He looks away, tearing up.
“These past three years, it’s just been . . . It’s been hard. Mom was . . . sometimes she just wasn’t there.” I’d never admitted this to anyone, but on some days, I wanted to shake her, wanted to shake her so she’d look at me and see that she still had a daughter right there in front of her.
Dad’s full-on crying now, the tears shining in his beard. “Your mother is a good woman, Beth. A good mother.”
Not while Sam was gone, I want to say. But my flash of anger softens, and I know he’s right.
“Some people aren’t really cut out to be parents,” Dad continues. “But she is. And she did all the hard work. The saying no. The discipline. I just wanted to be the good guy. The fun dad.”
We don’t talk for a few minutes, but I can tell he has more to say. When he gets the tears under control, he sniffles, then says, “I’m a little afraid of you. Of her. Because when I look at you both, I see what a failure I am. I see you, and you’re a smart, strong young woman, and none of that comes from me.” He takes a deep breath. “And it hurts me. I may be an adult, but I have my pride. Sometimes I . . . can’t face the truth about myself.” He looks up again, wiping his eyes.
Something spills open inside me. Like that day, years ago, when I thought Sam was never coming back. But this feeling is different. It’s like a warmth spreading around.
“Dad . . . Is Sam going to be okay?” I ask.
He stares at me for a few seconds, like he’s searching his brain for the right answer. “I hope so, honey. But I know one thing. He needs you. He needs his big sister. Maybe more than anyone.”
This is what Shelley said, what Mom says. But I still don’t know how I can help him. I’m just trying to get through each day. Whatever happened to Sam—there’s no how-to guide for us to consult.
My cell phone pings a message, and I know it’s probably Mom, awake now, wondering where we are. “I better get going,” I say.
“Oh, okay,” he says, and I can hear the disappointment in his voice. “But can I . . . Can I hug you first?”
Yes, I think. Of course. To touch him, to smell him even, would feel so good, I know. But I make him wait a few seconds before I actually say “Yes.”
We both stand and he embraces me, gently, and yes, it feels so good. Something I wish I had from him every day for the rest of my life. After a few seconds I pull away. “I’m still mad,” I say, though inside all I feel is warmth.
“Okay,” he says, nodding, wiping his eyes with his hand.
“But I didn’t . . . I wanted to see you. I’m not sure when I’ll see you again.”
“Can I . . . can I call you?”
“Yes,” I say, breathing deeply. I want another hug, but I have to leave. “Have a safe trip back.” I walk past the bed covered with all those horrible clippings. I open the door.
He says, “I love you.”
I pause. I look back at him, standing in that room, waiting. “I love you, too,” I say, and then I’m gone.
While waiting for the elevator, a door opens down the hall and two old people come out. They smile at me as they approach.
“You have a nice Thanksgiving?” the man asks.
“It was okay,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t crack.
“Where you visiting from?” the lady asks.
“Oh,” I say. “I’m here seeing my mom. My dad and I—we live in Ohio.”
“How nice,” she says.
“Family should be together over the holidays,” the man says.
The elevator arrives and we ride down in silence. Once we get to the ground floor, I get out and the man says to me, “Have fun with your momma.”
“Thanks, I will,” I say, and it’s nice, I think, these brief few moments when I was a different person, a different Beth, who had a whole different life.
But when I get outside, when I get in the car, when Aunt Shelley starts driving, I know I belong in this life. With Mom and Earl and Shelley. With my father. With my friends. With Sam.
“Well, we can’t come home empty handed because your mom just texted me asking where in the hell we were.” So Shelley drives us to Krispy Kreme doughnuts and we load up. “Just what we need after yesterday’s meal,” she says, shaking her head.
Before we go in the house, I hand her the doughnuts. “Can you carry these?” She nods and I go to the trash bin. I know this is gross and crazy but I dig around and find the bag I dumped in there yesterday.
“What on earth?” Shelley says, eyebrows raised at me like I’m disturbed.
“Don’t ask.”
Everyone’s still in their rooms when we go inside. Shelley sets the doughnuts on the counter. “I’ll make some more coffee,” she says.
Back in my room, I dump it all out on the floor—the cards and stuffed animals, a candle, slips of paper. Even just glancing at the messages, I know they’re from the heart. I sit down by my bed and just look at it all. That warmth from earlier—I feel it spread through me again. I close my eyes but the tears still pour out and I cover my mouth with my hands because I don’t want Mom or Shelley or anyone to hear me. Because they won’t understand that this feeling overwhelming me right now isn’t sadness, but something else. Something I can’t even define, but which feels a little like relief. Relief that I’m returning to myself. Like I know who I am again.
CHAPTER 8
The Most Awful Story in the World
Josh
Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend, Sam calls and asks if I want to see a matinee, and then maybe hang out at his house after. All I’ve been doing is homework, so I say yes. Mom drives me to the mall, which is mobbed with shoppers.
“Is Nick coming?” she asks.
“No, he was busy.”
I can see her take this in, scrunching her forehead, like she’s confused, or worried. Before she can say anything, I get out of the car. “See you later!”
The movie theater’s pretty crowded. When we find our seats, I just focus on the dumb ads on the screen. A few times, I sneak looks around, but from what I can tell no one from school is here. Good. Since playing tennis that time, Sam and I have hung out a bit. We played tennis once more, watched a movie at his house one Friday night. Nothing Nick or Raj or any of those guys need to know about. Finally, the lights go down and the previews begin.
The movie ends earlier than we thought, so we have half an hour to kill before Sam’s mom picks us up. We get coffees and walk around the mall. We round a corner where the pet store is, and I see this guy and girl, around our age, holding hands, walking toward us. My heart jumps a little, thinking it’s Nick and Sarah, or someone else from Central. But when they get closer and walk past us I realize I don’t know them at all.
“I had a girlfriend,” Sam says, like seeing the couple jogged his memory.
“What?” I ask, not sure if he said had or has and feeling confused either way.