But then he found an apartment in a neighborhood ten minutes away, and there was a good deal on the rent, and he signed the papers and came home one night with a bunch of collapsed cardboard boxes under his arm and disappeared upstairs without saying anything.
The apartment was a two-bedroom, so Maya guessed the conversation about whether she and Lauren would have separate bedrooms was out of the question. “Can you have dogs in your building?” she asked him one night, leaning against the doorjamb while he placed books in a half-open box. Maya had always wanted a dog, but her mom said that they shed and drooled and barfed on the rug. “So did Lauren, but you kept her,” Maya had pointed out more than once, but the joke had worn thin by now and she had stopped asking for a dog.
“No pets, unfortunately,” her dad said. “Maybe a goldfish?”
“Goldfish don’t have such a great track record at our house,” Maya pointed out, then watched as her dad stood on his tiptoes to reach the books from the highest shelf. When she had been little, she had thought that he was the tallest man in the world. When she would wake up in the middle of the night now, she always thought that at least her dad was in the house, that he would always be able to frighten any burglar, bear, monster.
She wasn’t used to seeing him look so small now, reaching with his fingertips for the book at the far edge of the shelf. It made her hate him suddenly, hate him for leaving so fast, so soon, like he couldn’t wait to get away from all of them.
She wondered if he knew that there was currently a bottle of room-temperature sauvignon blanc in one of the dresser drawers. She wondered if she should tell him. Would he still move out? Would he take her and Lauren with him? Who would watch out for her mom if that happened?
The day he left, Maya had planned to meet up with Grace and Joaquin. They’d agreed to meet every Sunday—that was their plan. Maya couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before someone couldn’t make it, until someone had something better to do, better people to see. She wondered when the novelty of having new siblings would wear off. And then they’d drift apart just as easily as they had come together.
Her money was on Grace bailing first. That girl seemed nervous all the time. Typical only child, Maya thought. Used to having everything for herself, not wanting to share. Then she felt terrible for thinking that about someone who had only ever been nice to her.
Maya wasn’t sure why, but she could feel a spiral of darkness starting to weave around the people she loved. Lauren grated on her nerves, to be sure, but now it had a sharp edge of annoyance to it, the edge of an envelope that caught your fingers when you slit it open, slicing deeper each time. Her mom—Maya could barely look at her without thinking of all the bottles that were currently in their house, both obvious and hidden, the contents of all of them dwindling at a steady, fast pace. Her dad—he was weak for leaving, and for forcing Maya and Lauren to pick up the pieces behind him.
The worst, though, was Claire. Maya loved her with all her heart, loved every single cell of Claire’s body like it was a puzzle made only for her to put together, but Maya was starting to feel like she could easily rearrange those pieces, too, smash her fist down on the finished picture and scatter everything to the wind, leaving nothing but the shards of who Claire had been with her in her wake.
Maya had never realized how much power there was in loving someone. At first, she thought it was a source of strength, but now she was realizing that, in the wrong hands, on the wrong day, that power was strong enough to destroy the very thing that had built it. Maya looked at Claire and wanted to say, “Run away, get out while you can,” but instead she said nothing and felt the dark vine swirl up around her, trapping her legs, keeping her in the same place while everyone else seemed to only drift farther away.
When Maya’s dad moved out, she thought she would cry.
She didn’t.
Lauren did, though, huge gulping sobs like when she had been little and infuriated that Maya wouldn’t play with her. Lauren was the baby, after all. She was used to getting her way.
But their dad just packed up the car with his clothes and boxes and books, then came over and hugged Lauren tight, whispering something into her hair before letting her go and embracing Maya. The vines held her steady, though, keeping her quiet and immobile as her dad whispered into her hair, too. “I love you so much,” he said. “I’ll see you soon. I’ll call you tonight. I love you, I love you.”
Maya felt herself nod against his chest, then pulled back. The whole thing felt so forced, so cheesy. She half wondered if she was starring in a movie, or dreaming, or maybe even dreaming about starring in a movie. Behind her, she could feel the presence of her mom standing on the porch, watching the scene with her bathrobe still clutched tightly around her. Maya knew she was hungover by the way she winced against the sunlight, the way her shoulders seemed pulled too tight against her robe.
She wondered if the sauvignon blanc was still in the dresser, or if it was all gone now.
Maya’s dad tried to hold on to her, but she just kept stepping back until her feet hit the porch’s front step. Next to her, Lauren was wiping at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, and all Maya could think was, Gross.
“Take care of your sister,” her dad said, and then she could see his own chin wobbling. She had seen her dad cry before, of course, but that had been during movies or really sad TV commercials, not during real life. She wondered if he had cried when he’d first seen Maya, or Lauren, or even their mom. Probably not on that last one. That would be super weird to date a guy who cried when he first saw you. Maya hoped her mom had had better sense than that.
“My,” Lauren said, nudging her out of her thoughts.
“What?”
Lauren pointed toward her dad, who was handing them both a package. “Oh,” Maya said, then took it from him.
“You can open it after I leave,” he said. “I just want you to remember me, that’s all.”
“You’re not dying,” Maya said. She meant to sound funny, to ease the mood, but her words sounded sharp, like not dying was an accusation instead of a good thing. “You’re just moving out. We could have dinner with you tonight, even.”
She waited for him to say, Have dinner with me tonight.
He didn’t.
Instead, he kissed them good-bye one more time, his unshaved cheek scratchy against Maya’s, and then climbed into his car and drove away. Lauren waved, but Maya didn’t. A trail of blues floated across her mind as his car turned the corner, drifting away and then disappearing, just like him.
“Girls,” her mom started to say, but Maya just brushed past her and went back inside. She didn’t want a speech from her, not now, not ever.