“I see.” Did he really? I doubted it. “So you felt that going to band practice was more important than proving yourself reliable and responsible?”
I sighed into the phone. “Dad, I’ve been cooped up in the house or sweating my behind off pulling plants for weeks now. I thought I deserved a little reprieve, and I knew there was no way anyone here”—I glared in Belén’s direction—“was going to give me permission, so I went. It was wrong. I know that. But I did it anyway.”
And I’m not sorry, I added silently. Well, I was sorry I had lied and let them down. But I wasn’t sorry that I’d had fun for the first time in ages, or that I was making a new friend to start to fill that Ashlyn-sized hole in my chest.
“I see,” Dad repeated. This was the moment of truth as far as I was concerned. Was he going to let Belén’s influence completely zombie-fy him, or would he come back from the brink of destruction?
“Tatum, I really want to trust you, and I know it’s unpleasant to have to refuse an offer from a friend, but tonight, you chose the unsafe option. What if something had happened to you? What if you’d gotten a flat tire or had an accident? No one knew where you were. You may think this isn’t a big deal, but I refuse to compromise when it comes to your safety.”
“I had my phone! I would have called if I needed help. Or Abby would have,” I protested.
Dad sighed into the receiver. “Your mother and I—”
I winced at his slip. “Stop right there, Dad. She is not, has never been, and never will be my mother.” I slammed the phone down on the table, hoping it disconnected.
“Tatum.” Belén remained calm and collected, hands clasped around her mug. “I think we should—” But I didn’t want to hear what she thought. Dad had made it perfectly clear that I was incapable of making the correct decision, and I didn’t need her to reiterate it for me.
“I think we’ve talked enough.” I stared at her, half-daring her to challenge me. I expected her to stand up to her full height and try to intimidate me, but she just sat there, knuckles growing paler the longer she gripped her mug. For a moment, it seemed her face had begun to droop, and I was sure her eye was twitching again. There was no way Belén could be bothered by what just went down. Right? I shook my head. Impossible.
Chapter 10
I couldn’t be in the same room with her, so I left. When I reached my room, I slammed the door so hard that the walls shook, and I heard a loud thud in the next room, like something had fallen and broken. It felt like I had done an awful lot of door-slamming this summer.
I knew my dad would call back and want to talk again. I told myself I wouldn’t take his call. Not until he came home, if I could last that long. Maybe this was a test to see which one of us would crack first.
I opened my laptop to check my email, hoping for a distraction, but the only message was from my dad, sent two minutes ago. Great. I looked at it cautiously, as if the words might physically hurt me.
Sweetheart,
I love you. No matter what, we’ll get through this.
Chin up,
Dad
Was it easier for him to be optimistic because he was so far away? Because there was no other way to wrap my head around his words. I kept making the wrong choices, and he and Belén kept adding them up. I squeezed my eyes shut, releasing a few tears and a low, guttural growl.
I flung myself onto my bed. The covers flew up around me and a pillow fell to the floor. The tears pooling in my eyes leaked down my cheeks, and ugly sobs sent shudders through my body, right down to my feet. I shoved my face into the remaining pillow so Blanche or Tilly didn’t hear me wailing. I cried until my pillow was damp with salty tears and the sheet stuck to my face. I cried until my lungs ached from the heaving and my body was sore from the stress. I remained splayed on the bed, submitting to the exhaustion.
My email dinged, and my eyes jolted open. I rolled over and checked my phone to see it was just past four a.m. I must have dozed off. I stood up, dizzy for a moment, and walked to my desk. My email inbox was open on the screen when I typed in my password, and there, to my surprise, was an email from SK.
Hi Tate,
Sorry for the delayed response to our last email. I’m actually in Ireland with my family right now and haven’t had technology for a while. It’s driving me to the brink, especially since my dad keeps teasing me about how “kids these days” can’t go anywhere without checking our phones every five seconds.
I snorted. I’d just confirmed that theory myself by responding to the notification so quickly.
So I know we’d talked about having some kind of media files on the site. I have videos from school concerts, but I don’t think they really represent who I am. I will have better stuff though, probably by the end of the summer, so stay tuned. I did, however, manage to steal my cousin’s laptop and record a couple of songs for you. I had to save them onto a flash drive and walk ten miles uphill in the snow to an internet cafe to send you this email. Okay, maybe not that far, but my grandparents are still living in the Stone Age. Anyway, let me know what you think. They’re some of my favorite pieces—I hope that’s obvious when you listen.
Out of curiosity, do you have a lot of clients? Is business going well? You don’t have to tell me. But I hope it is.
Le gach beannacht,
SK
P.S.—that means “with every blessing,” which is cheesy, but it’s how my grandmother signs letters. A little bit of Ireland for you.
For the first time since I got home, I smiled. How was it that a total stranger, someone I’d never met, who only knew me from the words and images I’d shared across the internet, cared enough to ask how something important to me was going? And how was it that the people who supposedly knew me—my best friend, my father, my stepmother, my stepsister—struggled to think one tiny, positive thought about me?
Dear SK,
Because what he’d written was dear to me.
Thank you for the music. I’m going to listen right now, as I’m getting ready for bed. Had a rough night, so I’m hoping hearing you play will pick me up a bit. I’m jealous that you’re off in a magical place and I’m stuck here at home, nowhere to go. I’d love to visit Ireland one day. Or anywhere, actually. My dad travels all over the world for work; maybe wanderlust is genetic. Send me a picture? Maybe we can put it on your site.
Since I don’t have a clever valediction in a foreign language to one-up you, I’m just going to say good night.
Tate
I sent it off and immediately downloaded SK’s cello files to my computer. Just as I was hovering over the file titled Bach Chaconne, ready to click and listen, my email dinged again.
Why did you have a rough night? Do I need to make a phone call and have someone’s kneecaps destroyed? Because I could do that, you know.