All of You by Jenni Wilder Page A

too,
Jillian.”
    “Dammit, Becca.” I sat down on the edge of my
bed. After freshman year, not only was I hurt and lonely, but I had
lost faith in my fellow humans. No one except my family had shown
me any kindness, and while I tried to be a caring, loving person to
everyone, I knew the chances of that concern being paid back were
slim. It was just the way things were.
    Rebecca picked up my purse and fished out my
cell phone. She turned it back on and sat down on the bed next to
me. “He seems really upset,” Rebecca said and handed me my phone. I
looked and saw ten texts and eighteen missed calls from Lincoln
along with four calls from a number I didn’t know. I sighed. “Don’t
let evil Mackenzie ruin something that might have been great. If
you do, then she’s already won,” Rebecca said wisely.
    We sat in silence for a long moment while I
thought through things. I knew if I ended up being hurt again, it
would hurt even worse than it did last time. It already hurt worse,
and I wasn’t even as emotionally invested in Lincoln as I could
easily be.
    I swiped my thumb over Lincoln’s contact
info. He was so sweet and charming. Not just today, but during our
walk at the pond and even in the tent when we first met. Surely if
he was acting, he wouldn’t have been able to keep up the façade
that long. Plus his niece and nephew absolutely adored him. If he
truly were a miserable evil person like Mackenzie, certainly a
child would be able to tell and would shy away from him. Kids can
always tell, right?
    Ugh! Why did this man have me tied in such
knots? I thought about it and realized I already knew the answer. I
was all twisted up over this man because he was too good to be
true. He really was sweet and charming and drop-dead gorgeous and a
truly good decent man, and I would never deserve him. “I don’t
deserve him, Rebecca,” I whispered and curled into my sister’s
shoulder, hiding my face from the world. The tears began to flow
again, and I couldn’t find the strength to stop them. Rebecca let
me cry on her shoulder for a short while, rocking me and rubbing
small circles into my back. When it seemed like my sobs had
subsided, Rebecca pulled me to sit up straight and looked me in the
eye.
    “Better?” Rebecca asked me.
    “No, not really,” I said, rubbing my
eyes.
    “No? Sobbing on my shoulder didn’t help? What
a surprise,” she said sarcastically.
    “Hey, I couldn’t help it,” I said, defending
my breakdown. A person can only take so much.
    “I know, Jilly Bean. And that’s why I didn’t
stop you. Sometimes we all need a good cry. God knows, with the
shit you’ve been given in life, you deserve a good cry more than
most. But you know better than anyone that a good cry never
actually solves anything,” Rebecca said, repeating the words our
mother used to say to us after our father died. One of us would
inevitably find something of our father’s, or someone would mention
a favorite story about our father, and before we knew it the whole
family was in tears. Our mother used to tell us to feel free to
have good cry, but to keep in mind that crying never solved
anything; it only allowed you to dwell in your grief.
    Kind of a harsh lesson for a kid, I realized
now that I was older, but our mother had a lot of grief lumped on
her all at once, and she could only handle so much. I suspected our
mother used this mantra to get through her own life without our
father. She had lost the love of her life, and while she had spent
a sufficient amount of time publicly mourning his death, I
suspected she would grieve for her husband until the day she was
reunited with him in heaven. But she did not allow herself to cry
over him anymore. At least never in front of me or my siblings.
Crying never actually solved anything; it only allowed you to dwell
in your grief.
    “Dammit, Becca. You just had to say that,
didn’t you? Now I feel even more guilty.”
    “Well, you are allowing yourself to dwell in
your