“You shouldn’t have said anything. I wasn’t okay with seeing him. I told you that.”
“Zephyr.”
“No Mom. We had a deal. It’s fine if you want to see him but I’m not ready.”
“How can you be certain unless you—”
“I know, believe me. Dad being at my game last night totally freaked me out and I’m still trying to deal.” Or at least catalog all the questions I need to ask my father.
“You’ll have to face him sooner or later.”
I throw my legs off the bed and stand. “I’ll take later.”
“You’re being selfish.”
The whip of her words cuts deep. “I’m selfish?”
She reaches for my hand, but I yank it from her reach. Her back straightens the way I know it must in the courtroom when she’s arguing a case. “I don’t need this, Zephyr. I’ve been trying my best to hold this house together and now we have a chance to heal and move on and you won’t even entertain the idea of talking to your own father.”
“Dad bailed on us, Mom. On both of us. I’m glad you two have started to move on or whatever, but I’m still kind of stuck on the fact that my own father woke up one morning and ditched me, without a word. Remember? He wrote you the note, not me.” I pull on a pair of leggings. “Sure he waited until I turned eighteen, but when did he really want to leave? Since I was twelve I bet.”
“Zephyr—”
“I’m not going to see Dad just because he’s coming over to get some stuff he left behind. I’m the stuff he left behind.” I push past her.
“Where are you going?”
“Out. I need to be gone when he comes.”
Mom follows me to the kitchen. “Zephyr, don’t leave. I don’t want you driving when you’re upset.”
“If he’s coming, I can’t be here.”
I slip out the door. I don’t care that I’m still in my pajama tee as I drive through the back roads of Sudbury; I let the tears come—for Mom’s ability to heal faster than I can, for Dad’s leaving and even more for his coming back. For Mom calling me selfish.
I stop at the park and turn on my phone. A text from Lizzie: U doing ok?
Not even close. But I was. When I was with Alec last night.
My fingers hover over a response to Lizzie, but I call Alec instead. He invites me over, no judgments, no questions asked. Something like a deluge opens in me as I drive to his house and the stress of the past months breaks open. I want to feel alive for me. No one else. No parents, coaches, or teachers. No college admissions board. No one but me.
Alec meets me at his front door and draws me to his chest when he sees my tears. He rubs my back, whispers hushing words. He guides me, uses his thumb to wipe away a tear. “Your eyes are green,” he says, searching. “Bright green.”
“That happens when I cry.”
“Okay, I don’t ever want to see you cry, but how is it you can you look this beautiful when you’re upset?”
“Hardly. I’m still in my pajamas.”
“Is it weird that I like that? Sort of cool to see a secret side of you.”
I blush. I can’t help it. “Is your mom home?”
“Nope. Just me. Is that okay?”
Yes. I guess. Maybe. I nod.
He takes my hand as we walk up the stairs to his bedroom. His room is painted marine blue and he has one of those perfect bed sets like you’d see in an L.L.Bean catalog. Bed. Matching end tables. Desk and chair too. He watches me inventory his things. “My mom picked it all out. Remember, I didn’t really live here until a month ago. My dorm room was a bit more . . . well, relevant.”
“No, I like it,” I say, but it’s weird that the walls are missing photos, ticket stubs, hockey swag.
“Sit.” He coaxes me to the bed so that my head rests on his lap. He strokes my hair and doesn’t ask me to speak. The quiet is a welcome relief from Mom’s expectations and the thoughts crowding my head. I close my eyes, drift under his touch for a wash of uncountable minutes. “I’m glad you called.”
“I just couldn’t be at home anymore, you know?”
“Why do you think I saved up for such a nice car? It’s the best thing to escape in.” He caresses my cheek. “Do you want to talk about it? The reason you’re crying?”
I sit up, take in his tenderness. “I really don’t. I’m sort of done talking about it. Thinking about it.”
He nods. Understands.
“Do you ever think—”
“Yes.” He winks.
“Funny,” I say.
“Do I think what?”
“Do you think it’s weird that we’ve just met?”