“You have a high opinion of her,” Mom says with something like a sniff.
“That woman was very rude to your mother,” my father says.
Their words are gasoline thrown over a still-smoldering fire.
“Never insult Mrs. Benson,” I say, voice shaking. “She’s had me over for dinner more in the few months I’ve known her than I’ve ever had dinner with the two of you. She’s come to every home soccer game this season. She went to the regional championship. She texts me on the days I don’t see her, to tell me she hopes I had a good day. She welcomed you into her home today. She’sbeen there for me, in a way you never have, and she’s been that way from the first day I met her! And you tried to tell her she wasn’t my family?”
My voice has climbed, my last words ringing in the air between us. I’m leaning forward in my seat, hands clenched into fists on my lap. Why can’t they hear me? Why can’t they acknowledge it?
“Elliot, my career is the best it’s ever been right now,” Mom says into the tense silence. “I’ve worked hard for this dream, and if I slack off, it’ll be gone in a matter of weeks.”
“And I’ll be gone in a matter of years, when I graduate and move out of this horrible house and escape this dysfunctional sham of a family. But you don’t care if we have a real relationship before then.” I stand up. “I shouldn’t have expected you to choose me. You never have. You liked the idea of a kid more than the reality.”
Mom’s eyes shimmer with tears. “Elliot—”
“I’ve said my piece, Mom. I can’t make how I feel any plainer. Go on pretending you’re caring parents. I’ll keep learning what a true family is, with the Bensons.”
Both of my parents flinch. I don’t pause, walking past them.
“See you in two more years,” I say over my shoulder.
“Elliot, wait!” my father says, suddenly behind me. His hand closes around my arm, and for a heartbeat, I move as if to fight. He pulls me against him, wrapping his arms around me, and I still.
As far back as I can remember, my father has only hugged me a handful of times. It isn’t a good feeling. His grip is too strong, his hold awkward and strained. It freezes me, though. There aren’t any cameras around, as there were most of the times he did this.
“Please don’t walk away,” he says.
He lets me go, and when I don’t move, Mom takes his place. Softer. Warmer. My heart keens when her arms surround me. This was all I’d wanted the last two years . . . and all I can think is that it’s so much better when Mrs. Benson hugs me.
I hate that it’s undoing me anyway. That I still want to cry because Mom is hugging me—even if it’s second best, it’s still her. It’s stillMom . . .
“Your father and I got our priorities messed up,” Mom says, kissing my hairline. “We didn’t realize you were hurting so much. We do care about you, Elliot. Very much.”
Something deep inside me trembles. My mother’s job is making things look good. Capturing seemingly perfect moments. Appearances, not reality. How much of this is real, and how much is trying to make itseemlike it’s real?
Mom draws back and runs her thumbs down my cheeks, wiping away tears I was barely aware of shedding. Tears that are still falling. “Can we try talking again?” she asks.
My throat is blocked. Half of me screams not to trust this. My pulse drums in my ears, telling me this is the chance I didn’t dare to dream of when I invited them to Thanksgiving. This is the opening Mrs. Benson helped create, to break through to them.
I can’t speak, but I nod. Mom takes my arm and leads me back to the chair I’d been in, and they sit across from me once more.
SIX
JACK
“Your phone isn’t going to ring any quieter if you look away,” Janet says, walking into the kitchen.
I glance up from my phone, flat on the table in front of me, and sigh. “I know. I just really want to know how it’s going.”
“It’s been over an hour. That might be a good thing. Might mean the pricks are actually listening.” She tugs on my sleeve. “Come into the living room. Hugh wants to fall asleep watching a movie with Uncle Jack.”
“You mean you want him to fall asleep. I can trap him,” I say with a slight smile. I make sure my ringer is all the way up, slip my phone into the pocket of my sweatshirt, and follow Janet into the living room. Mom is on one end of the couch, clearly exhausted—she has a book open but doesn’t even have a hand raised to turn the page. Widget is curled up on her lap. Hugh isrolling around on the carpet, doing everything he can to fight off his own tiredness.
“Come here, dude,” I tell him, sitting next to Mom and patting the spot on my other side. “Bring me a car. Let’s watch someBubble Guppies.”
“No, play on the floor,” Hugh says.
“No, play on the couch,” I tell him, patting the couch again. “Bring me the blue car?”
