“You’re not an invalid!” He punched the air, willed her to do the same. Glass half-full, Mom!
“Harry. I’ve got a long way to go, and we can’t all sit around waiting for the transplant. It’s important to me that you and Dad take your lives off hold. College won’t wait; your future won’t wait. You need to do this.”
Great, now neither of his parents listened.
“But I can’t think it through because every time we talk about it, Dad makes me too stressed.”
“Then just go on the tour to keep him happy, and use it to eliminate colleges you’re not interested in.”
“But that’s a humongous waste of time and money and energy!”
“Not it if helps streamline your decision process.”
“I don’t even want to go to the Northeast, Mom. If I’m going anywhere cold, I want it to be in the Appalachians.”
“See? You’re already making decisions.” Mom paused. “What if you did your own research on colleges in the Northeast and asked Dad to work them into the tour?”
“Please, Mom. I can’t do this without you.”
“You can, sweetheart. You’d be surprised what you can do without me.” She heaved herself up to her feet. “You and Dad need to cut me out of the equation. Handle this yourselves.”
“You mean in case something happens to you. Why do you have to talk like this? Why?” So much for not upsetting her. His leg jerked up and he touched his heel, a tic that had caused endless problems in kindergarten because of the teacher’s ridiculous mission to create the perfect line of silent, nonmoving five-year-olds. Every freakin’ morning.
“Shhh, baby. I seem to be handling this badly, but my thought process is less functional than a broken garbage disposal. What I’m trying to say is that my recovery is putting too much strain on the family. You and Dad must stop worrying about me and start moving forward with your lives. This is your junior year—the most important year of high school.” She paused. “And you just released a tic we haven’t seen since kindergarten.”
He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
“Don’t use your hand to—”
“I hate when you talk like you’re giving up, Mom.” Harry raised his voice. “Like you’re stepping away from us.” Mom had never let him give up—even when he’d been in a dark place with the rage attacks, even when he’d felt as if he were the worst person in the world, cursed by God. So why was she curling into a ball, waving a white flag, and staying there?
“Harry, sweetheart. I’m being a realist.”
“You’re not. You’re giving up.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
Someone knocked and the door opened immediately. Dad was right. There were way too many people in the house these days.
“Gracious, child,” Eudora said. “What’s all the hullabaloo?”
“Nothing that a trip to Harvard won’t cure,” Harry mumbled. “I have to go do my homework.”
Mom shuffled toward him, but he couldn’t hug her, didn’t want to feel her bones. “You and Dad need to do this. You need to think about college visits, think about your future—”
“Why does everyone keep telling me what I need to be doing?” Harry sniffed again.
“I love you,” Mom said, but already she was moving back to the chair, as if just looking at him was too much effort.
“I love you too.”
With a glance at Eudora, he left. That was it. If Mom wasn’t going to take on the college stuff, Harry was officially on his own with Dad. He ran into his room, tore through his bedding, found his phone. Sent Max a text.
code spongebob
His phone rang immediately.
“What’s wrong, dude?” Max said.
Harry heaved out a sigh. “You and I need a new plan for my life, ’cause this one sucks balls.”
TWENTY-EIGHT