“I know. Look, I get it. I know my fears are stupid. But it doesn’t help them go away.” Alec kisses me just under my ear, the skin so tender in that spot that my spine shivers. “Can you do this? For. Me.”
My legs weaken.
“So you can hang with him but I can’t? How is that fair?”
“It’s totally different. Slice doesn’t want to make out with me.” He smiles, bites at my lip. “Or at least he hasn’t tried yet.”
“Yet, huh?”
“Look, I’m not proud of it, but it wrecks me, thinking of his hands on you, or him thinking about having his hands on you. I wish I were a stronger or better person, but I’m not.”
I know exactly what it feels like to want to be better, more. For him. A familiar word bubbles up inside of me: yes. “Okay.”
“That’s my girl.” He moves his mouth against mine so gently his skin feels like faded cotton, warm and inviting. I fall into his kiss, my tongue in a liquid smooth search for his rhythm. For him. For more.
The dull metal thud of a locker slams somewhere in the adjacent hall, making me break away. A teacher clears his throat behind us and moves us along.
Only a month ago I would have been mortified by a teacher seeing me so close with a boy. Now I want the whole world to see.
• • •
Mom’s crisscrossing bittersweet vines into a thick wreath when I arrive home from watching Alec’s game. Neither of us says hello. I go to the fridge where Mom’s pinned Anna Slicer’s wedding invitation next to the paper turkey I made in first grade. Great. I’ve got a little over a month to figure out how I’m going to duck out of that Gregg-filled soiree.
I pull out a bag of grapes when Mom says, “Are you feeling better?”
“Much.”
“Okay enough to hear that I’m sorry for calling you selfish?” She nods toward the empty chair across from her and I sit.
“I’m sorry I stormed out.” Finn scoots across the floor, rests his head on my sneaker. I reach down and scratch between his ears. “Did you take him for a walk? He looks tired.”
“No. He’s been sluggish all day.”
“Hmm.” I give Finn a tender pat along the length of his head and he lets out a low sigh.
“Zephyr.” Mom clears her throat. “It wasn’t okay for your dad to show up at your game like he did and I told him so. You need to see him when the time is right for you. I support that.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.”
“But with Thanksgiving coming up, I wanted you to know that if you want to hike, I’ll go with you. Finn, too. Or”—she hesitates, pinches two vines steady between her fingers—“maybe you want to do something else?”
I roll a grape along the ridge of my palm. Every Thanksgiving morning since I was old enough to make the climb, Dad and I have hiked to the top of Mount Vernon. Mom always stayed behind, joking about how she was thankful for the quiet. She’d pack us Thanksgiving Stuffers, her special sandwiches made of stuffing, turkey, and cranberry—like eating leftovers before the meal. Climbing made my breath ragged and my mind would empty of everything as Dad and I ascended the narrow pine-needled path that led to the icy crunch of the mountain’s summit.
And as much as I wish I could hike with my father like any other year . . . “I don’t think I want to hike.”
“Maybe this Thanksgiving we’ll keep it simple. Start making new traditions.” Mom’s voice cracks and I hate how Dad’s changed everything and I don’t know how to put the pieces of our family back together. Worse, I don’t know if all our pieces will even fit back together.
“New traditions sound about right.”
“Is that really what you want?”
I nod. “I think it’s the only way it can be. I mean, we can’t do stuff the way we’ve always done it and pretend like Dad didn’t walk out on us.” I see Mom begin her side of the argument, but cut her off. “Even if he is back.”
“Okay.” She looks satisfied. For now. “And maybe we can check in with each other more. About this or anything. I don’t want you to pull away before you leave for Boston.”
“I can do that.”
“Look, Zephyr, there isn’t a parenting handbook on this so I’m kind of out of my element, but I do know that I want you to be happy. And strong. And I think you’re at serious risk of regret if you don’t at least try to see your dad at some point, listen to what he has to say.”
“I know.” I do. Of course I do. It still doesn’t make that first step any easier.