the hallway, announcing that I’m home. The apartment is quiet; only soft sounds fill the air. Is Tessa on the phone with someone?

“Tessa!” I call again and turn the bedroom doorknob. The sight that greets my eyes stops me dead in my tracks. Tessa is sprawled out on the white duvet, her blond hair matted to her forehead with sweat, the fingers of one hand gripping the headboard and a fistful of raven hair in the other. As she rocks her hips, I can feel ice replacing the hot blood pumping through my veins.

Zed’s head is buried between her creamy thighs. His hands roam her body.

I try to move toward them to grab him by his throat and throw him against the wall, but my feet are frozen to the ground. I try to scream at them, but my mouth refuses to open.

“Oh, Zed,” Tessa moans. I cover my ears with my hands, but it doesn’t help—her voice travels straight to my brain; there’s no escaping it.

“You’re so beautiful,” he coos, and she moans again. One of his hands travels up to her chest, and he runs his fingertips over her while his mouth is pressed against her.

I’m frozen.

They don’t see me; they haven’t even noticed that I’m in the room. Tessa calls out his name once more, and when his head lifts from between her thighs, he finally sees me. He keeps eye contact with me while his lips run up her body, to her jaw, nipping along the way. My eyes won’t leave their naked bodies, and my insides have been ripped from my body and tossed onto the cold floor. I can’t bear to watch this, but I’m forced to do so anyway.

“I love you,” he says to her while smirking at me.

“I love you, too,” Tessa whimpers. She rakes her nails down his tattooed back as he thrusts into her. Finally, my voice comes as I scream, silencing their moans.

“Fuck!” I scream out, and grab the glass from the nightstand. With a crash, it shatters against the wall.

chapter

eighty-three

HARDIN

I’m pacing back and forth across the floor, furious fingers tugging at my sweat-soaked hair, all the clothes and books I’m stepping on registering vividly on the soles of my bare feet.

“Hardin? Are you okay?” Tessa’s voice is thick with sleep. I’m so glad she answered. I need her to be here with me, even through a telephone line.

“I . . . I don’t know,” I croak into the phone.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you in bed?” I ask her.

“Yes, it’s three in the morning. Where else would I be? What’s wrong, Hardin?”

“I just can’t sleep, that’s all,” I admit, staring into the darkness of our—my—room.

“Oh . . .” She lets out a long breath of relief. “I was worried for a second.”

“Did you talk to Zed again?” I ask her.

“What? No, I haven’t talked to him since I told you about him wanting to visit.”

“Call him and tell him that he can’t.” I sound like a lunatic, but I don’t give a shit.

“I’m not calling him this late, what’s gotten into you?”

She’s being so defensive . . . though I suppose I can’t blame her. “Nothing, Tessa. Never mind.” I sigh.

“Hardin, what’s going on?” she asks, clearly worried.

“Nothing, just . . . nothing.” I hang up the phone and press down on the power button until the screen turns black.

chapter

eighty-four

TESSA

You’re not staying in your pajamas the entire day again, are you?” Kimberly asks the next morning when she sees me sitting at the kitchen counter.

I spoon a mouthful of granola into my mouth, so I’m unable to answer her. Because that’s exactly what I plan to do today. I didn’t sleep well after Hardin’s phone call. He has since sent a few text messages, none of them mentioning his odd behavior last night. I want to call him, but the way he hung up so quickly makes me think better of it. Besides, I haven’t paid much attention to Kimberly since I arrived. Most of my free time has been spent talking on the phone with Hardin or doing my first round of assignments for my new classes. The least I can do is chat with her over breakfast.

“You never wear clothes,” Smith chimes in, and I nearly spit the granola out onto the table.

“Yes, I do,” I reply, my mouth still full.

“You’re right, Smith, she doesn’t.” Kimberly cackles, and I roll my eyes at her.

At that moment Christian enters the room and places a kiss against her temple. Smith smiles at his father and soon-to-be stepmother before looking back to me.

“Pajamas are more comfortable,” I tell him, and he nods in agreement. His green eyes look down at himself, taking in his Spider-Man print pajamas. “Do you like Spider-Man?” I ask, wanting to start a conversation that isn’t about me.

His small fingers pick at his toast. “No.”

“No? You’re wearing those,” I reply and point to his clothing.

“She bought them.” He nods toward Kim. Then he whispers, “Don’t tell her I hate them; she’ll cry.”

I laugh. Smith is five going on twenty.

“I won’t,” I promise him, and we finish the meal in comfortable silence.

chapter

eighty-five

HARDIN

Landon shakes the moisture from his hat onto the floor and rests his closed umbrella against the wall in an exaggerated and theatrical way. He wants me to see what an “effort” he’s making to help me out.

“Well, what was so urgent that I had to come here in the freezing rain?” he asks, half smug, half concerned. Looking at my bare chest, he adds, “You know, the thing that I actually put clothes on for and ran over to help out with. So what is it?”

I wave toward Richard, who’s spread out on the couch, asleep. “Him.”

Landon leans to one side to look around me. “Who is that?” he asks. Then, straightening, he looks at me with a gaping mouth. “Wait . . . Is that Tessa’s father?”

I roll my eyes at his question. “No, it’s another random, homeless fuck that I let sleep on my couch. It’s what all the hipsters are doing nowadays.”

He ignores my sarcasm. “Why is he here? Does Tessa know?”

“Yes, she knows. However, she doesn’t know that he’s been going through withdrawal for the last five days and vomiting all over the damn place.”

Richard groans in his sleep, and I grab Landon by the sleeve of his plaid shirt and pull him into the hallway.

This is clearly a little out of my stepbrother’s league. “Withdrawal?” he asks. “From, like, drugs?”

“Yes. And alcohol.”

He seems to ponder this for a second. “He hasn’t found your liquor yet?” he asks, then raises a brow at me. “Or has he already consumed it?”

“I don’t have any liquor here anymore, dick.”

He peers back around the corner to the sleeping man perched on my couch. “I still don’t see how I fit into this.”

“You’re going to babysit him,” I inform him, and he immediately takes a step back.

“No way!” He tries to whisper, but his voice comes out much more like a hushed scream.

“Chill.” I pat his shoulder. “It’s only for one night.”

“No way. I’m not staying here with him. I don’t even know him!”

“Neither do I,” I counter.

“You know him better than I do; he would be your father-in-law someday if you weren’t such an idiot.” Landon’s words hit me harder than they should. Father-in-law? The title sounds odd when I repeat it in my mind . . . while I’m staring at this gross lump of man on my couch.

“I want to see her,” I plead.

“Who . . . Tess?”

“Yes, Tes-sa,” I correct him. “Who else?”

Landon starts playing with his fingers like a nervous child. “Well, why can’t she come here? I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to stay with him.”

“Don’t be such a pussy, he’s not dangerous or anything,” I say. “Just make sure he doesn’t leave the apartment. There’s plenty of food and water here.”

“You sound like you’re talking about a dog . . .” Landon remarks.

I rub my temples in annoyance. “Dude might as well be at this point. Are you going to help me or not?”

He glares at me, and I add, “For Tessa?” It’s a low blow, but I know it will work.

After a second he breaks, and nods. “One night only,” he agrees, and I turn away from him to hide my smile.

I don’t know how Tessa will react to me ignoring our “space” agreement, but it’s only one night. One short night with her is what I need right now. I need her. Phone calls and text messages are sufficient enough during the week, but after that nightmare I had, I need to see her more than anything. I need to confirm the fact that her body holds no marks that were put on it by anyone other than myself.

“Does she know you’re coming?” Landon asks me as he follows me into the bedroom, where I search the floor for a T-shirt to pull over my bare torso.

“She will once I arrive, won’t she?”

“She told me about you two on the phone.”

She did? That’s really unlike her.

“Why would she tell you about us getting off over the phone . . . ?” I wonder.

Landon’s eyes go wide. “Whoa! What! What! I wasn’t . . . Oh God,” he groans. He tries to cover his ears, but it’s too late. His cheeks turn a deep red, and my laughter fills the bedroom.

“You have to be more specific when you’re talking about Tessa and me, don’t you know that by now?” I grin, relishing the memory of her moans coming through the line.

“Apparently I do.” He scowls and regroups. “I meant that you two have been talking a lot on the phone.”

“And . . . ?”

“Does she seem happy to you?”

My smile disappears. “Why do you ask?”

Worry spreads over his features. “I’m just wondering. I’m a little worried about her. She doesn’t seem as excited and happy about Seattle as I assumed she’d be.”

“I don’t know.” I rub my hand over the back of my neck. “She doesn’t sound happy, it’s true, but I can’t tell if it’s because I’m an asshole or because she doesn’t like Seattle as much as she thought she would,” I answer truthfully.

“I hope it’s the first. I want her to be happy there,” Landon says.

“So do I, sort of,” I say.

Landon kicks a dirty pair of black jeans out from under his foot.

“Hey, I was going to wear those,” I snap and bend down to grab them.

“Don’t you have any clean clothes?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Have you done any laundry at all since she left?”

“Yes . . .” I lie.

“Uh-huh.” He points to the stain on my black T-shirt. Mustard, maybe?

“Shit.” I pull the shirt off and toss it back onto the floor. “I don’t have shit to wear.” I pull out the bottom drawer of the dresser and let out a relieved breath when I spot a stack of clean black T-shirts in the back.

“What about these?” Landon points to a pair of dark blue jeans hanging in the closet.

“No.”

“Why not? You never wear anything other than black jeans.”

“Exactly,” I retort.

“Well, the only pair of pants you seem to have to wear is dirty, so—”

“I have five pairs,” I correct him. “They just happen to be the same exact style.” With a huff, I reach past him into the closet and pull the blue jeans off of the hanger. I hate these fucking things. My mum bought them for me for Christmas, and I vowed to never wear them, yet here I am. For true love or something. She’d probably swoon.

“They’re a little . . . snug.” Landon bites down on his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“Fuck off,” I say and raise my middle finger, then finish shoving shit into my bag.

Twenty minutes later we’re back in the living room, Richard is still asleep, Landon is still making obnoxious remarks about my fucking tight jeans, and I’m ready to go see Tessa in Seattle.

“What should I tell him when he wakes up?” he asks.

“Whatever you want. It would be quite funny if you fucked with him for a little while. You could pretend you’re me or that you don’t know why he’s there.” I laugh. “He would be so confused.”

Landon doesn’t see the humor in my idea, and he basically pushes me out the door. “Be careful driving, the roads are slick,” he warns.

“Gotcha.” I hoist my bag over my shoulder and leave before he can make another mushy-ass remark.

DURING THE DRIVE, I can’t help but think about my nightmare. It was so clear, so fucking vivid. I could hear Tessa moaning that asshole’s name; I could even hear her nails running along his skin.

I turn the radio up to drown out my thoughts, but it doesn’t work. I decide to think of her instead, of memories of us together, to stop the images from haunting me. Otherwise this will be the longest drive of my entire life.

“Look how cute those babies are!” Tessa had squealed while pointing to a platoon of squirming little beings. Well, only two babies, actually. But still.

“Yeah, yeah. So cute.” I rolled my eyes and dragged her along through the store.

“They even have matching bows in their hair.” She was smiling so big, and her voice did that weird high-pitched thing that women do when they’re around small children and some hormone or other kicks in.

“Yep,” I said and continued behind her down the narrow aisles at Conner’s. She’d been searching for some specific cheese she needed to make our dinner that night. But babies overtook her brain.

“Admit that they were cute.” She beamed up at me, and I shook my head in defiance. “Come on, Hardin, you know they were cute. Just say it.”

“They. Were. Cute . . .” I responded flatly, and she pressed her mouth into a hard line while she crossed her arms over her chest like a petulant child herself.

“Maybe you’ll turn out to be one of those people who only thinks their own kids are cute,” she said, and I watched as a dawning recognition quickly stole her smile away. “That is, if you ever want kids.” she added somberly, making me want to kiss away the frown on her beautiful face.

“Sure, maybe. Too bad I don’t want them, though,” I said, trying to drill the statement permanently into her head.

“I know . . .” she said softly. Soon thereafter, she found the item she was so avidly searching for and dropped it into the basket with a dull thud.

Her smile still hadn’t returned by the time we were waiting in the checkout line. I looked down and gently nudged with my elbow. “Hey.”

When she looked up at me, her eyes were dim, and she was obviously waiting for me to speak.

“I know we agreed not to talk about kids anymore . . .” I started as she focused her eyes on the floor. “Hey,” I repeated and set the basket on the floor next to my boot. “Look at me.” Both of my hands covered her cheeks, and I pressed my forehead against hers.

“It’s okay. I wasn’t really thinking when I said that,” she admitted with a shrug.

I watched as she glanced around the small market, taking in our surroundings, and I could practically see her wondering why I was touching her this way in public.

“Well then, let’s agree again not to bring up children. It does nothing but cause problems between us,” I said and gave her a quick kiss to her lips, followed by another. My lips lingered on hers, and her small hands pushed into the pockets of my jacket.

“I love you, Hardin,” she said when Grumpy Gloria, the cashier we’d laughed about many times, cleared her throat.

“I love you, Tess. I will love you enough that you won’t even need children,” I promised her.

She turned away from me—to hide her frown, I know. But right then I didn’t care, because I figured the question was settled, and I’d gotten what I wanted.

As I continue to drive, I begin to wonder: Has there ever been a time in my life when I wasn’t a selfish prick?