Inside the house, Mom’s sitting at the kitchen island studying Gardeners’ Supply Catalog. My skin drips with a heated layer of sweat. All I want to do is take a shower, but Mom asks me to sit. Instead, I stretch my hamstrings. Again.
“I wanted to fill you in on my dinner with your father last night. He misses you, Sunshine.”
I miss him too. The words are hard enough to admit inside the protected shell of my brain. I can’t imagine giving them to the world.
“He wants to be in your life again. And I hope you’re open to the idea.”
“Well, I’m not. I’m still pretty pissed off.”
“Language.” She gives me a manners-reminding stare and stands. “Having a relationship with your father is important. More important than anything going on in your life right now, whether you can see that or not.”
“It’s pretty hard to see past him bailing on us.” And can you even start over with your own father?
Her face hardens with thought. “Maybe it’s time you start focusing on what your future will be like if you can’t welcome some forgiveness.”
But how can I when my brain is busy obsessing over all the reasons my father didn’t think me worthy of sticking around?
“You should know he has an apartment in Concord. For now.”
An hour away. Then . . . “For now? What does that mean?”
Mom gathers her catalog and stacks it with the others. Her “future gardens” as she calls them. “It’s a little early to say, but that shouldn’t be your main concern. You need to focus on the relationship you want to have with him. You’re an adult now, Zephyr.”
Being reminded of my eighteenth birthday shifts the walls inward, devours oxygen. “Mom, I can’t see him. Not now. I can’t deal with hearing about why he left or why he’s back.” My heart’s still breaking over the why he left part.
“Zephyr—”
“No, Mom. If you see him, that’s fine. That’s between you and him and whatever.”
Mom folds her arms across her chest like she’s holding in all the rest of the stuff she wants to say. But she keeps it locked in. Instead, she tells me, “I know you’ll do the right thing.”
The weight of her expectations crumbles me. I’ve always done the right thing. She expects me to make good choices but I don’t even know what good choices look like after being abandoned by my father. His note had the edges of a serrated knife, tearing through the bond we’d once shared, carving out Before and After.
I escape to the shower and when I get out, I text Lizzie that I’m not feeling great, which isn’t a total lie and it’s enough to excuse me from tonight’s limited Sudbury social scene. I bury myself in English and trig for the rest of the weekend, and obsess over why Gregg hasn’t answered my “You around?” text.
“Do you think things are still cool between us?” I ask Finn, who’s stretched out on the bed next to me, his head on my pillow. I nuzzle close to his face. “Do you think Gregg was too drunk to remember the kiss?” I interpret Finn’s slobbering lick across my lips as a definitive no.
Chapter 4
By Monday I’m practically crawling out of my skin from Gregg’s silent treatment. I can’t even name the last time I went a day without a text from him, let alone an entire weekend. Does he hate me? Blame me? I’m so preoccupied with bracing myself for seeing him in French last period that the last thing I expect is Alec waiting for me at my locker. “Uh . . . hi.”
“Hi yourself.” He must read the question in my eyes because he says, “Mind if I walk with you? I thought it might be good if we started over. Our introduction wasn’t exactly epic.”
“Yeah, not my finest moment.”
“It’s all good. I’m in a position to be very forgiving considering you and Slice are the extent of my social connections in this school.”
I hate the way my heart dips when I hear Alec mention Gregg.
Alec wiggles his French textbook before letting it hang smoothly by his hip, a gesture I try not to notice. “I’ve been studying.”
I grab my own book and slam my locker closed. “Yeah?”
The corner of his mouth turns up. “In an attempt to master the language as you have.”
A laugh betrays me and slips right past my lips as we move down the hall.
“Seriously though, it’s intimidating to be in an AP French class when I’ve never taken it before.”
“You’ve never taken French?”
“Nope. I’ve studied Latin since, like, the third grade. I can tell you anything you want to know about noun declension. Impressive, right?”