I want to be mad at him. For hanging out with my grandmother without me. For the chip crumbs on the rug. For encouraging me to go on a date with his friend, and then infiltrating my mind all evening. But I don’t have to dig too deep to know what’s really bothering me. It’s the possibility that Nan and Charlie didn’t think I’d be up for a night of edibles and Ketchup Lay’s. That they think I’m no fun.
