But my mouth goes dry; my heart stops. I don’t know if my body is telling me not to do it or if I’m just too much of a coward to say what needs to be said. The sad thing is, it’s just easier to stay together. To not shake things up. To not shatter your heart.
I don’t want to be a murderer. I don’t want to be the girl who pushed you back into that bathtub. I am so messed up right now, it’s not even funny. I can almost understand why Dad escapes with his drugs and those bottles of scotch. I want to be numb now, too.
I dry off and get dressed and you’re waiting for me in the living room and you’re holding a jewelry box with a ribbon wrapped around it.
“What’s this?” I say.
You press it into my hand. “Why don’t you find out?”
Inside is a brand-new shiny key.
You shove your hands into your pockets, your telltale nervous gesture. “I was hoping … Grace, I want you to move in. We could box up your stuff this weekend—”
“This weekend?”
You run your hands down my arms. “Baby, we have to get you out of that house. They already kicked you out for the summer. Are you seriously going to stay there until June? Your mom beat you—”
“She didn’t beat me and also, Gav, I’m in high school.”
“You’re eighteen. Listen, I can drive you to school and pick you up. I’m sure Nat can give you rides to rehearsal and stuff. I can get more shifts at Guitar Center and instead of paying rent to The Giant, you can chip in here if you want. I’ve got it all figured out.” You rest your lips against my forehead. “Move in with me.”
I imagine waking up to you every morning. Cooking eggs for you in my pajamas. Making love without worrying about getting caught. Playing house. All it does is make me dizzy, like I’m on that horrible carnival ride that spins like a top and I need to get off, I need to get off right now.
I slide out of your arms. “I can’t, Gav.”
You stare at me, confused. “Yes, you can. Don’t you see? You don’t need permission from anyone. You won’t get grounded or in trouble or any of it ever again. I made it so you’re free. I told you I’d never let anyone hurt you and I meant it.”
“I know,” I say gently. “And I love you so much for protecting me. I do. But, Gav, I need to be a high schooler right now. I don’t want to be the girl who ran away from home and lives with her boyfriend.”
“Why not?”
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold. “It would feel so … I don’t know. I’d feel weird.”
“Weird,” you say, your voice flat. “I just got an apartment for us and made love to you in our bed and you feel weird.”
“It’s not our—”
“Yes it is!” you explode. “Everything I do is for you, don’t you get that?”
See, that’s the thing. You say these perfect lines—and you really mean them. It’s not bullshit.
“I do get it,” I say, quiet.
I am so bad at loving you.
“So you’d rather live with those fuckers and be their slave than be here, with me?”
You’re angry. Furious.
“No, it’s not like that,” I say.
A year ago I thought I wanted a Serious Relationship. But I don’t think I do anymore. I want sleepovers with my friends and drinking Gideon’s champagne and random dance parties where I can get down with whoever I want.
But: If you break up with me, I swear to God I’ll kill myself.
I rest my hand against your chest. I can feel every bit of your anger, your frustration.
“It’s just really intense,” I say softly.
You relax a little.
“Explain,” you say, your voice surprisingly gentle.
“I just … Everything’s happening so fast. I thought I’d never get to senior year and suddenly it’s, like, boom, real life. You know?”
“Look, Grace, if you want to wait until you graduate, we can wait.” You sigh. “It’s been a year. I can wait a few more months.”
“Actually … I’m moving in with Nat for the summer.”
“What the fuck, Grace?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know you got an apartment. Her mom said it was cool and—”
“So tell them you changed your mind.”
Late nights with Nat and Lys watching movies, gorging on sugar, laughing so hard we can barely breathe.
“I need to think about it,” I say.
You yank the key out of my hand and shove it into your pocket. “Fine.”
“Gavin. Come on.”
“You’re going to be late,” you say and you’re walking out the door and I follow you down the stairs. Of course this is the one day I need to be at the theater by four.
We don’t talk the whole way to the theater and when you screech to a stop in front of it, you barely look at me as I say good-bye.
I’m not worried. You’ll text me, penitent. Maybe sneak into my bedroom after my mom and Roy are asleep. Or you’ll be waiting outside tomorrow morning with doughnuts and coffee and kisses that make promises. I know you, Gavin. I know you think it’s enough.
But it’s not. Not anymore.
THIRTY-THREE
My mom and I are at Lucky Dragon Chinese, just the two of us. I can’t remember the last time we did something like this. Ever since Roy decided to kick me out she’s been acting weird. As in, she’s being nice. And not yelling half as much. And giving me permission to go out and do stuff. It makes me sad. Why couldn’t it have always been like this?
It’s a Wednesday night, nothing special, but she had a friend watch Sam and left Roy a plate of leftovers. We’re having dinner before I have to be at the theater.
Come on, she said, standing in the doorway of my bedroom. We’re having a girls’ night.
“I can’t believe you’re almost a high school graduate,” she says as she bites into a spring roll. “A little over two months away.”
Are we really going to just sit here and pretend that the slap night and me getting kicked out didn’t happen?
“I know. It’s kinda crazy.”
I’ve been waiting so long for graduation that I’m kind of reeling, being so close to it. I wish we had the kind of relationship where I could talk to her about that, where she’d tell me about her anxiety when she was graduating from high school.
“When will you find out what schools you got into?” she asks.
“Any day now—they said by early April.”
I’ve been obsessively checking my email, but so far I haven’t heard a thing. You’ve already filled out the paperwork for UCLA, so we’re waiting to hear back from them, too. It feels weird, continuing to go through with our LA plans when I don’t even know if we’ll make it through the summer.