“I need to go splash my face with some water,” I say, slipping off your lap. “I’ll be right back.”
When I get to the bathroom and see my face in the mirror, I’m surprised you didn’t fall out of love with me. My nose is bright red, cheeks splotchy and still stinging from those slaps. Red-rimmed eyes with mascara running down both my cheeks. Hair a frizzy mess. I grab some soap and scrub my face, then put my hair into a ponytail. When I go back out, it’s just you waiting for me in the kitchen.
“Come on.” You take my hand and lead me to your bedroom.
We lie down, two spoons curved against each other, and you hold me while I try to make sense of everything.
“Has stuff like this happened before?”
I sigh. “Not like this. I’ve been slapped before, but not that hard. But the way she was shaking me…”
I grip your hands, happy to have this Gavin tonight. You’re protective and sweet and I love you for everything you said and did. Why can’t you be this Gavin all the time? I feel horrible for crushing on Gideon. I don’t deserve you. Maybe I never did.
I turn around so that I can look into your eyes.
“I ruined your birthday,” I say, my voice cracking.
“No you didn’t. Baby, come here.” You wrap your arms around me. “This has been the best year of my life, being with you. All this shit with your parents will be over once you graduate.”
I think about how many times you’ve been there for me when I’m dealing with stuff at home. All the late-night phone calls and songs and little presents. You, climbing through my window, taking me on adventures. I don’t know how I would have survived my mom and The Giant this year without you.
“Hey, I have something that might make you happy.” You open the drawer in your bedside table and take out a bottle of pills. You shake it in front of me. “Meds. For depression. You were right.”
I lean forward and kiss you. This, this right here is why I can’t give up on us. Gideon is probably just a silly little crush. How could I possibly kill what we have for something that probably wouldn’t last anyway?
“I’ll never let anyone hurt you again,” you murmur against my lips.
Safe. For the first time in a long time I feel safe with you.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my eyes welling up.
“For what?”
“I don’t know. Everything.”
Gideon. My parents. Not having faith in you.
You press your lips against my forehead.
“It’s all right now,” you say. “Everything’s gonna be all right.”
I wish I could believe you.
*
I GET HOME before my curfew. I left my phone at home so I have no idea if my mom’s been trying to call me. I don’t even have my keys. I try the front door—locked.
Fuck.
I ring the doorbell, hoping it doesn’t wake Sam up. About a minute later, my mom opens the door. Her hair is wet and she’s in her bathrobe. I feel nervous and defiant and tired. So tired. But I’ve mentally prepared myself for this fight. If she wants to have it, I’ll go out swinging.
“Sit down,” she says, pointing to the dining room table.
I’m scared. I try to remind myself that I’m eighteen, that they can’t control me like they used to. I could walk out right now and there’s not a thing they could do about it. Courage, dear heart.
The Giant’s already there, a vodka tonic in hand. I pull out a chair and fall into it and I’m literally shaking because there’s something very final about the way he’s looking at me and my mom won’t meet my eyes.
“I want you out of here,” The Giant says.
“I don’t under—”
“The last day you live under my roof is graduation. Then you’re gone.”
I stare at him. “But … where will I go? I don’t start school until August. I don’t even know where I’m going to school.”
“Not my problem,” he says.
I look at Mom. “Is this for real?”
She just looks at me.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I yell.
“Keep your voice down,” she growls. “If you wake up your brother, you’re the one who has to be up with him all night. I just got him down.”
“This is insane,” I say. “You’re insane. The baseboards were clean, I had a date—”
“She told you to come back,” The Giant says.
“You weren’t even here,” I say. “You don’t know what happened.”
“Did your mother tell you to come back inside?”
“Yes, but she was slapping me, and Gavin—”
“Did you go back inside?”
“No,” I say, soft.
“Then this is on you,” The Giant says.
I stand up, fast, and all the anger that’s been in me ever since we moved here comes pouring out, shaping itself into words.
“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG.”
The Giant raises his hand. It’s inches from my face, ready to slap me. Mom lets out an inarticulate cry, but for once I’m not scared. This time, I want him to hit me. I want to call this giant’s bluff.
“Go ahead,” I say, gripping the edge of the table. I smile, tilt my chin so my cheek is in prime slapping position. “Hit me. I’d love it if you did.”
Because then I could call the police. I could tell the school. He’d be the one in trouble for a change.
We stare at each other. His eyes are a watery brown—diarrhea, dirt. His lip curls into a sneer, more comic villain than true terror.
“You’re grounded,” he says.
I throw back my head and laugh and laugh.
All this time I never realized: he isn’t a giant at all. Roy is just a man with one trick up his sleeve.
And it’s played out.
THIRTY-TWO
For the first time in days I feel happy. Natalie told me this morning that she talked to her mom and I get to come live with her this summer. Nat’s mom didn’t blink an eye when she asked if I could stay. Of course, she said, as if it hadn’t even been necessary to ask. There is no yelling in Nat’s house, no demands, no strings. Just a lot of love and good food and laughter. I can’t wait.
“I love how The Giant’s plan totally backfired,” Lys says. She does a fake karate kick and slices her arm in the air. “Take that, bitch.”
Nat grins. “Score one for Grace.”
I’m almost glad things went down like they did. I feel like I have this enormous weight off my shoulders. All day I go through my classes in a daze. The countdown begins. Two and a half months until graduation.
It’s the end of the school day and I’m loading up on books from my locker when a paper triangle falls to the ground—thick and folded with care. A letter from Gideon. The paper burns my fingers and all I want to do is read it, but I can’t keep you waiting. I tuck it into my jacket pocket, then think better of that—what if it falls out? What if you find it? I should throw it away, not read it because he’s not my boyfriend, but I bury the letter in the middle of my French book, then shove that into my backpack.
Not that I have anything to hide.