He sat down.
“I just wanted things easier between you and Mom.”
“Why was making things easier always my job?”
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then he said, “You’ve changed so much already. I didn’t think one more thing would feel this big.”
Already.
The word lodged in my throat.
“What changes?”
He stared at the table.
“Your hair. How you dress. You’ve matured, Stella. That’s normal.”
“I stopped dyeing my hair because I got tired of bleaching it.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you counting it?”
He said nothing.
I slept in the guest room.
Or tried to.
At two in the morning, I remembered his mother’s smile the first time she saw my brown hair.
She’d touched a strand and said, “There she is.”
I’d thought it was a compliment.
The next morning, Jake brought me coffee.
He stood in the doorway holding my favorite mug.
“I’m sorry about yesterday.”
