“Okay, so that means you’re going to leave him, then, right?”
She doesn’t answer my question. Instead, she looks me straight in the eye and says, “You understand, don’t you? That’s why I pushed you so hard all this time. I came here with nothing. I wanted everything. And then, when you were born, I wanted everything for you.”
I think about this. Her life. Her choices. The pressures she’s put on me to be better than her. “You had no right to shame me for what I did with Dean.” I don’t know where this comes from, but I know it’s something I have to say. That I should have said months ago.
“Lower your voice, please.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s not fair. You can’t do what you’ve done and then go and judge me.”
“Viviana, please understand. That’s why it hurt so bad, to see you make that mistake. I wanted better for you. I’ve always known you could do better than I have.”
“I don’t know what to say to that.”
“Say that you understand. That you understand where I’m coming from.”
I don’t know that I can.
There’s a gentle knock at the door.
“Mama? Vivi? Can I come in?”
My mom looks at me.
I nod. “Let her in.”
She gets up and opens the door. “Yes, honey. You can. Come join us. We’re done talking for now.”
Mila climbs into my bed in between my mom and me. She doesn’t ask what we were talking about. She just cuddles in under the blankets and lets us rub her head. She falls asleep first, and then my mom follows soon after. I lie awake for a while, staring at these two people: my mother, my sister. My father may be gone from my world, but I still have them. They still love me.
I think about everything my mom told me. I want to be angry with her. But I also want to understand her.
I don’t know that I’ll ever understand.
I do know that I love her, even if I don’t agree with what she’s done.
I lean my head against the window. The sky turns dark, and the city lights up.
I’m home.
*
When I wake up the next morning, my bed is empty. I make my way to the front room, but no one’s there. I remember it’s a weekday. My mom’s at work and Mila’s at camp.
There’s a drawing on the table from Mila. It’s the three of us—my mom, Mila, and me—as stick figures. We’re holding hands on a line of grass. There are two rainbows over our heads and heart-shaped raindrops falling from the white puffy clouds in the sky.
My dad’s not anywhere in the drawing.
Mila’s right. She’s much smarter than any of us give her credit for.
I put the picture on the fridge.
Even though Evan must think I’m a hot mess, especially now that he has the whole story about my idiotic transgressions, he was right, I think.
I’m going to be okay.
And Mila’s going to be okay, too.
*
“Did you talk to him?”
“No. We just messaged.”
“What did he say?”
We’re sitting on Sammie’s balcony. We haven’t talked about our fight. I tried to start with that, but she just pulled me out here so we wouldn’t wake her mom.
Sammie reaches into her pocket and pulls out the phone. “Here.”
Virgo: Is this really Viviana?
Sammie: Please delete it.
Virgo: Evan didn’t believe me.
Sammie: Pleeeeeeeease delete it.
Virgo: I will. I promise.
I hand it back to her. She slides it into her pocket. “I deleted the photo, too.”
“Again.”
“Yes.”
“This is going to follow me the rest of my life, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know, Vivi.…”
“I’m sorry I make you crazy with my drama—”
Sammie takes my hand and squeezes it. “Stop. Just stop. We both said mean things.”
“Yes,” I say. “We did.”
“We’re both impulsive, okay? It’s what makes us us.”
I nod. “I talked to my mom.”
“You did?”
“Impulsively, yes.” I tell Sammie about the conversation. “I don’t know what’s going to happen with them, but I’m going to ask her to demand that my dad pay for me to go to therapy.”
“Oh?”
“I can’t keep dumping on you.”
“You can always dump on me, but I think it would help to have someone else—someone who knows what the hell they’re doing—”
“To help me figure out what the hell I’m doing,” I say.
“Exactly.”
“I agree completely.”
I get a text from my mom: I thought I should call you: Your father’s coming home early. He’ll be here tonight. I understand that you might want to stay at Sammie’s, but I do think you should talk. I won’t be home until later, but I can try to schedule a sleepover for Mila at her friend’s house. Let me know.
I show Sammie the message. “What do you think? Should I start figuring it out tonight?”
“It’s up to you.”
Yes, I text back. Do that. I want to see him.
*
My father’s obviously nervous. He’s doing that thing where he shifts his glasses on his face and then coughs and shifts them again.
“What did you want to talk to me about?”