Come As You Are

I raise my face. “But it is. I have bills to pay.”

“Sabrina,” he says, his voice firm and strong. “We’ll stretch out the loans longer.”

I shake my head vehemently. “No. I made a promise to myself when Mom left that I’d look out for you. I made a promise to the state too. A legal promise.”

“I can look out for myself. I don’t have a ton of debt from college. I can handle all the loans from grad school.”

I shake my head. “This is your dream. How many men today want to be pastors? It’s noble and beautiful, and you’re mine,” I say, pointing at him. “You’re mine, and don’t you forget it.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I know, but being yours doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice your happiness.”

I bristle at his characterization. “I’m not sacrificing my happiness. Dude, I have other bills too. Rent, and utilities, and food. That stuff you need to fuel your body every day. You’ve heard of it?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, Sabrina.”

“And living. Subways aren’t free. Nor is internet access. Who can live without that? See? I need a J-O-B regardless, so don’t start thinking it’s all about you.”

“Your tough-girl big-sister routine is as entertaining as it was when I was fifteen.”

I smile and cross my arms, making it clear how sure I am that my decision is my decision. “Good.”

He drums his fingers on the table and softens his voice. “My point is, don’t do this for me. Don’t be so stoic for me. I’ll find a way. Schools are flexible. I’m sure we can work out a different payment plan. Would you let me do that? Talk to them and work something out?”

“I’m going to get a job,” I say, standing firm.

“You’ve insisted on the bills going to you. But perhaps I need to do the insisting now that you’re giving up something.”

“Kevin, give me time,” I say, pleading. “Let me see what happens with the job.”

“I have faith you’ll get it, and when you do, I don’t want any more help.”

I scoff.

He laughs.

It’s a standoff, and soon I catch a train back to Manhattan, staring out the window as it pulls into the station, wondering what Flynn is up to tonight and if his heart feels like a lead weight too.

When I reach my home, I email the article to Mr. Galloway.

25

Flynn

The ball screams toward me, and I lunge for it, slamming it with my racket, sending it reeling against the wall. The blue orb slams the backboard before careening in my sister’s direction. She grunts, reaching for it, stretching her entire body perpendicular in a mad effort to reach the whizzing object. But it soars past her and skitters to the ground.

I pump a fist. “Yes.”

Panting hard, she offers her hand. “Congrats, you determined bastard.”

“Hey, it’s at least one thing I got right this week.”

“I hardly think beating me in a game of racquetball is the one thing you got right this week.”

“It feels that way since I botched asking Sabrina if she wanted to pursue anything more.”

Olivia shoots me a sympathetic smile. “It sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Royally.”

She taps my shoulder with her racket. “What really sucks is that you’ve finally met somebody who isn’t into you for your money, and you can’t have her.”

“Yes. Thank you for the reminder. Want to rub it in more?”

“I meant that as a good thing.”

“How is that good?” I grab a bottle of water and down some.

“Because you knew where you stood with her. She didn’t use you. She did the opposite of use you,” Olivia says, picking up a towel and wiping her neck with it.

“True,” I admit. “I knew where I stood with her heart. And I know where I stand with her life—not in it. I mean, what am I supposed to do?” I force out a laugh. “Buy the magazine?”

Olivia’s eyes become billboards, flashing the words aha. “That’s not a bad idea. That’d be a hell of a big gesture.”

“Somehow, I don’t think Sabrina will go for that.”

“But you could do it. That’s kind of crazy and amazing. You could buy the magazine and offer her a job there. Why not?”

I shake my head, dragging a hand through my hair. “She wouldn’t want me to. Ironic, isn’t it? I’ve been with a woman who wanted me for money. I finally meet someone who has literally zero interest in my wallet, and I can’t even use said wallet to my advantage.”

“That means you have to rely on your heart,” she says, tapping my chest for emphasis. “And let her know how much you love her.”

I straighten my spine at those words. Let her know how much you love her.

“You told her you’re in love with her, right?” Olivia continues.

I open my mouth to speak, but it turns out I’m speechless.

“Falling in love with her? You told her you’re falling in love with her, at least?” she asks.

I shake my head.

My sister rolls her eyes. “Men. You never learn.”

“You’re saying I should have told her that?” Maybe the cushion wasn’t what she needed. Or maybe I offered the wrong cushion.

Olivia raps the side of my head with her knuckles. “How does anyone think you’re a genius? Does the gray matter even work?”

“You don’t think it’s coming on too strong to tell her I’m falling in love with her?”

“Do you think she’s falling in love with you?”

I cycle back through the time we’ve spent together—our kiss in the costume shop, the way she looked at me at softball, the sound of her voice when we walked and talked.

I smile stupidly. “Yeah.”

Olivia moves closer, getting in my face. “Then how do you know what would happen unless you truly put your heart out? You’ve finally met someone you’re crazy about, and that means you need to put everything on the line.”

“But I’m not the one who stands to lose so much. How do I convince her? Without, you know, buying the magazine?”

“Hey, I still think that’s a fine idea,” she says with a wink. Then she turns more serious. “But there are things you could say to her . . .”

And she’s right. There are so many things I’ve left unsaid.

* * *

Sabrina

Courtney encourages me like a coach. “Come on, you can do it.”

I crunch higher, my eyes squeezing shut, my core shouting at me to make it stop. “Whoever invented core exercises is the devil.”

Courtney laughs. “Yes, whoever did is indeed the worst person in the world. But core is so good for you.”

I’m at Courtney’s gym the next morning, and she’s pretending she’s a personal trainer. That basically equates to her torturing me endlessly.

Grabbing an exercise mat, she flops down next to me and says it’s time for bicycle crunches.

I hold my hands to my cheeks and affect a scream, Edward Munch–style. “Nooooooo. That’s the ninth circle of hell.”

Laughing, she nudges me as she lifts her knees and embarks on showing off how awesome she is at biking on her back. “You can do it. I have faith in your stomach muscles.”

“My stomach muscles are Grumpy Cat today. Just like me. We hate everything.”