I shake my head—my stomach is too tight to be hungry.
“Well, I’m going to make you something, and you’re going to eat it.” He gets up from the table and moves in front of the stove, turning on the front burner. While the pan is heating up, he glances at me from over his shoulder. “How did you sleep?”
His mouth curves upward.
My mouth becomes dry, suddenly remembering where I spent the night. “It was—” But no words want to come out.
Uncle Jasper throws me the smallest smile, letting me know he’s messing with me. “You’re lucky I trust you enough.”
I wish he didn’t say that.
Last night, I couldn’t even trust myself.
“I think you should trust Harper more than me,” I admit.
He looks at me before cracking an egg into the pan. “You underestimate yourself.”
“How can I trust myself, when it feels like I don’t know myself?”
I look away and listen as he fries an egg and butters a piece of toast. He sets the plate of food before me and sits down, catching my eye. “I know it feels like that sometimes. But it’s within those times when you find out who you really are. We all go through them.”
I stare down at the food on my plate, thinking about the mistake I made last night. Harper deserves better than me. “And what if I’m not someone good?”
“Kale, I’ve known you since you were four years old, ever since you wandered over here claiming you weren’t lost but exploring—”
“—I wasn’t lost—”
He chooses to ignore this. “—and during your whole life, I’ve never once seen you be anything but good. You make mistakes just like the rest of us, but you learn from them.” Then he asks, “When you do something you shouldn’t, do you regret it?”
I finally look up and say, “Yes.”
“Then why do you keep trying to believe otherwise?”
I don’t have an answer to that. Because it makes me feel less guilty? Less of a screw-up?
I pick up my fork and poke at the eggs. There’s no point trying to argue my way out of eating—I’ve tried it too many times to bother.
This feels like too normal of a morning—other than Uncle Jasper’s lack of smiles and sad attempts at joking—and it shouldn’t. There’s something major on both on our minds, and yet we try to have a regular breakfast like any other day.
I’m almost glad for it.
Having something normal makes it as though nothing not-normal is going to happen.
I’m halfway through my eggs when Harper walks into the kitchen. I try not to make it obvious that I’m watching her. My eyes follow her every move, forgetting about the food on my plate.
She pours herself a bowl of cereal and tries to find a spoon in the drawer—Uncle Jasper is horrible about putting them back in the right place. When she finally sits down across from me, I try to keep eating.
“Don’t forget to eat your toast,” Uncle Jasper comments.
I take a bite and shoot him a fake smile. Harper tries not to laugh from across the table.
Uncle Jasper starts talking about a car that will drop by today. I’m not sure which one of us he’s talking to, but it doesn’t seem to matter. We listen to him ramble, catching each other’s eye from across the table at odd moments.
I could sit here all day and be happy. But life likes to plays games with me.
Uncle Jasper suddenly stops talking and looks down the hallway toward the door. “I think someone’s here,” he says, standing up and finishing off his coffee in one swallow. He glances at us, still seated at the table. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he deadpans.
“We thought you liked answering the door,” I tell him, smiling pleasantly.
“Don’t be a smartass.”
Once he’s out the front door, I push my plate away. I can smell her from here—fresh, clean laundry and the deodorant she uses. “I’m sorry about last night,” I say. “Really. I wish I could take it back.”
“You wish you could take back kissing me?” she asks, smiling a little. “Am I really that bad?”
I resist rolling my eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“I know, and it’s okay.” Her eyes are sad again, the same way they looked last night. “I probably would have done the same thing. Did you tell your dad about—”
“No. I don’t want him to worry.” I’m thinking about it again. It waits there, in the back of my mind. My thoughts. Something that cannot be ignored. I hear myself say, “I don’t think I can do this much longer.”
“Do what?”
I stare at the table, trying to keep my hands from shaking.
The countdown within me is flashing double zeros. Flashing and flashing. Telling me it’s time. Telling me I can’t stall any longer.
“I can’t hold it back,” I say.
“Kale—” But the phone rings, cutting her off.
It rings and rings but she stares at me. I can see it again—the look she gets when she’s afraid I’m going to disappear.
“Are you going to get that?” I ask.
She hesitates and says, “Just don’t go anywhere, okay?”
Harper walks away without waiting for an answer.
For which I’m glad, because I can’t make promises.
38.
Harper
The moment I answer the phone, I wish I hadn’t, because the moment I hear Mom’s voice, I realize how much I miss her. Then I hate that I miss her.
“Harper,” she says.
I can’t seem to get enough air. It’s all around me, so why is it so hard to breathe? I almost hang up, but then my heart betrays me.
“Mom.”
She lets out a breath of relief. “It’s so good to hear your voice again,” she says. “Listen, Harper … I’ve been thinking a lot over the last few weeks and I realize I made a huge, huge mistake. I should have never left without you. I miss you too much.”
Her words hang in the air.
After so long of wishing she would change—be the person, and the mom, she was supposed to be and never was—I don’t feel happy like I imagined I would be. I don’t feel relieved or at all hopeful or even like we have another chance making ourselves a family again. That point has come and gone.
“Now?” I ask. “After all this time, you’re now realizing this?”
I can tell she’s taken back by this but recovers quickly. “I’m sorry. I just needed time to—”
“—time?” I shake my head, even though she can’t see me. Every night I cried myself to sleep, brewing anger toward her I’ve never fully felt. Now it’s all coming up at once. “You’ve had years … so why now? Why am I so important all of the sudden?”