“From that day on, I feel like I started distancing myself from her a little. I was afraid to be close to her because I knew it would hurt more once she was gone. I’m such an idiot. I lost that time. And you know what? Once she was gone, it hurt so bad anyway. No one ever says anything to me at school about my mom, but a lot of people like to remind me of that time I shit my pants. So I guess I just didn’t want another day to go by without telling you how I feel. I don’t want to distance myself from someone I love, just ’cause I’m hoping it’ll hurt less if I lose them.”

Someone I love.

Every fiber of my being is screaming at me to tell Wes that I like him back and that if it doesn’t work out, we will always be friends. But I don’t want him to think I’m trying to placate him. I don’t want him to think that he guilted me into liking him, because nothing could be further from the truth.

“I am so sorry” is all I manage to say.

A tornado of shame rushes through my body. The self-loathing I’m feeling is almost intolerable. If Parisa was here, she’d know exactly what to say. I pride myself on being someone who knows what it’s like to struggle in life. I’ve made that mean that I’m capable of more empathy than other people, because my moms and I have been through some shit. But here I am, completely speechless. Maybe I’m just as useless as everyone else.

“I should go home,” Wes says.

Tell him to stay. Tell him to stay. Tell him to stay.

“Okay,” I say.

I watch him leave, and it feels like my insides are disintegrating.

PARISA

I don’t know how to hold a conversation anymore. I don’t know when to talk and when to listen and how not to interrupt. And I don’t know where to focus my eyes on the computer screen. When the only humans you interact with on a daily basis are related to you, the basic task of acting normal around anyone else feels foreign and exhausting. I am tempted to close my laptop, blame it on technical difficulties, and never engage in conversation with another person again.

I look at Gideon’s perfectly chiseled face and I feel self-conscious. I look at my own face and feel even more self-conscious. Why am I wearing lipstick? Why did I spend an extra forty minutes on my hair this morning? This is your sister’s boyfriend, I remind myself. It doesn’t matter that you saw him first or that your personality is worthier of him. Love is not a meritocracy.

“You okay?” Gideon asks.