Curvy Girls Can’t Date Best Friends by Kelsie Stelting

Forty-Four

CARSON

I still didn’t understand what Clary was doing here. For the last six years, she’d been out of my life, busy creating her own. And now, here she was, walking down the sidewalk with me like she had nowhere better to be.

“It’s nice outside,” she said, tucking her hands into her jacket pockets. “It never cools down at night like this in North Carolina.”

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and after a few steps, she realized I wasn’t walking with her. I was frustrated, confused, and exhausted beyond measure. I didn’t feel like talking about the weather. “Clary, what’s going on?”

She bit her lip and looked toward the empty street. “Gemma called me and told me what happened.”

My stomach roiled. “Great, so now everyone knows what a monster I am.”

“Carson,” she admonished.

“What?” I demanded, spreading my arms at my sides. “Gemma was there. She saw. You think this bruise just came unprovoked?”

Her lips pressed together. “I talked to Mom too.”

So she knew the whole story. Heard about my spiral to shame. How I’d lost everything that mattered to me. “And our grandparents called you down here to fix it? You can’t.” I dropped onto the curb and sat down, lacing my fingers behind my neck and hanging my head between my knees. “No one can.”

After a moment, Clary’s softer footsteps sounded beside me, and she sat on the curb as well. We sat in silence for a long time—minutes, hours—while all the things I’d ruined ran through my mind.

Finally, I said, “Don’t you have a baby to go back to?”

“He’s fine with them for a little while,” she said. “I pumped extra just in case.”

“He needs his mom,” I said finally.

“And my brother needs his sister.”

Her words struck me. For once, she was choosing to stay. She was choosing me in a way no one had.

“Come on,” she said. “I want to show you something.”

Even though she was half my size, she extended her hand and helped me up.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“You’ll see.” She began walking down the sidewalk, and I followed her, taking in the neighborhood that was the same but so different. People had landscaped their lawns differently, the street had been repaved, but maybe the most different thing was my sister and me.

My breath caught as I realized where she was taking us. “Clary?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are we going there?”

“You’ll see.”

My heart beat faster as she walked down the sidewalk that led to our old house, the one where we’d endured so much pain, where, when we were on the brink of falling apart, Mom up and moved us to California. This place held so many bad memories, and even though I missed my grandparents, I’d be lying if I said staying away from this house wasn’t part of what kept me away from them.

But as the two-story farmhouse came into view, it looked completely different. The new owners had planted beautiful bright flowers along the walk, and there was a giant wreath of flowers hanging on the door. A porch swing, not too unlike the one my grandparents had, set on the porch with plush pillows.

But the most stunning thing? Through the front bay window that showed the dining table, we could see a family with three children, playing a card game. They laughed and smiled and looked like the genuine picture of love.

Clary put her arm around my shoulders, and I felt her eyes on me.

I looked over at her, my eyes moist. “They look so happy.” It was everything I’d wanted for myself of a kid and everything I dreamed of for my future—the one I wanted to have with Callie.

“They do,” she agreed. “You know, three generations of Cooks lived in that house. Each one worse than the last. And look at it now. It’s an entirely different place because of the heart that’s inside it.”

Her words hit me one at a time as she turned and put her hands on my shoulders, making sure I was looking at her.

“Gemma left and started a career. Sierra is in love with an incredible guy and having the adventure of a lifetime in Europe. I have the kind of family I always wanted. My kids never go to bed wondering if I’ll be hurt in the morning or if there will be glass on the floor when they wake up. They never have to worry if their siblings are taken care of.” She blinked quickly, her eyes shining. “And now, you have a choice too.” She brushed back the hair falling into my eyes with the tips of her fingers. “Are you going to let it end with you?”

Her eyes searched my face for the answer, and finally she said. “I need to get back to my choice.”

And I needed to make my own.