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“Trevor.” Vi flies through the adjoining door, her lime suit louder than her voice. She takes one look at us and stops so fast she has to catch herself on the high dresser.
Dad rips his gaze off Gabe and moves it to her. “Did you know about this?”
“I knew they were getting close,” she says.
I wait for him to snap. Yell at her. Something. Instead she gets a free pass, and he marches toe-to-toe and eye-to-eye with Gabe until they’re locked in a silent standoff. Well, Dad’s doing all the standing off. Gabe looks like he might be sucking it up to take a punch.
Vi grabs a white T-shirt and black hoodie off the top of Gabe’s suitcase and presses them into his hands. “This is Romeo’s cue to exit stage left.”
He takes the clothes but walks to me.
Dad’s eyes bulge bigger than that artery. “Jess was here?” He grinds out the words I Sharpied on Gabe’s shoulder blade.
In case Dad woke up with x-ray vision, I bunch the comforter over my hip where Gabe signed me.
“Are thosescratchmarks?” Dad peers closer at Gabe’s back, and I can almost feel the blood spatter from his neck exploding.
Gabe pulls on his T-shirt and hoodie, completely focused on me. “Are you okay?”
“Exit stage left, Romeo,” Vi repeats. “Jess and Trevor need to work this out.”
“Do you want me to go?” That he’s torn shows in his eyes.
I swallow hard and say the exact opposite of what I want. “Yes.”
“I’ll get you some mint tea from Starbucks.” He grabs his shoes off the floor and his phone and wallet from the desk. On his way into the hall, he turns to my dad. “This isn’t Jess’s fault. So don’t blame her, blame me.”
As soon as the door clicks shut, Dad rounds on me and barks, “Talk.”
The sharp command steals my words. He’s finally noticing me—in the worst way possible. His eyes are disillusioned. Disappointed. He’s looking at me the way he used to look at Mom when she drank.
“Don’t make this into something it isn’t.” Vi crosses to him, but he’s so busy silently condemning me, it’s not until she squeezes his bicep and says, “Trev,” that he tips his head toward her and quits clenching his jaw.
Trev. My throat tightens. Mom used to call him that—when they weren’t fighting.
You can’t miss the easy way Vi talks to him. Touches him. Acts with him. How he softens with her. It hurts to watch them when he never made time for my mom. When he never makes time for me.
Murmuring something to my dad, Vi disappears through the adjoining door, closing it behind her.
Now that we’re alone, he doesn’t say anything. Rising over the heavy rain pounding outside, the thick silence building between us fills my lungs.
“Why do you have adjoining rooms?” He finally speaks.
“Ask Vi.” She’s the fairy hookup-mother who shoved me into a carriage and plugged the location of Gabe’s bed into my GPS. I get out of bed, grab aPackT-shirt Gabe left on the chair, and pull it over my tank, comforted by his smell.
After a long, hard look at my chosen attire, Dad fixates on the bed. “I’m askingyou.” His anger isn’t gone exactly, but it feels diffused. Uneasy. Like he’s entering unchartered territory with zero idea what to expect.
I could give him a map. I don’t. The man standing across from me, the man I live with, is a stranger. “You’ve spent years buried in your writing cave.” There was always another book. Another deadline. There still is. “And now you want to parent up? Why do you care what I do with Gabe? Vi’s practically moved in with you. Into my house. My life. And you didn’t even tell me.”
“We’re adults.” His shoulders square. “You’re seventeen.”
“That makes it okay?”
“I didn’t come to discuss Vi.”
“Clearly. Since you’ve been lying about her for the last year.” My shoulders burn from holding them so tight. “Whyareyou here?”
He cracks his neck on one side and then the other. “Your release party’s tonight. Vi said I should be here.”
