Page 125 of The Breakup Artists

“And what if your doctor’s right that there could be life-threatening complications? What if you die?” Dad says, and my heart stops. “How do you think she’ll feel, knowing we didn’t tell her?”

“Prem,” Mom says in a hard tone. “I’m not discussing this right now. Not until we know for sure.”

Fear and nausea churn my stomach in awful ways. I’m going in there—I’m going to yell and plead with her to take care of herself. But she starts to sob, and it’s so awful that I turn away before I reach the kitchen, my own eyes welling. Instead, I make my way to the door and quietly close it behind me.

I take a gasping breath on the porch, willing myself not to fall apart, and head toward August’s house. I climb the ladder and slide through his window, my feet landing on his floor with a thunk.

He’s in bed, book in hand.

“Hello?” I say, only it comes out sounding like a rude question.

He doesn’t look at me. “I’m not in the mood to fight.”

“Excuse me?” I say, my tone questionable. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

“Yes, you did,” he says, finally looking away from his page but not closing it. “And I’m telling you that I don’t want to.”

He starts reading again, and for some reason it makes my blood boil. I came here to vent, but obviously he’s too stuck in his own damn head to notice. I’m about to turn away and climb back out the window when I stop.

Frustration pulses through me. “You’re not the only one who has bad things happen, you know. Have you even considered that maybe my life isn’t going well, either? No, you haven’t.”

His eyes tense, but he remains fixated on his book. Part of me knows I should stop, but the other part of me doesn’t care.

“This is exactly what I mean. Not one word asking me if I’m okay, what’s going on with me, or why I’ve been so damn quiet. Meanwhile I’ve been bending over backward to help you foryears. Every fight, every disappointment, and there I am. Faithful Valentine.”

Still nothing but silence.

Anger rises in my chest, hot and unruly. “But you know what? Not anymore. ’Cause guess what, August?I don’t want to go to Berkeley. And you know what’s messed up? For a second there, I was going to go foryou. Well, not anymore. Go to California by yourself!”

Now he does put his book down. But all he says is a quiet, “If that’s how you feel.”

“It is!” I say and storm out his bedroom door, not trusting myself on the ladder right now.

64

august

It’s 12:30 a.m. and the dock is quiet. All the lights are off in the neighboring houses, including the one in Tiny’s bedroom. Still, I stand on her porch, staring at her back door and contemplating going in, her words circling unresolved in my head.

I could text her to come out if she’s awake. But it feels like our fight is too big for that. So instead I grab the doorknob, and it twists in my hand. Truth be told, I haven’t snuck into her room in years. And the thought nags at me, reinforces what she said about our relationship being one sided.

I head in, stepping lightly along the floorboards and up the stairs. But it’s mostly unnecessary because her house is new and doesn’t creak the way mine does. Plus the central air provides a hum that covers small sounds. I pause when I get to her room, doubting whether this is a good idea. But it feels like if I don’t do this, then I risk losing her. And that’s unthinkable.

I tap lightly on her door in a rhythm we used when we were kids and push it open.

She sits up on her bed as I close it behind me. “August?” she says, her voice hoarse, and I wonder if I woke her or if she’s been crying.

I sit at the end of her bed, studying my hands in the dark. “You’re right,” I say. “I haven’t been there for you the way you’ve been there for me.”

“I didn’t mean—” she starts.

“Yeah, you did. And you should,” I say. “I didn’t even think to ask why you’d been so quiet. I’ve been going over it, trying to figure out how I could have missed that you were upset. And all I came up with is the lame excuse that you have a perfect life.”

She snorts. “Yeah, well, I don’t.”

“I’m sorry I screwed up not being there for you. I’m a selfish dick.”

She hesitates, looking at the lamp on her bedside table and deciding not to turn it on. “Mom’s pregnant, and Dad thinks she’s going to die from complications.”