“Hey, Devon,” I say when he’s almost too far away to hear me. He turns back sheepishly, but I’m impressed he turns back at all. “I really miss you guys too.”
When the morning rush ends, Paul comes in. He’s rumpled and definitely didn’t shower after his stay on the couch. Not exactly the kind of guy you want serving you scones, but I guess everyone’s used to his ratty stoner garb, and it’s not the first time he’s worked in what I have to assume is a T-shirt from high school and hospital scrubs.
“Dude,” I say. “That is a serious fashion choice there.”
“Get yourself to school, Tab,” he says. Not mean, but not exactly gentle either. I hate when Cate and Paul fight.
“Still too early,” I say, and Paul sighs like it’s my fault my school starts at eight.
“Homework, then,” he says. “Or check this out.” He grabs a copy of Letters to a Young Poet from the back pocket of his jeans and tosses it my way. It bounces off my chest, and he snickers. Not exactly Paul at his best.
“I’ll be on the couch.”
“Maybe you should just get to school early,” he says in a mumble. Other people’s parents don’t ever nail that combination of whine and grumble. When Paul’s cranky, he wants to be alone, and that means he doesn’t even want me visible. I get the feeling that he smoked up this morning, even though it’s something he usually saves for later in the day. The shift in his routine, however slight, scares me.
“Nope.”
Paul’s eyebrows shoot up. He’s awake at long last.
“Nope?” he parrots back.
“I’ll stay here, thanks,” I say. And then right away my mind pokes in and says, Who are you? I don’t talk to my parents like this; I don’t need to. “Keep an eye on you.” I mean it as a joke, to lighten the conversation, but it definitely doesn’t work.
Paul rolls his eyes.
“You spying for your mother?” he says. I can’t imagine what that means. He and Cate don’t need me spying. They are practically attached at the hip. They tell each other what they eat for midmorning snack and how many times per day they pee. They hardly rely on me for reports.
“Spying?”
“You ladies are relentless,” he says, rolling his eyes.
I don’t even know, really, why I’m fighting to stay here, except that I’m pretty proud of how I was with Devon, and I don’t want to be at school without Elise, and at Tea Cozy things happen.
“I thought you wanted to stop smoking so much. So what are you all pissed at Cate for?”
“I really hate this new attitude,” Paul says. It’s a continuation of our conversation last night, except gone sour, gone mean with his early-morning hangover. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t get all teenager-y on us. I don’t even know who you are right now.”
“I don’t think I’m the one being all teenager-y,” I say. Our voices are low enough that the customers probably can’t hear us, but it’s still so far outside our normal interaction that we’re both a little stunned at the way we’re speaking to each other.
“I’ve got enough on my plate, Tabitha,” he says. And I get why he and Cate are fighting. I get why she wants him to get it together. I’m terrified of the new baby, but I also want the best for it. I’m not a sociopath. I want that kid to have the best version of Cate and Paul. And me. “We’re both trying to be nice to you, given what’s happened, but we have limits, you know?”
I look right in his bloodshot, squinty eyes. I am not his charity case. I am his daughter. I don’t care how much he’s had to smoke today. I don’t care how many awesome scuffed-up books he gets me. I don’t need to take it from him. Not anymore.
“I didn’t ask you to take care of me. I don’t need your fake niceness. I’m all set. Trust me,” I say. And maybe leaving Tea Cozy would make more of a point, but he wants me to leave. So I stay.
I stomp away from Paul and grab my laptop and my coffee. I sit in one of the armchairs near the fire. I want to write about what happened with Devon, and maybe post a secret about Mrs. Drake, that I’ve seen her get wasted. Maybe I’ll get a crazy Assignment to take down Mrs. D in some sizzling, scandalous way. I’m ready for whatever Zed and the rest of the group throw my way. Look at me: I’m on fire.
Then I see a post from Roxie.
ROXIE: I told my boyfriend I’m on birth control. I’m not. It’s not like I want a baby, exactly. But I want to have a family. A real family.
I wait for an onslaught of judgment, but instead there is support. Love. Understanding. She’s done a terrible thing, but we aren’t here to make her feel worse about it. We’re here to get her on some new, exciting, better path.
That’s what Zed says, anyway.
And I think I agree.
AGNES: Maybe there’s a way to get a family without deceiving him, you know?
STAR: Do you love your boyfriend?
ELFBOY: Just because someone says something is wrong doesn’t mean it’s wrong.