Page 123 of The Breakup Artists

“I asked him to come,” she says, and now I’m even more confused.

“What? Why?” I say, still not acknowledging my father.

“Because...” She glances at him. “You need someone to talk to, and you won’t talk to me.”

All I can think isWHAT? What???“You thought I was going to talk tohim?” My tone is still controlled, but my upset is seeping out around the edges.

Mom takes a deep breath. “I was hoping you would, yes.”

Dad does his understanding nod, the one I used to think made him so adult. “How about we chat a little?” he offers like that’s a thing we do. “Maybe I can help make sense of whatever’s going on. Your mother tells me you got in a fight?”

But I don’t hear anything beyond the obviously false offer of help, and it obliterates my train of thought. “No,” I say, my voice tight.

He sighs. “Look, I know I haven’t been around much these past few years. I know things have been, well, they haven’t been ideal.”

I blink at him; he can’t possibly be serious. “I haven’t seen you since Des died.”

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry about that.”

“I’m not,” I snap.

“I know you’re angry,” he starts, but I cut him off, because he doesn’t know.

“Damn right I am.”

“August, language,” Mom says, which might be the most ridiculous statement of this whole conversation.

“It’s okay to be angry,” he says, and that’s the final straw. Who does he think he is, giving me permission to have an emotion?

“Let’s just clear this all up right now so you can disappear back to Connecticut. I’m not sitting at the kitchen table pretending that you give a sh—crap.” Even now, I can’t help but appease my mom. “About either of us. I’m definitely not having a heart-to-heart with you. In fact, if I never speak to you again, that’s fine by me.” I cross the kitchen, stride through the living room, and exit the front door.

But there, parked in our driveway, is his car—a brand-new convertible—and it makes my blood boil.

“August, wait a second,” my dad says, jogging after me.

I whip around. “Like you waited the day you left?” I say before I consider it, and I instantly regret my choice of words. My tone is hurt and childlike, neither of which I intend.

His face falls like I slapped him. “My leaving was never about you.”

I glance up at the sky, trying to get my breathing under control. “Like I said, I don’t want to have this conversation.”

My mother lingers in the doorway, her forehead wrinkled with worry.

“I know,” he says, quieter now. “You’ve always been like me that way. Guarded with your feelings.” He pauses, and I clench my jaw. “Des was the opposite, though, wasn’t she? Always communicating. I always thought that’s why you two fit so well—”

“Stop, just stop!” I yell, and the volume surprises even me. “Donottalk about her.”

His eyebrows push together. Again that godforsaken understanding nod. “I know your sister was—”

Something inside me cracks, and the emotion I was so carefully containing breaks free from my grasp. “Stop trying to relate to me! Stop pretending you care! You weren’t there when it mattered. Mom fell apart. You didn’t help. Desdied. You didn’t help. You never ask about the mountain of bills that piles up or wonder how we’re staying afloat. Did you know that I’ve spent my entire college savings trying to keep the house from being repossessed? No, you don’t. You don’t knowanythingabout our lives, and frankly if you do, then I really do hate you because once again, you did nothing. So get in your goddamn new car and go. Do what you always do and pretend we don’t exist. Because more than anything I wish you didn’t.”

And just as I feared, everything in the radius around me is destroyed. I close my mouth, deflated and worn out, my arms hanging by my sides. I turn around. Mom calls my name, but I don’t respond. I just walk onto the sidewalk and away, disappearing behind the trees.

61

valentine

I fall face first onto my bed. All I can think is that August was right, that I’m one in a long line of idiots who fell for Bentley Cavendish’s charm. That here I am stupidly spouting his praises and asking August to give him a chance, and meanwhile he’s hanging out with his ex the second I get reflective-silence-not-grounded and can’t see him. But my chain of thought gets cut short by my phone buzzing. I pull my face out of my comforter, and there on my screen is Bentley video-calling me.