Key To Your Heart

8

Roseanne

Lucy yawns so wide that I wonder if it hurts. Her hands curl into fists and her dark lashes flutter shut. I smile softly at her, propped up against the opposite arm of the couch. For all her sarcastic one-liners and no-nonsense persona, she looks very young right now.

I wonder when she last got a hug. The last one I got was from my dad when I pulled up unexpectedly at my parents' house.

"I liked this movie," she announces, settling into the couch as we bask in Elle Woods' victory.

I push my feet, clad in fuzzy socks, under her blanket and give her legs a slight nudge. "It's all the pink isn't it, my little storm cloud?"

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, nudging my legs back with her own. "I don't hate pink."

I curve a teasing brow at her.

Her eyes flash up to the neon scrunchie in my hair. "I think it looks nice on you."

"Thank you."

"But you're pretty. It makes sense."

My head tilts as I regard her. We had a fun night. It was wholesome. We ate too much pizza. I did up root beer floats for us. We made fun of Lisa behind her back and laughed. She even told me about school, where she's found two other little storm clouds to roam with. And I love that for her.

What I don't love is what she just told me.

"Anyone can wear pink, Lucy. And you? You aren't just pretty, you're beautiful. Inside and out. And that has nothing to do with the colors you wear"-I wave a hand over her- "or in your case, shades. You could wear pink if you wanted."

Her eyes drop and her fingers fiddle with the blanket as the credits roll across the screen.

"Do you ever feel like you... like you... I don't know. Just want to re-create yourself?"

God. Damn. Talk about an unknowing punch to the gut.

"You're talking to the girl who freaked out and fled her life less than a week ago. So yeah, I know that feeling. I've done it successfully a few times."

Lucy nods, a question on her face as she rolls her lips together.

This time, I rub my foot against her leg to reassure her. "Hey, Lucy."

She lifts her eyes to look at me.

"Pink and black go great together. If you want to wear pink, do it. Ten out of ten you can pull it off. I mean, come on. You've got the genetics of the World's Hottest Billionaire."

At that, she huffs out a giggle, dropping her chin shyly.

"If anyone says anything, just scowl at them and say, 'Do you even know who I am?'" Now she laughs.

"I'd milk the hell outta that title if I were you."

"You could too, if you wanted." Her eyes dance with amusement, and my gaze flicks back and forth between them.

"I don't think I look young enough to convince people that Lisa is my daddy."

I broke every speed limit to get to you.

That fucking sentence has played on repeat in my head all day. I've thought about it countless times, to the point I'm not sure it holds any meaning anymore.

Except... the fact I'm obsessing over it does mean something.

But did it mean something coming from her? Or was it off the cuff? Was it even true, or was she fucking with me?