Mr. Goldman returns while I’m still skimming the last page of Kristen’s report, but he doesn’t seem to mind that I’ve dug through his papers. Still, I set it back down and pick up the legal pad again.
Are they pressing charges against Kristen Courteau?
I feel like even I, current social pariah, would’ve heard this news if it were true, but I want to make sure.
“No, they’re not,” he says, and I’m struck with a sharp sense of relief, one I don’t fully understand considering the current state of Kristen’s and my friendship and everything she’s done to me over the past month. Mr. Goldman starts to pack up his briefcase, popping open the brass snaps and shuffling papers back into the manila folder. “Ms. Courteau is in the same boat as you.”
Huh. Funny how after everything, all the bad feelings and severed ties, Kristen and I are still connected.
Mr. Goldman shakes Mom’s hand and Dad’s hand and then mine before he leaves, and that makes me feel adult, too. Even though it sucks that it’s under these circumstances, I still kind of like the feeling, like I’m worthy of being interacted with as a grown-up. Mom turns the lock before leaning hard with her back against the door, eyes closed; she looks so tired and stressed out and when she looks at me again, it makes my stomach hurt.
But she smiles—still tired and somewhat exasperated, but a real one. “You’ve given me so many gray hairs, Chelsea,” she says, and Dad laughs and walks over to her, rubbing her shoulder with one hand.
“Gray looks good on you,” he assures her. He presses a kiss to the top of her hair.
They could be mad. They could be yelling at me for what I’ve put them through—God knows I deserve it—but they’re not, and Mr. Goldman is right, they’re good people and they’re trying the best they can, and I’m suddenly so overwhelmed with gratitude for having them behind me through all this that I catapult myself into them both, flinging my arms around them in a tight hug.
“Whoa.” Dad laughs, his arm reaching around my back. “What’s this about?”