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“I want the truth.”
Dad lets out a long sigh. “Another day, okay? Let’s just eat and—”
“No.” I push my chair back and stand. “I’ve been asking for years, and I’m done. I’m not interested in speaking with you until you decide to be honest with me.”
“Honey—”
“Let me know,” I interrupt. He looks stunned, and I don’t blame him. I don’t feel like myself. It feels like someone else’s words are falling from my mouth, but it’s definitely my feet that turn away and my voice that rings out with, “In the meantime, I’m leaving. Happy Thanksgiving.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Maverick
“You’regoingbacktoschool?” I press my phone tighter to my ear and plug the other one with my finger. The wind is blowing hard, making it difficult for me to hear Azalea on the other end of the line. “Why?”
“My dad and I had a fight,” she says.
“Really?”
She sniffs, and her answer is shaky. “Yes.”
I walk off the porch, crunching through a pile of brown and yellow leaves to stand in the driveway. I look left and right, just in case she happens to be driving by. The street is empty. “Don’t go back to school. Come over here.”
“I’m almost to the highway,” she tells me. I hear the click of her turn signal in the background. “And I don’t want to crash your Thanksgiving.”
There’s not much to crash. Last year, Mom and Dad cooked Thanksgiving dinner together, from scratch, like always. This year, Dad ordered a premade Thanksgiving dinner from the grocery store. We ate right at noon as usual, but it was very somber. Lilly had silent tears falling down her face the whole time and disappeared upstairs the second her plate was clean. Dad went after her, and I came outside to get some air.
I go back to the porch and sink down onto the top step, wincing a little as my bad leg twinges. “What did you fight about?”
“Just…” She starts, then stops, and then makes a frustrated noise. “I’m just tired of him lying to me, Mav.”
“Yeah. That’s fair.”
Her engine gets louder and then I hear her turn signal again. I imagine her merging onto the highway, speeding away from me. “How is your day going?” she asks.
“Pretty shitty,” I admit. “It’s hard.”
Azalea sighs. “I’m sorry. Do you want—I can turn around—”
“No, it’s okay,” I say, even though I want her to, because everything is more bearable with her by my side. “You were right earlier. It should probably be a family day.”
“Okay,” she says softly. “I’m gonna go. I just wanted to call and let you know that I was headed back early.”
“Text me when you get there.”
“I will. I love you, Maverick.”
Warmth bursts in my chest. It’s the first real happiness I’ve felt all day. “I love you too."
I push to my feet and go back inside. It’s eerily quiet, the way it always was when Mom was sick. A chill runs down my spine and I try to push the feeling, those memories, out of my mind.
I trudge up the stairs with the intention of checking on Lilly, but when I reach the landing, Dad is just coming out of her room. He taps his finger to his lips, signaling me to be quiet as he pulls her door shut.
“Is she okay?” I whisper.
Dad walks toward me slowly, moving his legs as if a fifty-pound weight is attached to each one. “She cried herself to sleep.” He inhales deeply. “I need a beer. You want one?”
I blink. “What?”
