I look up in time to see her blink and wipe her cheek as she swivels away in the chair. The light from my computer makes the side of her face glow in the dim lighting of my room.
“Anyway. I’m sorry for your loss. That’s what we’re supposed to say, right? How old were you?”
“Eight.”
“So you have some memories of him, then?”
“Yeah. Of course. They’re few and brief, but they’re enough to keep a picture of him in my mind. I guess that must be tough for you, right? You don’t have any of your mom or … the guy.”
She shrugs. “I have what I have.”
“Have you ever talked to your dad about it? I mean, Patrick. Have you confronted him about the entire thing?”
Audrey shakes her head and focuses on the Fallout poster above my bed before she answers. “I’ve done enough damage. To be honest, I can’t even talk to him about her. You can’t say the name Wendy without him physically flinching. If I brought up the other-guy thing, who knows what would happen? We have nothing of my mom in our house. It’s all at my grandmother’s, and I’m not even allowed over there.”
I lean back and cross my arms behind my head, looking up at the ceiling as I say the first thing that comes to my mind. “You should go anyway. I don’t have anything to do over break. I can go with you.”
I have no idea how my twin size bed withstands the weight as she jumps on me from across the room and makes me say five times in a row that I mean it.
How exactly does one go about packing for a trip that could change the course of her life? I’m standing in my room, staring blankly at the empty bag on my bed, distracted by the blue constellation print of my comforter beneath it. I can close my eyes and know where every single thing in this place is. Yellow desk under the window; sheer curtains open and blinds pulled shut. Laptop, last semester’s text books waiting to be sold, old papers and pencils all on the left-hand side. The right side remains clear. Silver desk chair pushed in until the metal touches the wood.
Nightstand to the right of the bed with one charger, a small lamp, and a place to take my jewelry off at night. One dresser behind me with a television. Small closet that holds just enough clothes to get me through the semester, because the other half of it is where I have shoved a bookcase full of fiction.
I open my eyes and idly wonder if I should bring something to read. It’s a six hour drive to Elliot’s house where we’ll be getting his camping gear for the remainder of the trip. Another eight hours to Grandma Ruth’s. The plan is wide open from there, and it makes my skin itch to not have some semblance of order to follow. I need order.
The thoughts of what could potentially go wrong start to gather in my head, and I can feel my jaw start to tense, so I close my eyes again and breathe in and out as deeply as I can in counts of seven.
It takes a few minutes, but I get a handle on it, and my heart rate slows enough for me to focus and silently begin to fill my bag with things I need to take with me. Not the least of which is a flower-printed bag full of orange bottles.
Elliot has an Xterra, and for some reason, that is unexpected. “You go off-roading a lot?” I ask, shifting my bag from one shoulder to the other as he checks the tire pressure on the front driver’s side wheel.
He looks up and squints at me, one eye smaller than the other as his tongue peeks out between his lips. “No. Why?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I push up on my toes and chance a peek inside to see if his car is as dirty as his room. It’s not, and that, too, is surprising.
He stands and straightens his t-shirt, the material getting caught on his broad shoulders. “I cleaned it. Vacuumed and whatnot. Thought you wouldn’t want to ride for that long with Taco Bell wrappers under your feet.”
I pretend to swoon, pressing my hands to my chest. “And in that moment, I swear I fell in love with you, Elliot.”
He tosses the pressure gauge in the air and catches it before giving me a dirty look. “A thank you would have worked just fine, smart ass.”
“Thank you,” I concede.
Suddenly, the door to their apartment is thrown wide open, and Cline, in all his disheveled glory, lumbers onto the sidewalk, half dressed and pissed off. Hazel eyes are barely visible as he stares us down, pointing a thick arm and long finger at Elliot. “Where the hell are you going?”
Elliot straightens his shoulders and faces his best friend, his neck tilted a little as they come toe to toe. Cline’s extra two inches barely make a difference when Elliot mans up. Witnessing this makes something in my stomach flutter.