The Distance Between Us

trail on my back: across, down, over, up. They repeat the pattern over and over. “When did you find out?”
    “Tonight.” I sigh. “Or maybe she’s not. And I’m wishing so bad she’s not. But if she isn’t that means something else is wrong with her and that I’m a horrible daughter for thinking even for a split second that I’d rather her be anything but pregnant.”
    He pushes me out by the shoulders and I let him. When we meet eyes he says, “What can I do?”
    “Make this all a dream that I can wake up from tomorrow.”
    He pulls on his bottom lip. “I feel like I took advantage of you tonight. I’m sorry. Had I known I would have never—”
    “Stop,” I interrupt. “Don’t say that. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for weeks. Way before I found out about my mom, back when you used to walk me to school.”
    His eyes flicker to my lips then back to my eyes. “You wanted to kiss me?”
    “‘Want’ is the correct word. I want to kiss you.” I lean forward and brush my lips against his.
    He pulls back a little. “Now I’d really be a jerk if we kissed. Come on. Let’s talk.” He leads me down the hall by my hand to a large theater room. Several overstuffed recliners set on different levels face a big white screen.
    “Wow,” I say, spinning in a circle. “This is where we need to watch The Shining .”
    He lifts one side of his mouth into a half-smile then goes to a bookshelf full of DVDs and pulls out the one with Jack Nicholson sticking his creepy face through a gap in a door.
    “You got it?”
    “I did. You said we were going to watch it so I got it.”
    I plop down in a recliner. “Well, put it on, then.”
    He shakes his head. “Not tonight. Tonight we talk.” He replaces the movie and settles into the recliner next to mine.
    “What were you doing before I got here?”
    “Let me rephrase that: tonight we talk about you .”
    “Can we just work up to it first? I’m not good at things like this.”
    He nods. “Okay, before you got here? Let’s see, I was working on a history assignment.”
    “Do you go to Dalton Academy or Oceanside?” They’re both private schools. I’m sure he goes to one or the other.
    “Dalton.”
    “Dalton . . . that’s your grandma’s last name.” Before I even finish the sentence I feel stupid for saying it. “Duh. That’s not a coincidence.”
    He laughs. “Thanks, by the way.”
    “For what?”
    “For reminding me what it’s like to be treated like a normal person. It’s been a long time since I’ve been around someone who didn’t know who I was.”
    I tilt my head. “Wait, who are you?”
    He tugs on my hair with a smirk.
    “Your parents are really nice.”
    “When they get what they want, yes they are.”
    “So have you been working on the website for your dad, then?”
    He draws out a sigh. “That’s the thing. I have. I know, I know, I shouldn’t.”
    I hold up my hands. “I said nothing.”
    “So I had all these great ideas for the website to make it fresh and exciting and my dad completely disregarded all of them. He said, ‘No, clean and classic.’”
    “For your clientele that’s probably better.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean it’s not like teenagers are going to book rooms at your hotels. It’s businessmen and wealthy people. Clean and classic work for them.”
    He closes his eyes for a second then says, “You’re right. Why didn’t he just say that?”
    “Maybe he tried. You don’t listen to your dad very well.”
    “Because he wants to shape me into this perfect little version of him and I feel smothered. I’m not him.”
    “Isn’t it funny that you want to be nothing like your dad and I wish I knew if I am even a tiny bit like mine?”
    “I’m sorry. I’m being insensitive.”
    I touch his shoulder. “No, you’re not. I get what you’re saying. You don’t want to be defined by your father. Especially when from the outside you are so similar to him. But you aren’t him. You’ll always be different.” You’ll always be amazing . Why is it still so hard to say that last sentence out loud?
    He takes my hand in his and runs his thumb along the back of it. “Your father would be so proud of you. Of who you are.”
    My entire throat closes with the comment and my eyes fill with tears. I keep them at bay but am surprised by the strong reaction. By how much I needed to hear someone say that. “He lives in New York. He’s some fancy lawyer there.”
    “You’ve looked him