I hadn’t—not really. When something is your normal, it doesn’t occur to you that it can be any other way.
A lump had filled my throat, and I found it hard to look at Luke. “Can we talk about something else? I’m sick of parents.”
“Same,” he said, playing with a strand of my hair again. “Have you heard anything back from State yet?”
I shook my head.
“You know where there are no parents? College,” he said, leaning in to kiss me.
“That sounds glorious.”
“Mhm,” he agreed. His lips were moving along my jaw and down my throat now. “And you know whoisat State?”
“You?” I said distractedly as his breath set fire to my skin.
“You’re so fucking smart,” he breathed against my neck. I grinned from ear to ear. When Luke had been deciding about schools last year, I’d secretly hoped against all hope that he would pick one in the state. He had his choice of a few, and I’d been over the moon when Mel told me he’d chosen State. I knew it meant I’d get to see him more often, but I hadn’t let myself think ahead to going there, too. To being there with him, or even being there as his girlfriend.
“My, my,” I said. “It sounds like you’ve picked up some bad habits from college.”
“I say fuck,” Luke protested.
“Not like Rowan,” I said. It had just slipped out, the comparison between them. I’d spent so many years rehashing all the similarities and differences, all the ways Ro was and wasn’t Luke.
“I guess not,” Luke said, straightening in his seat again. “I really should go before I get you in trouble.”
“You mean before I getyouin trouble.”
He grinned. “That, too.”
When I hopped out of the car that night, I couldn’t stop smiling. Being with Luke was everything I’d dreamed of and more. The Luke in my head had been, well, the Luke I knew as Ro’s brother and Mel’s son. But the Luke I was getting to know, the Luke I was dating, was so much more. He was funny and sexy and kind and good. He had told me the night he came to my house weeks ago that he was just as fucked-up as everyone else, but to me, he was turning out to be pretty perfect.
When I entered my house, I was surprised to see the kitchen light on. When I went in, my mother was staring into the open fridge, like she was riveted by something. Scattered around the counters and on the kitchen table were the entire contents of our refrigerator. Milk, condiments, full Tupperware containers, vegetables.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s stupid,” Mom said, her voice weirdly shaky. “I couldn’t sleep and I ... I thought since you and your father do so much around here, I thought I’d help out and do some cleaning. I had this burst of energy, and I took everything out, and now ...”
She looked so small standing there, so defeated, that I heard myself saying, “That happens to me too sometimes.”
When Mom said nothing, I continued. “The other day I decided to clean out my closet, and I dumped everything out so I could organize from scratch. And then halfway through, I got tired and overwhelmed, but it was too late to stop. It sucked.”
The sound of Mom’s laughter surprised me. It was short and light, more like a giggle really.
“I guess overambition runs in the family,” she said.
I walked over and took the sponge from her. “Here. I’ll help.”
“Okay,” she said, sounding relieved. “That would be great.”
As we worked silently, scrubbing and wiping and putting everything back, I thought of Luke’s words tonight.Have you ever tried talking to her? Telling her how you feel?
I stole a glance at Mom, a strand of hair falling over her pale face as she worked. The topic of her illness felt too big, too delicate to broach without warning, so I decided to start small.
“Why did you name me Jessi?” I asked.
For how much I hated my name, it had never occurred to me to ask my parents where it had come from.
Mom looked surprised at the question, but after a moment she said, “It’s silly.”
