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“Well, Vann here’s got parents, too,” Marlene chirpily carries on, clearly oblivious to any tension in the room, “and they might have a lovely breakfast waiting for him. Do I know your parents?” she asks suddenly, turning back to me. “What’re their names?”
“He’s new here,” Toby throws in quickly. “You wouldn’t—”
“Joseph and Amelia Pane,” I answer anyway. “I doubt you’d know them. We’ve only been here a week or so, but my mom grew up here, however many years back.”
Marlene squints in thought, then lights up. “Oh! I heard about them! Yeah, that’s right, down at Lucille’s, just a few nights ago.” She playfully swats her towel at Toby, causing him to jump. “You didn’t tell me you’re friends with the new guy in town! His papa, Joseph, was at my bar last night havin’ a tall glass of—I forget—with the mayor!” She eyes me. “Apparently your mama is helping out with his reelection campaign, is that so?”
I stare at her. That’s news to me. “She’s doing what?”
Lee has come further into the room, his eyes on Toby. “Wait, are those my shorts?”
Toby distractedly looks at him. “Well, yeah, they are. Because you clearly took my underwear I keep in the bathroom, and after my shower last night, I needed—”
“Wait. You’re wearing my shorts without underwear??”
“We both have to share that bathroom, y’know!” gripes Toby.
I don’t pay attention to the two of them as they go at each other. My gaze has dropped to the floor, where I’m lost wondering how my mother managed to get in with the mayor so fast. The more people of power she sinks her talons into in this town, the higher the expectations will be on me, until soon I’m once again the dirty, dark secret she needs to stuff under a rug. Then it’ll be just a matter of time before history repeats itself, I act out, and the whole town of Spruce implodes. This isn’t good.
“Vann?”
I look up. Toby, who cuts off his quarrel with his stepbrother to express his concern, oozes sweetness from his sleepy eyes. Just that small twinkle of compassion reminds me how very not afraid of me he is. Toby doesn’t know better.
And that’s exactly why I have to leave. “I gotta get back. I …” I glance at Marlene, thinking of a way to thank her for inviting me for breakfast. But nothing comes out, so I just head for the door.
I don’t even really say goodbye to Toby.
Monday will be here soon enough anyway, won’t it?
The house grows smaller at my back. As I walk the winding streets of his little dusty suburb, which looks so much more bare, open, and unthreatening in the sun than it did last night, all of my thoughts about Toby and our time together tumble in the washing machine of my head. I know what happens to people who get close to me, and every time I see that sweetness in Toby’s eyes, I’m only reminded of everyone I’ve ever hurt, let go of, or left behind. Even my parents seem to leave themselves behind each time we move, becoming two new people I can hardly recognize in a new place.
No one in my life is permanent. Not even them.
When I get home forty-something minutes later, I’m greeted by the sight of my mother at the foot of the staircase, her arms crossed. “You didn’t answer my text message,” she states crisply.
My father appears from the kitchen, a mug in one hand and a piece of plain toast in the other, and he looks downright tickled as he smiles at me. “Well, well. Seems taking the bike away doesn’t exactly prevent you from going anywhere you please in a small town like this. Maybe we should take your feet away instead?” He goes for a bite of his toast, chuckling.
Mom, not appreciating his levity, bristles as she eyes me. “You going to tell us where you were?”
I kick off my boots by the front mat. “Just went for a walk last night,” I explain tiredly, “and crashed at a friend’s place. Couldn’t have had a more lame, trouble-free night.”
“Well, that’s nice!” sings my father after a sip from his mug.
My mother’s eyes remain on me. “Whose house? Toby’s?”
“Nah, I stayed at Coach Strong’s mansion.” I stretch and yawn as I come further into the house. “I made the football team. I’m their star recruit. Hoyt and I give each other blow jobs now.”
“Oh, you think you’re so funny,” drones my mother, unfazed by my sarcasm—while my father lets out a laugh so mirthful, I question for a second whether he got into an old stash of pot he allegedly gave up three years ago. “So where were you really?”
“Now, now,” says my dad as he recovers from his laughter. “I think we’re getting things out of order here. Breakfast first … and then illegal interrogation tactics afterwards. Come. We picked up breakfast pastries and croissants from this place called T&S’s.” He flags me over to the small breakfast table, which is mercifully not bathed in light at this time of morning, as the window faces west.
