? ? ?
SN: interesting fact of the day: in the days of the telegraph, people used to write in code too. how we do now with abbreviations. like ttyl. that sort of thing.
Me: I didn’t know that.
SN: I don’t know why, but I thought you’d appreciate the randomness of that.
Me: It’s cool that there are so many different ways to talk.
SN: EXACTLY.
CHAPTER 33
“So you need to talk to your dad,” Theo says as he throws me a green juice from the fridge before school. I have developed a taste for these potions, though not for juicing as a verb or, come to think of it, as a lifestyle. Unlike Theo, I still require food. Which is why this is not my breakfast; this is my appetizer.
“Why?” We are the only two in the vast kitchen, the only people home. Rachel and my dad both left hours ago. Rachel does prework Pilates. My dad has the early-morning shift. Soon he’ll take his exam, graduate to the position he had in Chicago.
“Because he’s your dad.”
“So?”
“How old are you?”
“Seriously, this coming from Mr. Temper Tantrum?” Turns out Theo did leave a soy sauce stain on the dining chair when he threw his fork. No matter: it is currently being reupholstered.
“One time, dude. I don’t do well with change.”
“Why do you care about me and my dad?” I sip my juice, imagine it cleaning up my insides, like a Clarisonic for my intestines. Yeah, drinking liquefied kale totally makes me smug.
“You’re bringing negative energy into this house. We have enough bad juju as it is.”
“Come on.”
“You don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. How long they’ll last. You only get two parents, and we’re each down to one. Better to be good to them while you can.” Theo grabs a wooden spoon, drums the counter. He can keep time. I wonder if there is anything he isn’t good at.
“Whatever.”
“Seriously. You’re starting to sound like one of us Wood Valley brats.”
“Fine.” Of course, Theo is right. Just like Scar was. I need to be better, stronger, more courageous. A ninja, but not really, since we need to talk, not fight.
“Fine, what?”
“Fine, I’ll talk to him.”
“Good. Glad we had this chat.” He chucks me under the chin, like this is the 1950s and I’m his son who hit a homer in a Little League game.
“You are a ridiculous human being. Do you know that?” I ask.
“I’ve been called worse.”
? ? ?
Me: Fine. Let’s talk. Nice move deploying Theo.
Dad: Didn’t deploy Theo, but happy you want to talk. This has been TORTURE. I MISS YOU.
Me: Now you’re the one being a little melodramatic.
Dad: I read a parenting book, hoping it could help. It was total crap.
Me: What did it say?
Dad: To give you some space.
Me: Hmm. Probably didn’t factor in the size of the house.
Dad: When can we talk? Where?
And it has come to this: my dad and I need to schedule our make-up. I remember how normal things used to be between us. Not only normal, but natural. Before, you know, before, my mom would cook us dinner each night and we’d all sit around the table and chat. We had a game where we’d each share one thing that had happened since the night before, and I remember I used to save up anecdotes—that Mr. Goodman called on me in chem and I didn’t know the answer, that the Smoothie Bandit had come back to the King and nicked some kid’s drink, that Scar and I were partners for the science fair and we wanted to build a volcano because it’s fun to occasionally be cliché. I remember I would sift through my day, like picking a filter for a photo, and choose the story I wanted to present to my parents like an offering. Not unlike SN and our three things, come to think of it.
What would my mom want to know about the last twenty-four hours? Maybe I’d have told her about the kale juice. Or SN’s message this morning, counting the number of minutes till we’re going to meet. Or best of all, Ethan’s I think you should say no, which I haven’t stopped replaying on a loop in my head. Six perfect words.
Then again, maybe not. Maybe I’d have kept that nugget just for myself.
Me: I dunno. Later?
Dad: Deal.
—
“Jessie, you mind staying for a minute?” Mrs. Pollack asks me after English, and my stomach drops. What did I do this time? According to Crystal, Gem’s out with a stomach flu and is “like, you know, puking her guts out, hashtag jealous,” so the day has been uneventful, which is a relief, since I’m in a striped cotton dress that I’m sure would have made me a perfect target. A little girlier than I normally wear, but damn, it’s hot here.