“Two months of peace and quiet.” He ruffles my hair,and I swat his hand away. “Must’ve been heaven having campus to yourself.”
“Actually,” I say, aiming for lighthearted but feeling the weight of what I really came here to say, “I might have missed your annoying face. A little bit. Barely noticeable amount.”
“Barely noticeable?” He presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I write you thoughtful texts like ‘remember to eat’ and ‘don’t die’ and this is what I get?”
“Those texts were usually followed by an insult!”
We fall into easy laughter, but something’s been weighing on me since spring break. Since overhearing that conversation that changed everything.
“Hey, Troy?” I take a deep breath. My hands tighten into fists, then unclench. I’ve been thinking this through. I’ve waited long enough. I can do this. “Can I ask you something?”
The words land like a weight between us. Troy stills, his grin fading. For a second, he doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. Then, slowly, he sits up straighter. “What’s wrong?”
“Why didn’t you tell me? About Dad? About what really happened when he left?”
The silence stretches between us. Troy’s shoulders tense and his jaw hardens.
“Who told you?”
“Nobody had to tell me. I heard you and Mom talking. During spring break.” I swallow hard. “About how you all decided I was too fragile to handle the truth.”
“Tar—”
“Don’t.” My voice shakes, but I don’t try to fix it. “I am so—so—tired of everyone acting like I’m this fragilething that needs protecting. Like if I hear the wrong words, I’ll break.” I swallow hard. “I’m not a kid anymore, Troy. And I am done pretending I don’t see the cracks just because it makes things easier for everyone else.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, then, “I wanted to tell you. Every time you got excited about one of his postcards, every time you made up stories about his amazing research adventures... I hated lying to you.”
“Then why did you?”
Troy exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “Because I was scared.”
The words come out low,raw, like he’s only just realizing them himself.
“I didn’t want to take that from you,” he says. “You were so young. So bright. You still believed in things, in people. Mom was falling apart, I was pissed at the world, but you? You still looked at postcards and saw adventures instead of excuses.” He pauses. “I didn’t want to be the one to ruin that for you.”
I swallow. That’s the worst part, isn’t it? He thought he was doing what was best.
“That wasn’t your choice to make,” I say, voice thick. “You wanted to protect me, but all you did was make me doubt myself.”
I shake my head. “You made me wonder if maybe you were right. If maybe I really was too weak to handle the truth. And do you have any idea how terrifying it is to not trust yourself?”
Troy sighs, rubbing his jaw. “No. It wasn’t my choice. But I was nine,Tar.Nine and suddenly responsible for making your lunches and walking you to school andtrying to explain why Dad missed another weekend visit. And back then, I thought lying was the better option.”
“You shouldn’t have had to do that.”
“No shit.” He laughs, but it’s hollow. “You know what’s really messed up? Sometimes I’m still angry at him for coming back.”
“What?”
“Yeah.” He starts fidgeting with his phone again. “Like, who does that? Just walks back into our lives expecting everything to be normal? Asking about grades and college plans like he hadn’t missed years of our lives?”
“But you seemed fine with it. You went to all those family dinners?—”
“Because you were so happy to have him back.” His voice softens. “You’d light up every time he asked about your science projects or brought you books from his travels. I couldn’t take that away from you.”
“There you go again, protecting me.”
“Force of habit.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You know that time you fell off your bike and scraped your knee bloody?”
