Страница 35 из 50
I shot her a warning glare.
“—you suddenly like Wesley,” she finished.
“What’s your point?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “It’s just… I feel like you’ve kept so much from me. Like so much has changed so fast with you. I feel really in the dark right now.”
More guilt. Great. She was laying it on thick today, but I guess I deserved it.
“Not that much has changed,” I assured her. “I still have a crush on Toby… not that it matters. We’re just friends. He hugged me yesterday because he got into the college he wanted and was really happy. I wish it had been more, but it wasn’t. And the thing with Wesley is just… it’s stupid. It’s over. We can pretend it never happened. I’d prefer that, actually.”
“What about your parents? The divorce? You haven’t even brought it up since the day after Valentine’s.”
“Everything’s fine,” I lied. “The divorce is still happening. My parents are fine.”
She gave me a skeptical look before turning back to the road. She knew I was full of shit, but for once she didn’t push it. Finally, after a long moment, she spoke again. Luckily, she changed the subject.
“Okay. So where the hell is your car?”
“At school,” I said. “The battery’s dead.”
“That blows. I guess you’ll have to get your dad to go fix it.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. If I can get him sober for more than ten seconds.
There was a long silence. After a few minutes, I decided to swallow the little pride I had left. “I’m sorry I called you a bitch yesterday.”
“You should be. You also called me a preppy cheerleader snob.”
“Sorry. Are you still mad at me?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I mean, not as much as I was yesterday, but… it really hurt, Bianca. Jess and I have been so worried about you, and you barely talk to either of us anymore. I kept asking and asking if you wanted to go out, and you totally blew me off. Then I saw you talking to Toby when you were supposed to be talking to me, and… I was kind of jealous. Not in a creepy way, but… I’m supposed to be your best friend, you know? It felt like you just tossed me aside. And now it really bothers me that you started sleeping with Wesley instead of just talking to me.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Stop saying that. Don’t just be sorry,” she said. “Sorry doesn’t change the future. Next time, think about me. And Jess, too. We need you, B. And just remember that we’re here for you, and we care about you… for some ungodly reason.”
I cracked a little smile. “I’ll remember.”
“Just don’t abandon me again, okay?” The words came out in a weak murmur. “Even with Jess, I was really lonely without you… and I didn’t have anyone cool to drive me around. Do you know how much it sucks to have Vikki as your chauffer? She almost hit some poor old dude on a bike the other day. Did I tell you that story?”
We drove around Hamilton for a while, just wasting gas and catching up on what we’d missed. Casey had a crush on a basketball player. I was acing English. Nothing too personal. Casey knew my secret now—or part of it—and she wasn’t mad at me anymore… well, not that mad at me. She assured me I had a lot of groveling to do before we were totally good again.
We drove around until her mom called at ten, demanding to know where her truck was, and Casey had to take me home.
“Are you going to tell Jessica about this?” she asked quietly as she turned onto my street. “About Wesley?”
“I don’t know.” I took a deep breath, deciding that keeping secrets wasn’t the best idea. It had only fucked things up so far. “Look, you can tell her. Tell her everything if you want. But I don’t want to talk about it. I just kind of want to forget about this if I can.”
“I understand,” Casey said. “I think she should know. I mean, she is our best friend… but I’ll tell her you’re moving on. Because that’s what you’re doing, right?”
“Right,” I murmured.
I couldn’t help feeling anxious when she pulled into my driveway. I stared at the oak front door, at the shuttered windows that looked in on my living room, and at our simple, clean, picket-fenced yard. I’d never realized what a mask my family lived behind.
Then I thought of Dad.
“I’ll see you Monday,” I said, looking away so she couldn’t see the worry on my face.
Then I slid out of the truck and started walking toward my house.
20
I was standing on the porch before I realized I didn’t have my keys. Wesley had pulled me from the house so quickly the night before that I hadn’t been able to grab my purse. So I found myself knocking on my own front door, hoping Dad was awake to let me in.
Fearing, dreading, remembering.
I took a step back as the knob turned and the door swung open. There stood Dad, his eyes red and deeply circled behind his glasses. He looked really pale, like he’d been sick, and I could see his hand shaking on the doorknob. “Bianca.”
He didn’t smell like whiskey.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Hi, Dad. I, um, left my keys inside last night, so…”
He moved slowly forward, like he was afraid I might run away. Then he wrapped his arms around me, pulled me into his chest, and buried his face in my hair. We stood there together for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, I could tell the words came through sobs. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“I know,” I murmured into his shirt.
And I was crying, too.
Dad and I talked more that day than we had in seventeen years. Not that we weren’t close before. It’s just that neither of us is very expressive. We didn’t share our thoughts or feelings or do any of that stuff they tell you is important on those public service a
But that day we talked.
We talked about his work.
We talked about my grades.
We talked about Mom.
“She’s really not coming back, is she?” Dad took off his glasses and rubbed his face with both hands. We were sitting on the couch. For once, the television was off. Ours were the only voices that filled the room. It was a good kind of semi-silence, yet scary at the same time.
“No, Daddy,” I said, bravely reaching out to squeeze his hand. “She’s not. This just isn’t the right place for her anymore.”
He nodded. “I know. I’ve known for a long time that she wasn’t happy… maybe even before she knew. I just hoped—”
“That she’d change her mind?” I offered. “I think she wanted to. That’s why she kept leaving and coming back, you know? She didn’t want to face the truth. She didn’t want to admit that she wanted a”—I paused at the next word—“divorce.”
Divorce was just so final. More than a fight. More than a separation or a long speaking tour. It meant their marriage—their life together—was really and truly finished.
“Well,” he sighed, squeezing my hand back. “I guess we were both ru
“What do you mean?”
Dad shook his head. “Your mother took a Mustang. I took a whiskey bottle.” He reached up and readjusted his glasses, an unconscious habit—he always did it when he was making a point. “I was so devastated by what your mother did to me that I forgot how horrible drinking is. I forgot to look on the bright side.”
“Dad,” I said, “I don’t think there is a bright side to divorce. It’s a pretty sucky thing all around.”
He nodded. “Maybe that’s true, but there are a lot of bright sides to my life. I have a job I like, a nice house in a good neighborhood, and a wonderful daughter.”