He blinked, then glanced at me. “Nothing to know. I told you, no plans have been made.”
“Except for the meat order going from monthly to weekly,” I said. He raised his eyebrows. “Doesn’t bode well for the restaurant. Means you’re either running out of money, or time. Or both.”
He sat back, shaking his head. “You don’t miss much, do you? ”
“Just repeating what you told me back in Petree,” I said. “Or Montford Falls.”
“Petree,” he replied. “In Montford, they had time and money. That’s why they made it.”
“And Luna Blu won’t,” I said slowly.
“Probably not.” He rubbed a hand over his face, then dropped it, looking at me. “I’m serious about what I said, though. You can’t just pick up and move halfway across the world so close to finishing school. Your mother wouldn’t stand for it.”
“It’s not her choice, though.”
“Why don’t you want to go home?” he asked.
“Because it’s not home anymore,” I said. “It hasn’t been for three years. And yeah, Mom and I are getting along better, but that doesn’t mean I want to live with her.”
My dad rubbed his hand over his face, the sure sign that he was tired and frustrated. “I need to get to the restaurant,” he said, starting out of the room. “Just think about this, okay? We can discuss it further tonight.”
“Mom’s picking me up for the beach at four,” I said.
“Then when you get back. Nothing has to be decided right now.” iv width="1em" align="left">He got to his feet, then turned to start down the hallway. I said, “I can’t go back there. You don’t understand. I’m not . . .”
He stopped, then looked back at me, waiting for me to finish this sentence, and I realized I couldn’t. In my head, it went off in a million directions—I’m not that girl anymore. I’m not sure who I am—each of them only leading to more complications and explanations.
My dad’s phone, sitting on the table, suddenly rang. But he didn’t answer, instead kept looking at me. “Not what?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said, nodding at his phone. “Never mind.”
“Stay right there. I want to keep talking about this,” he said as he picked it up, flipping it open. “Gus Sweet. Yeah, hi. No, I’m on my way. . . .”
I watched him as he turned, still talking, and went down the hallway into his bedroom. As soon as he was out of sight, I grabbed my backpack and bolted.
The air was sharp, clear, and I felt it fill my lungs like water as I sucked in a breath and started around the house to my shortcut to the bus stop. The grass was wet under my feet, my cheeks stinging as I pushed myself forward through the yard and into that of the building behind us.
Dusted with frost, it looked even more bereft than usual, and when I got to its side yard, the bus stop in sight ahead, I stopped, then bent down, putting my hands on my legs, and tried to catch my breath and swallow back my tears. I could feel the cold all around me: seeping through my shoes, in the air, moving through and around this empty, abandoned place beside me. I turned, taking a breath, and looked over, seeing my reflection in one of the remaining windows. My face was wild, lost, and for a second I didn’t recognize myself. Like the house was looking at me, and I was a stranger. No home, no control, and no idea where I was, only where I might be going.
“Mclean. Wait up!”
I bit my lip at the sound of Dave’s voice, calling out from behind me. Between studying and some extra credit work I needed to do before the end of this, the last day of the grading period, I’d managed to avoid just about everyone for the entire school day. Until now.
“Hey,” I said as he jogged up, falling into place behind me.
“Where have you been all day?” he said. “I thought you cut or something.”
“I had tests,” I told him as we moved with the rest of the crowd through the main entrance. “And some other stuff.”
“Oh, right. Because you’re leaving.”
“What?”
“For the beach. Today. With your mom.” He looked at me, narrowing his eyes. “Right?”
“Oh. Yeah,” I said, shaking my head. “Sorry. I’m just, you know, distracted. About the trip, and everything.”
“Sure,” he said, but he kept his eyes on me, even as I focused my attention steadily forward. “So . . . are you leaving right away or are you coming to the restaurant for a while?”
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“Cool. Ride with me.”
Being alone, together, at right this moment, was exactly what I didn’t want to do. But lacking any way of getting out of it, I followed him to the parking lot, sliding into the passenger seat of the Volvo. After three false starts, he finally managed to coax it out of the space and toward the exit.
“So,” he said as we turned onto the main road, the muffler rattling, “I’ve been thinking.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded. “You really need to go out with me.”