“Oh, I almost forgot!” Mom says when we break apart. “Did you ask Luke about dinner?”
Shit.
“Not yet.”
“If you don’t want him to spend time with us, you can just be honest with me,” Mom says, her voice drenched in hurt.
“No, I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I just keep forgetting to ask. I’ll ask him now.”
I take my stuff upstairs, flop onto my bed, and close my eyes, trying to regroup. I replay all of yesterday in my mind. The handholding, the easiness, the truce. Then last night, wanting so badly to lose myself in Luke but knowing it would only be temporary. That, come morning, I would still be the person who destroyed everything and he would still be yet another person I had driven away.
The next time I open my eyes, my room is dark and shadowy. In a panic, I run through all the things I might have missed, things I might be late for.
School? Nope.
Volunteering at the club? No. Willow sorted that out with her dad.
Work with Ernie? No. I’m seeing him four days this coming week to make up for not visiting him yesterday.
Camp MORE? No. Not a weekday.
I cycle through the panic once more to be certain I’m not forgetting anything, and finally I start to breathe again. Is it possible I literally have nothing to do for the rest of the day?
There was a time, even past the first few weeks of summer, when it didn’t feel like I was doing enough. When I still had too much time to wrestle with my thoughts and memories, my Befores and Afters. Sundays, the least busy days on my calendar, used to be lessons in torture. But today, for once, I’m happy to break with routine, to not have anything pressing on my back.
Well, except for the dinner thing I promised Mom I’d ask Luke about.
I stand and stretch, turn on the lights in my dark room, and grab my phone so I can text him.
I’m shocked that it’s not even that late—only eight p.m.
I’m even more shocked to see that I have not one, but three texts from Luke.
I feel a well of anxiety as my thumb hovers over the phone. What if something happened to Mel while we were gone? What if she’s in the hospital again—or worse?
We should never have gone on that trip.
For so many reasons, but especially this.
My hands clammy with sweat, I force myself to open the first message.
And am thoroughly confused.
At three, probably only an hour after they dropped me off at home, he wrote:Hey.
That’s it. Hey.
Then, thirty minutes later, another text.
Come over?
And only about ten minutes ago, he added,Mom wants to see you.
Is she ok?I write back.
He answers almost immediately.Hey. Yeah, she’s fine.
Then a second later:Are you?
