But I don’t follow her. Not right away.
I’m used to ending up in all sorts of odd places—a trailer park in Sedona, a shacklike cottage near a beach in Costa Rica infested by tiny lizards (which, thankfully, ate the not-so-tiny bugs), a gorgeous jewel box of a studio apartment in Prague. My life has been a series of poorly timed moves for as long as I can remember. But something about this place has me pausing.
“You know my parents would let you live with us back in Westport,” Olivia whispers when I don’t get out of the car. “We have plenty of room, and they’re never around enough for you to even bother them. You don’t have to move. Or live here. I mean, it’s less than a year until you’re eighteen, and I know we could convince your mom—”
I shake my head before she can say anything more. It’s not that her offer isn’t tempting. It is—too tempting. For the last week I’ve been hoping Olivia would offer this exact thing, but now that she’s holding out a different future like a lifeline, I can’t seem to grab hold. I see the way my mom’s slight shoulders are swallowed up by her coat, the way her hands clench nervously as she supervises the driver unloading our bags, and I know I need to stay.
“You really want to spend our senior year here?” Olivia asks, surprise clear in her expression.
“No.” I shake my head. Of course I don’t. But I’d been stupid to think our life in Westport could last. For the first time since I could remember, I’d felt almost at home somewhere. With Olivia’s friendship as a shield, I never had to prove myself like I had in so many other places. I’d almost felt like I finally belonged.
But even if I could convince my mom to let me go back with Olivia—which is more than doubtful—I can’t just leave her.
“She doesn’t have anyone else,” I explain to Olivia for the thousandth time. And neither do I.
“You can’t give up your life for her, Gwen.” Olivia’s voice is gentle, like it always is when she makes this argument.
And I get it, but . . . “I know. I won’t,” I say, trying to convince myself as much as her. “But I need to make sure she’s settled here. I have to know she’s okay before I leave.”
Olivia stares at me with those bottle-green eyes that see more than most give her credit for. “Your mom might never be okay,” she says gently. “What about college?”
I have no idea. “I have a year to figure that out,” I tell her, which is what I’ve also been trying to tell myself. “A year to get her ready.”
Olivia frowns, like she wants to say something more, but she doesn’t. She knows me well enough to know when not to push.
There’s nothing else I can say, so I give Olivia a shrug and get out of the taxi. The air is thick, and the rain feels cool against my cheeks. Even though the driver has already started to take our bags to the front porch, my mom hasn’t moved to follow him. She’s staring up at the dark facade of the house, like she doesn’t even notice the heavy drops falling from the gray sky.
“Why don’t you go wait on the porch, and I’ll help with the bags?” I say, nudging her gently in the direction of the house. Her eyes are tight with worry when they meet mine, and for a moment I think she’ll argue. But she doesn’t. Instead, she fishes some crumpled pound notes out of her purse and offers them to me before she shuffles toward the house.
As the driver returns from depositing the last load of our luggage, Olivia still doesn’t look like she’s going to get out of the car. With her dad’s credit card in her wallet, she could be at the airport and on a first-class flight back to her own life before I even unpack. Our whole friendship could be nothing more than a story about this girl I once knew, and I wouldn’t blame her at all. It’s what people do, isn’t it? They move on. They forget.
But a second later, Olivia surprises me by climbing out of the car’s dry interior. She hitches up her hood and gives me an impish grin before running for the rusted gate. Even with the rain soaking me, I can’t help but laugh.
By the time I’ve paid the driver and I’m ready to follow them up the wide steps to the arching front porch, my jacket is completely soaked and my short hair is plastered to my head. But with Olivia waiting, somehow I don’t feel quite as cold.
“Ready?” my mom asks once the taxi disappears around the corner. Her hands tremble at her sides, like she’s having second thoughts about knocking. Or maybe she’s just waiting for my approval. Usually, we’d be in this together, but this time I haven’t been able to fake it. This time I don’t want to.
“It’ll be fine,” my mom says as she knocks on the heavy door. Her voice sounds like she’s swallowed something bitter and hard that hasn’t quite worked its way down her throat. And I can’t tell who the words are meant for. “We’re safe,” she whispers to herself.