“A speaker?”
She nods. “They want him to represent physical abuse. They have other teenagers standing for domestic, emotional… They want him to tell his story, over and over again, for a year. I don’t think he’d be able to handle that, because he hates talking about it. That’s why I’m just so surprised that he told you.”
I take a minute to process this information while the rain batters against the windows. Last week it was so difficult for Tyler to tell me the truth, and I can’t begin to imagine how tough he’d find it having to tell the story to strangers. But at the same time, he’d get to meet others who have been through the same things he has, and it just might help. “It could be good for him…you know, to talk about it.”
“It’s a really great opportunity,” Ella adds, but she’s staring off into the carpet, almost like she’s weighing the pros and cons in her head. “He’d have to straighten himself out first though.” That’s a pro. This could be the kick that he needs to put him on the road to giving up on distractions, to becoming a person who doesn’t depend on alcohol and drugs. “And he’d have to move to New York for a year, starting next summer.” That’s a con. A huge con.
I try to meet her eyes, but she’s still staring at the floor. “Is that what my dad was talking about last week? When he mentioned New York?”
Another nod. “I haven’t told Tyler yet. Now isn’t the best time.” She glances sideways at me with a small smile on her lips, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. That’s something I’ve always found odd, people smiling when they’re sad. There’s no such thing as a sad smile. Just a brave one.
“You’re a really good mom,” I say, because they’re the only words running through my mind as I watch her overthink the situation with Tyler, and they suddenly seem to spill out on their own accord. She only wants what’s best for him, and sometimes that’s not enough. But she’s trying.
Her lips part in surprise. She looks like she’s about to say something, but she’s interrupted by the sound of a car horn blasting. The horn blows three times.
“That’ll be Rachael,” I say as I get to my feet. I smooth out the creases in my jeans and offer her a smile, because somehow in the past ten minutes I feel like I’ve gotten closer to her. For the first time, I really do see her as my stepmom. “I’ll see you when I’m home.”
The corners of her lips pull up into a smile to mirror mine, and this time her smile isn’t brave. It’s sincere.
Outside, Rachael has reversed out of her driveway and is furiously revving up her engine out front of my house instead. She rolls down the window as I approach and yells, “You were supposed to be looking for me! We’re wasting valuable time!”
I throw open the door and slide inside, barely getting my seat belt on before the car takes off down the avenue. The seat is wet from the rain. “I was talking to Ella,” I say, but I don’t want to leave room for her to ask what we were discussing, so I quickly add, “What’s the plan?”
“Stop being curious,” Rachael orders, lifting a hand off the wheel and wagging a finger at me. I scoff. Curious is all I’ll ever be. “You don’t even need to do anything. You’ll mess it up, so let me talk.”
I roll my eyes and adjust my seat, pushing it back to give me more legroom, and then I slump down and heave a sigh. “Where did this rain come from? It feels like I’m in Portland,” I murmur, tapping my knuckles against the window as I try to distract myself, because nerves are rattling me. But I can’t let Rachael know this, because then she’ll wonder why I’m nervous, and there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to tell her that I’m panicking beyond despair over the fact that Tiffani is going to flip when I turn up at her front door.
So for the five-minute ride I act as normal as I possibly can. I text Amelia, rummage through the CDs packed into the glove box, adjust the heating, and, of course, listen to Rachael. She’s telling me about Trevor again, and she’s gushing over the fact that he’s started adding hearts to the end of their texts, and she’s blushing as she tells me how sweet he’s suddenly being.
By the time we’re nearing Tiffani’s house, the nerves are almost completely gone because of my desperate need to escape Rachael’s Trevor drama. I’d rather throw myself into Tiffani’s arms than hear about how nice Trevor’s shoulders are.