Dare You to Hate Me by B. Celeste (classic fiction .txt) 📕

he played for the Hurricanes while he attended. Mom and Dad wouldn’t have to pay a dime, which is good considering their divorce was finalized last Valentine’s Day. It’s oddly appropriate for the cycle of things my family has done wrong to include a legal separation on the day people are supposed to express love to one another, but for the first time, I see contentment between them instead of resentment whenever I visit.

I follow the directions I’m given via text and find myself in a concrete hallway with a few other significant others I’ve talked with before. Aiden told me I should stick with them but I’m still no better at socializing than I was before, especially after dropping out of college once my first semester was done.

DJ took it the hardest since he had over a year left and wasn’t planning on going into the draft. He managed to get my phone number before I moved to the New York Metropolitan area after Aiden signed a contract with the Giants and still sends me random messages about his day, including pictures—of food he made, himself giving the puppy dog eyes and telling me he’s lonely, and his grad professor he thinks look like a clone of Snape from Harry Potter.

“Hey, Ivy,” Malissa Melburne greets, bouncing her son in her arms. A diaper bag rests on the ground beside her, and a carrier on the other. As soon as Aiden introduced me as his girlfriend to everyone, the amount of advice on what to wear and what not to, when to get married, and when to have babies started pouring out of the women I barely knew.

Admittedly, that’s the biggest reason I don’t sit with them if I can help it. I wouldn’t have minded being the mute among them as I watched the game and let them think whatever they wanted of me but having the added pressure of when best to move forward with Aiden so it doesn’t impact his season doesn’t help my anxiety any. I’ve gotten better, sought out help, but there are triggers that still make my skin itch with a desire to do something controllable.

And I do.

I call Aiden.

Then I call my therapist.

The apartment we settled into is a spacious three bedroom with a huge kitchen that Aiden told the realtor was non-negotiable. The free time I had after saying goodbye to Lindon was spent learning how to better my baking skills with the help of Aiden’s mother and all the recipe books both she and my own mother got for me. Things have been better with my family, specifically my mother, but it’s still a work in progress. She’ll occasionally send me bakeware items and books using the money she’s earning as a secretary at an architectural firm not far from where I live while she attends college online to get her degree in the focus. Her and Dad both have separate houses a few hours away from each other. Dad sold the store, and the house, to pay back what he’d owed the bank for his failing business and is back working at the old bank he was employed at in central New York.

With the help of Aiden, I’ve managed to earn a little money of my own from blogging about my baking adventures. My following is still minimal, only jumping in views whenever Aiden is involved in the little videos I post online, but it’s enough to cover some of the smaller bills and the therapy sessions I’ve been attending. Once in a while, Mom even joins me. It’s how I finally showed her the scars on my arm and told her the story. My therapist opened the room for the conversation, which ended in both Mom and I crying on the couch while holding each other.

We said we’d try.

And we have.

“How’s the baby?” I ask, wiggling my fingers at the little boy staring at me with his thumb in his mouth. He raises a hand and waves back, making me smile.

“He’s good. Teething like crazy.” She pecks his head and adjusts him. “Have you and Aiden thought about—”

“Oh, cut the girl some slack,” another one of the wives says. It’s the oldest one of us, who’s shut down the women more than once on my behalf. For that reason, Penny is my favorite. “I know you would have waited to have Prince, but things happen. Let them live their lives.”

Malissa grumbles under her breath, focusing back on her son and nobody else.

I give Penny a grateful smile which she returns. “Nick loved those turnovers you sent over. I had to remind him that he had to save at least one for me.”

Blushing, I shift from one foot to the other. “I can make more. I’ve thought about adding something different this time.”

A woman a few feet down says, “You should try them with peaches.”

“Peaches?” Penny remarks, scrunching her face.

“It’s Don’s favorite.”

Baking for Aiden’ team now is no different than it was nearly two years ago in Lindon. I still get requests, and I still do the best I can do to accommodate. They challenge me to change up traditional recipes with my own styles, which helps me in the long run when I decide they’re good enough to post about on my blog.

Once the guys emerge, everyone goes their separate ways. Aiden walks over to me and drops an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him for a tight hug. “Good game,” I tell him.

“You say that every time.”

I peer up at him grinning. “Because I think they’re all good. Say ‘thank you, Ivy.’”

“Thank you, Ivy,” he obeys, rolling his eyes. When he hooks the same arm around my waist and walks me out toward the corridor that leads to where the players park, he asks, “Did anyone ask about us again?”

Apparently the guys are no different with him, saying most players don’t stay with anyone as long as we have without making a commitment by now, but