And I’m certain this is the way to do it.
After Grams died, my dad’s addiction, neglect, and lack of communication drew us apart. While I was able to cope with my grief over Grams when I was living with Aunt June, it still doesn’t make coming back any easier. I’d almost hoped nothing changed—that Grams would be here, in this house, waiting to hear all about my time in Portland. Learning how to be a family without her, when that’s all my dad and I have known, is going to be a challenge of its own. But if we’re going to ever try and get back to the type of father/daughter relationship we had when she was alive, it has to be an important part of the list.
Of course, there are some major problems. Obviously, I want Peach, Nonnie, and Saylor to leave, but it’s not purely because they’ve caused an unexpected disruption in my home life. No, because iftheydon’t leave, Margaret is going to make sureIleave. Again. And being back has shown me that this is where I belong. It’s not only my home—my whole life is here. My dad. My friends. My school. If I truly want things to go back to how they were, I can’t risk exposing the fact that we have other recovering addicts here. The only way to extinguish that threat is to get them out.
In the meantime, I can make sure nobody—especially Margaret—knows they’re living here. They may be a bit odd, but I don’t think they’re a bad influence on my dad. But after speaking with Margaret the night I arrived, it seemed that anything she found out of the ordinary would get both meandmy dad sent away.
I won’t let that happen.
And then there’s the questionable: reconnecting with Jay. Okay,maybeI still have feelings for him. But what if he has feelings for me, too? Shouldn’t we see where it can lead?
It’s a thought that’s layered with guilt. He’s dating one of my best friends. I wouldn’t make any moves on him, but I could leave the door open for the possibility of anusagain. Like Lin said, Whitney is a serial dater. Their relationship may not last. If I reconnect with him on a platonic level—that wouldn’t be so bad, right?
And yet, Iwantto make amends with Whitney. I know I hurt her with my silence, but if I can prove that I can be a trustworthy friend again, maybe we could pick up where we left off. Lin and Raegan deserve the same treatment. I mishandled friendships with people who truly care about me, and I’m determined to make up for it.
Even though I was neversuperclose with Breck and Colton, we still hung out nearly every day. Thankfully there’s no weird tension in the air with either of them, but I’d like to show them that I can be as good of a friend as Lin, Whitney, and Raegan. Supporting Colton’s music and potentially helping Breck get on the decathlon team—depending on Breck’s motives—seem like the best ways to do that.
Then there’s Alex, who sent me That Text the weekend before I moved to Portland—after I’d already broken it off with Jay. Which he knew. Everyone knew. And even though I deleted the text, I still remembered what it said:
ALEX: i know my timing is off, but i wanted to tell you i’ve liked you… a lot. for a while.
My heart stopped when I read it.
His timing. Was.Awful.
I didn’t know it was possible to be flattered and hurt and enraged all at once. Why was he telling me thisnow?Didn’t he already know having to leave Cedarville was painful enough? It’s not like I could do anything about it. Why did he decide to say anything at all?
I never replied. And after seeing him in the office, I regret not saying something. Because I miss his friendship. We always had a natural rhythm, and it was always so easy to talk to him. If I’m lucky to even get that much back, I’ll consider it a success.
Then there’s quite possibly the most difficult step: Forgiving my dad. He’s trying. I canseehe’s trying. He’s not drinking, he has a steady job, and he’s building his trust with me. The very least I can do is be open to forgiving him, but that’s something that takes time. And it’s hard not to be difficult when he’s brought home strangers to live with us when he should be focused on fixing our relationship.
It’s even harder not to harbor the resentment I’ve held on to.
As the next week goes by, we fall into our own routines. Nonnie typically keeps to herself in Grams’s room, yet she’s unsurprisingly forward about blaring Queen every single morning. Peach has been sleeping downstairs on the fold-out couch and keeps her arrangement of conservative skirts and boxy blouses in the hall closet.
Aside from rearranging the living room furniture to create an open practice space, Saylor does little to disturb anyone. Although, I’m convinced he doesn’t own a pair of shoes because he’s always walking around barefoot in his loose yoga pants. I’ve started going straight to my room after school to avoid him asking me if I want to practice with him.
On the upside, despite a slightly rusty performance during Wavettes tryouts (we had thirty minutes to learn and rehearse a thirty-second routine in small groups and I’d accidentally stepped right instead of left, throwing the routine off for a moment), I’d earned my old spot back on the team.
Raegan was the first person standing in front of the list when Coach Velasquez posted it. She threw her arms around me and jumped up and down, and I couldn’t help but bounce back in excitement. Even Whitney congratulated me at lunch.
My dad was ecstatic that I’d remade the team, but that enthusiasm faded when I politely told him I didn’t want him at the games. I know his presence would only draw attention from my classmates, and I’m trying to put that part of my life behind me.
One afternoon, I come home after school to find Peach cooking in the kitchen. I try not to let it annoy me too much that she’s taken charge of dinner. That used to be something my dad and I did together. Sometimes we would even imitateChoppedand pull random ingredients from the kitchen and attempt to make a dish from it. Whenever it came out tasting horribly, we’d order a pizza and laugh about where we went wrong.
My dad isn’t home yet. I decide this is a good opportunity to work on step 12 and push Peach toward going home to her own family.
I sit on the barstool, casually flipping open my history book. “Brisket?” I guess from the savory smells wafting from the oven.
She glances up. “Absolutely.”
“I bet your family misses your cooking. What’s your daughter’s name? Veronica?”
Peach pauses for an instant, and I can see a wave of sadness fall over her delicate features. “Yes.” Her tone is soft for once. “And Bailey. Who’s a sophomore this year.”
I let silence hang over us for a moment. Before I can chicken out, I say, “They’d want you to come home, right? You should, you know, talk to them.”
The edges of her mouth jump into a frown. Her gaze is distant, and I can see I’ve dug my way into a sensitive topic. I try not to feel bad, but if I don’t get them to leave, then things won’t go back to how they were before.
