She fakes a gasp. “You? Never.”
“Sassy little elf,” I say. “It’s the TBI, too, though. He’s so committed to making the most of his ‘now-me,’ as he calls himself, but sometimes he has outbursts. I don’t take them personally,” I lie, wishing it was the truth. “He can’t control it.”
“That’s good of you,” she says.
I shrug it off. “What time’s your dad’s party?”
“Four,” she says.
“And the train gets us there before eleven. We’ll have plenty of time.”
She holds my eye. “Are you sure? Aren’t you worried about what Evan will say? Or your dad or granddad?”
They’re going to lose it. Granddad will call me selfish and Dad will nod along like a shadow. Evan will say I’m letting him down.
But I can’t keep living my life trying to earn approval that will never come. I’ve done everything right—followed every rule, met every expectation, sacrificed everything I wanted—and I’m still the disappointment. Still not enough.
Maybe that’s the real injustice. Not the pitch that shattered my wrist. Not even Darren Freaking Murphy walking free while Evan suffers. But the fact that I’ve spent my whole life believing that if I just did everything right, if I was just good enough, my family would finally see me.
They never will.
For once, I want to choose whatIwant. Not what they expect. Not what Evan needs.
I want one more day with Poppy before reality crashes back in.
“I don’t know if I care what they say,” I tell her.
I’m holding her leg, but it’s not enough. I want Poppy.
I settle for her hand. I take it in mine, checking her face to make sure she’s okay with it. She looks surprised, hesitant, but when our palms touch—when her skin meets mine, warm and impossibly soft—she goes still. She watches our hands for a moment, like she’s memorizing the sight of them together, before slowly threading her fingers through mine. Her grip tightens, just barely, and I feel her pulse against my palm, quick and fluttering.
I may never let go.
The traffic picks up the closer we get to Cleveland—brake lights stretching ahead like a red river through the gray early afternoon. Buildings rise around us, and the energy shifts from highway monotony to city buzz. We pass a billboard for the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, another for a Christmas light display at the zoo.
It’s decision time. Bus today or train tomorrow. My phone keeps buzzing in my pocket—Dad, Granddad, Evan again—each vibration like a prod telling me what I should do.
But the answer is already clear.
Through my cracked window, I catch the smell of cinnamon pecans from a street vendor. “Thanks for the ride,” I tell them.
Jake makes a noncommittal grunt, but Scottie smiles. “What are you going to do until the bus leaves?”
“Actually, just drop us off at …” I look at Poppy. “What are you up for? Think Cleveland might have the world’s second largest Czech egg?”
“We’re really sticking around?” she asks.
“What she said,” Scottie says, eyebrows up.
“We’ll take the train tomorrow. If that’s okay with you,” I tell Poppy.
Her smile could shame the sun. “Yeah, totally.”
“I’m in,” Jake says. He nudges Scottie. “We doubling, or what?”
“Or what,” I tell him.
Jake laughs.
