Teach You to Love Me (Lindon U #4)

Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Rachel

T ugging on the cross-halter neckline of the green dress, I look at myself in the mirror one last time before turning to my sister.

“You look beautiful,” she says, beaming as she gives me an appreciative once-over. “And that dress makes your tits look bigger.”

Her crudeness makes me snort. “Stop.”

I do a double take in the mirror to see if she’s right, and she is. The material does something to my chest, giving me a little extra lift and making them look perkier than usual.

“You know who would love it?” she asks, wiggling her brows in the reflection of the mirror at me. “Michael.”

I knew she was going there the second those greenish-brown eyes flashed. “I don’t see how he’d know what I look like in this dress, so I doubt it.”

Brie considers that for the briefest moment before shrugging. “You two seemed to get along just fine at Callie’s party the other week. It isn’t a totally wild assumption to think you may see him again.”

We did get along. Because I can be civil with anyone. It’s not in my nature to be rude to someone, no matter the circumstances. Michael and I broke up and went our separate ways after high school, but that didn’t mean I harbored any ill feelings toward him. It took me a while to accept that we wanted different things, and that was okay. I moved forward with my life just like he did.

“Callie even said it was like no time passed between you guys at all,” she adds, clearly gauging my reaction.

Except she’s not getting one. I do a little twirl in the flowy, shin-length dress and say, “Don’t start letting your imagination run wild, Brie Cheese. There’s nothing happening between me and Michael. Okay?”

“But—”

“No,” I say, piercing her with a warning look over my shoulder. She’s been on my case since Michael and I saw each other at her wedding this spring. Unbeknownst to me, he was a friend of Brie’s husband Ryan. They met through his job, apparently. Whether Brie knew they were close enough for my ex to be invited to the wedding is beyond me. If she did, she definitely didn’t tell me about it.

“Look, I’m happy for him. He’s doing well in the police academy, and he’s going to become a trooper like he’s always wanted. That’s great. Let me just work on myself and my career, too, without trying to mingle the past and the present.”

My little sister frowns. “I just thought it might be nice for you to put yourself out there again and give him another shot.”

“He lives here,” I point out. “I don’t.”

“Are you planning on staying in New York forever?” she asks, her frown deepening at the possibility.

Swallowing, I stare down at my feet, wiggling my freshly painted toes that Brie and I just got done at the salon an hour ago. “I don’t know. It’ll depend on what job opportunities I have in the future when I’m done with my master’s program.”

“And if you move back here…”

“If I move back here,” I say pointedly, giving her a look. “Then I’ll take it day by day. But Michael has always wanted to be a cop here, and I’ve always wanted…”

Well, more.

To get away.

To experience new places and people.

And when Mom died, to free myself from the constant reminder of the hole her absence left behind. Dad and Tatum only drove the desire to stay away. Far away. Even though I make time to call my father and catch up at least once every couple of weeks, it doesn’t make being home easier. School was the perfect excuse to go away.

But I don’t know what excuse I’ll have for staying when I graduate.

Either way, I’m not making any promises to anyone. Not Brie. Not Dad. And certainly not Michael.

We talked during his cousin’s birthday party a few weeks ago, catching up over the last six years that we didn’t get a lot of time to do at Brie’s wedding. It wasn’t like anything significant was said, considering we both stayed friends online. I saw when he got into a new relationship and saw when it ended. He saw me go through undergrad and congratulated me on graduating. I saw when he got his associate degree and started working as a sheriff before leaving to join the state police academy. There wasn’t much to talk about except cordial small talk that led to a few awkward moments of stretched-out silence.

“So, I guess a double date is out of the question?” she asks, sounding sadder than she should be for me.

She was never Michael’s biggest fan, but also didn’t hate him either. I’m not sure she ever really had a clear opinion on him. I liked it that way. In fact, I preferred it. But now, I’m just confused. “I don’t get it. Why are you trying so hard to make this happen?”

Her shoulders slump. “I just want you to be happy.”

I smile at her. “I am happy, sis.”

“Really?”

I nod. “Really.” Or as happy as I can be.

“And I guess I want a reason for you to come home,” she admits quietly. “I miss you.”

My heart does a funny little dance. “I miss you too, Brie Cheese. Every day. But Michael won’t be the reason I move back to Pennsylvania. I’ll never make a man the reason I go anywhere.”

Her eyebrows go up. “You don’t know that for sure. If you love somebody, you’d do anything for them.”

“Then why couldn’t they do the same for me?” I counter. “I’d rather they follow me for my dreams and future.”

Brie offers me a small smile. “That doesn’t happen very often,” she says.

It doesn’t. “I guess if the day ever came when somebody followed me to the ends of the earth, then I’d know it’s really love.”

My sister’s expression softens. “I hope that happens for you then.”

Me too , I answer in my head.

Brie’s eyes go back to my boobs before she grabs hers. “Your tits make me want a boob job. How much do you think those are?”

I snort. “You were just bitching about how expensive cheese has gotten. I don’t think fake boobs are in your future anytime soon.”

She blows out a long sigh. “Dream killer.”

I roll my eyes.

Then she asks, “Are you going to be at dinner with Dad and Tatum tonight?”

Internally, I wince. Because spending even two hours at the house I used to call home makes me feel itchy when I’ve been happily occupying Brie and Ryan’s guest bedroom.

Suddenly, I wish we were still talking about Michael.

I glance at her chest to stall for an answer, since I haven’t accepted our father’s invitation yet. “You should do a consultation with a plastic surgeon to see how much it would cost.”

She eyes me knowingly but doesn’t call me out on the topic change.

*

I shouldn’t have come. That’s the first thing I thought when I stepped into the kitchen to see what was cooking. That’s when I saw them. The walls.

They aren’t yellow anymore. I’ve been staring at them for the last ten minutes, remembering how excited Mom was to paint them the pastel buttery color. Yellow was her favorite—it made her happy. I’d been five and tried helping her paint whatever I could reach. It was patchy and messy, but she didn’t care. We listened to music and laughed and had fun the entire time.

Dad walks into the kitchen. “What is it?”

My nostrils flare when I take note of the ugly plaid curtains hanging from the window above the sink. “Mom loved the kitchen.”

He’s silent, flinching when he glances at the sage green where the original color used to be. “It was time for a change, kiddo.”

A change.

“And whose idea was that?”

He doesn’t need to answer for me to know.

Even the colorful lines and measurements drawn in permanent marker going up the doorway are painted over. Dad didn’t even fight to have all the years of Mom marking our growth spurts before the first day of school to stay?

The last time I was here, nothing had changed except for Tatum’s presence. I didn’t love that, but it wasn’t as gut- wrenching as this. Sure, there’d been some new throw pillows on the couch and a few new picture frames displayed around the house, but that seemed so minimal—easily ignorable.

She changed Mom’s favorite room.

Erased her.

And Dad let her.

“Rachel…” Dad tries to say, before he must realize there’s no point. I’m hurt, and he’s the reason. What excuse could justify it? “It’s hard for me too.”

That’s all he says.

Slowly, I move my head up and down. I’m sure it is hard slowly getting rid of any evidence of the person who lived here for decades.

Brie bursts through the door with Ryan in tow moments later. “I’m here, bitches!”

I look at Dad, then the walls.

Shaking my head, I walk out of the room.

Dad doesn’t try to stop me and doesn’t say anything the rest of the night.

I go back to Brie’s house, missing my little apartment in Lindon ten times more when I’m closed into the small guest room, trapped in my thoughts.

That night, I get a message online from Matt’s Facebook account.

Matt Clearwater: Caleb needs you

Matt Clearwater: We all do

I stare at those messages unblinkingly for what feels like forever.

It’s a sign.

We all do.

I debate on accepting the message request before doing it, typing out a short response.

Rachel Holloway: I’ll be there tomorrow