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Spring break is coming up. West and I both have mid-semester papers and projects due. I endure another meeting with Student Affairs because my dad has decided he wants to be part of everything, except once he’s in the meeting he doesn’t say a word. It’s this weird repeat of the first meeting but with more people in the room.
The Internet-Asshat emails keep flooding into my in-box. I guess they’ve found my phone number, because now I’m getting all these hang-up mouth-breather voice mails and ranting, insane threats. I have to screen all my calls, delete three-quarters of my texts. I decide to suspend my Facebook account and shut down my Twitter altogether.
All of it has to be documented, too. Everything needs to be tracked. I’m already tired of it. I wish I could just switch off the phone, turn off the computer, and ignore the whole river of garbage that my life has become.
And, as if that’s not bad enough, West can’t get his mom on the phone. Frankie hasn’t sent him any texts for a few days. He’s worrying.
There’s nothing I can do.
I’m overwhelmed, weary of being hated, worn out from so much hard work.
There’s nothing he can do.
We stick together like we’ve been glued to each other.
We’re at the bakery when his phone finally rings. I’m mixing up the dill, and he’s slitting open a bag of flour to dump into the bin. Since I’m closer to his phone, I look at the screen. “It’s Bo. ”
He drops the blade on the floor. I meet him halfway with the phone. I know he’s been hoping Bo, his mom, someone, will call him back.
“Hey. What’s up?”
I turn my back to adjust the volume on the music, and the ten seconds the job requires is all the time it takes for the color to drain from West’s face.
“How long ago?”
He paces the length of the table as he listens.
“Did you try to talk her out of it? Or … No, I know. … No. All right. And what about Frankie, is she—”
His shoulders sag.
His fingers are white where they curl around the phone.
“All right. Thanks. It was decent of you to call. I’ll … I’ll take it from here. ”
When he hangs up, he just stands there.
He stands there for so long, I’m afraid to touch him.
“West?”
“She took him back,” he says.
“Your dad?”
“She fucking took him back. ”
This is the possibility he’s been afraid to name for the past few days.
The worst thing.
“How did it happen?”
“I don’t know. Bo didn’t even—he didn’t kick her out. He came home and all her stuff was gone, with a note saying she was sorry but she had to follow her heart. ” He pounds his fist on the table. “Her heart. ”
“Did they leave town, or … ?”
“They’re at the trailer park. Her and Frankie. They moved in with my dad. ”
