I guess not.
“No,” I say, twisting around to place the spatula in the dishwasher. I’m not lying. Sure, Ethan drove me home last Friday and updated me on his life, but that doesn’t mean we’ve reconnected. It’s not like we hang out at school or anything. We barely even see each other, and the odd time we do cross paths, we nod at each other like we’re vague acquaintances.
Reconnection has definitely not transpired.
My mother runs her dishcloth under the tap for the tenth time, rinsing out soap that’s no longer there. “What about Ethan?” she asks. The forced nonchalance in her tone has sharpened to an anxious edge.
“What about him?”
She folds the cloth and drapes it over the tap. “Well, he drives you home from school, so naturally I assumed you’ve become friends with him again.”
“He drove me home from school. Once. And that doesn’t mean we’ve become friends again.”
“Mom?” Tobias says from the table, where he’s still sitting, watching us and listening. “Can I have more apple juice?”
Mom doesn’t take her eyes from me. “One sec, bud.”
“So what if Ethan and I did become friends again?” I shut the dishwasher with a bang. “What difference does it make?”
She looks away, sweeping a lock of hair off her forehead. “We discussed this before school started, Dara. Your dad and I think it would be best if you left Ethan alone for now. It’s a sensitive situation and emotions are probably still running high . . .” She sighs and faces me again, leaning her hip against the edge of the counter. “We’re also concerned that spending time with Ethan might undo some of the progress you’ve made this year. He’s all wrapped up with Aubrey and what happened and—”
“Of course he is,” I cut in. “He’s her brother. Was. And a lot of things are wrapped up with Aubrey and what happened. Do you expect me to avoid every single thing connected to her? I can’t live in denial anymore. I won’t.”
“Mom?” Tobias says again. “I want more juice, please.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. Look, I know you want to face things, and we’re proud of you for that. We just think it might be beneficial for you to move forward instead of falling back into the life you had . . . before. Why don’t you try making some new friends?”
“Friends?” I barked out a laugh. “You think I can make friends in that school, Mom? People look at me like I’m a ticking time bomb. They think if they so much as say hi to me, I’m going to freak out and push them in front of a truck.”
She winces and turns pale. Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have been so harsh. And I do understand her concern. Still, I can’t seem to help myself this morning. Since the second I woke up, I’ve been frustrated and pissed off and spoiling for a fight.
“Dara, honey,” she says gently. “I think we may need help working through this. How about we schedule a family session with Dr. Lemke?”
“Why? So the three of you can band together and dope me up again so you don’t have to deal with me? No, thanks.”
Mom’s cheeks go from ashen to bright pink. “Dara.”
“I really, really need some more apple juice over here,” Tobias says loudly.
Unable to contain my frustration, I whirl around to face my brother. “Get it yourself, Tobias!”
His face crumples, and I immediately regret lashing out at him.
“Tobias, I’m sorry,” I say, taking a step toward him. Before I can get any closer, he jumps up from his chair and runs out of the kitchen.
I give Tobias an hour or so to cool off before I approach him again. He’s sitting on the living room floor in front of the TV, playing a video game. I say his name, but he doesn’t even look at me. “I’m busy,” he says, his mouth set in a scowl.
I stand there for a minute longer, in case he changes his mind and decides to forgive me. When he doesn’t, I return to my room and try to do some math homework. But I’m too agitated to concentrate on sinusoidal graphs right now, so I take a shower instead. That doesn’t help either.
“I’m going for a walk.”
Mom looks up from the pile of wet laundry she’s tossing into the dryer and studies my face. My shower didn’t do much to improve my haggard appearance.
“Did you talk to your brother?” she asks.
“I tried to, but he’s still mad at me.”
She frowns. “He just needs some time.”
This is Mom’s answer for everything. Time, the ultimate cure-all.
“I’ll be back in an hour or so,” I tell her, backing out of the laundry room.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere. I just . . . need some air.”
She continues to watch me, even as she shuts the dryer and turns it on. “Okay. Bring your phone.”
I nod and then turn to leave before I open my big mouth to remind her that I’m seventeen, not seven, and that I can handle going for a walk on my own. After our altercation in the kitchen earlier, I probably shouldn’t push it.
As I walk, I think about Tobias and start to cry. Why did I yell at him? He was only trying to stop Mom and me from fighting. Conflict makes Tobias feel anxious. When he was really small and our parents would have one of their rare arguments, he’d find me, crawl into my lap with his blanket, and sit there quietly until the bickering stopped. Just thinking about that now, the way he tucked his hard little head into my chest and relied on me for security, makes me feel ten times worse.
I miss the way it used to be, when my brother ran to me instead of running away.
My nose is dripping. I pause and dig out a tissue, wiping my eyes first and then my nose. A woman driving by in her minivan stares at me, the strange girl blubbering on the sidewalk, but I’m used to being stared at by now. Curious looks from classmates and strangers, uneasy glances from my family and therapists . . . Being watched and evaluated is the most human contact I get these days.
In fact, since I came back home, the only person who hasn’t either ignored me or treated me like a dangerous, unpredictable zoo animal is Ethan. The same Ethan who has more reason than anyone to steer clear and judge me from afar.
We practice on Saturday and Sunday afternoons at Hunter’s house, he told me in his car last week. Sixty-three Cambridge Drive.