Well. That didn’t come out as smoothly as I hoped.
Whitney stares at me, her expression unreadable. Finally, she takes the carton I set down and fills her glass.
“I know it was hard being sent to Portland after everything you went through with your dad, but we’re your friends.” She sets the carton down a little too forcefully. “We wanted to be there for you.Iwanted to be there for you. I tried.”
Guilt twists in my stomach. “I’m sorry—”
“I had no idea if we’d ever see you again, and you were my best friend.” I note her use of past tense. It stings. “What was I supposed to do? Keep reaching out so I could get more silence in return?”
I shake my head. “It was hard for me, okay? I felt really alone out there.”
“We never wanted you to feel that way,” Whitney says, her voice rising in the way it always does when she gets emotional. “It’s like… you didn’t even appreciate the friends who cared about you.”
“That’s not how I felt,” I try.
She puts the lemonade back in the fridge, letting it shut loudly behind her. She looks right into my eyes as she carves out her next words. “But that’s how it felt tome.”
Without another word, she turns and goes back outside.
I take my glass in my hand, shocked by her honesty. She’s right. I did take them for granted, especially when they wanted to make sure I was okay. It’s what my dad did to Aunt June and me when she came down for Grams’s funeral: Shut us out, immersed himself in his own loneliness. It was so frustrating seeing him turn into a closed-off stranger. Yet I’d done the same thing to my friends and blamed it on my own misery.
After June convinced my dad to go to AA meetings, she used to tell me how strong I was for getting through this hard time. We would talk about the happy memories we had with Grams, remembering her hidden stashes of Reese’s and how she’d read us her collection of Dr. Seuss books when we were younger. I told myself I was nothing like him.
Now I’m not so sure.
I stare at my lemonade glass until condensation beads slip slowly down my hands and onto the pristine floor.
ELEVEN
NONE OF US END UPspending the night at Raegan’s house. Her dad didn’t want us stressing her mom out with the baby on the way even though she kept insisting she was fine.
Raegan walks us outside, clearly not happy about it. “She’s already getting her way and she isn’t evenbornyet!”
Lin turns to me. “We can continue the sleepover at your house? If you wanted?”
The question catches me off guard. I don’t want to stumble through a vague excuse and have them think the worst about my dad and home life. Even though they’re my best friends, I can’t let them know about the recoverees. What if it somehow got back to Margaret? This secret is too big of a risk to let anyone else know.
I make my voice as cheerful as I can. “My dad got the carpets cleaned today, so I doubt he’d be thrilled about me having a group over when everything is still wet.”
Not my best excuse, but luckily none of them seem concerned by it.
Instead, Whitney unlocks her car. She won’t meet my eyes, probably assuming I’m specifically blowing her off. “It’s fine. I think Jay wanted me to come over, anyway.”
I can’t tell if she wants that to sting, but it does.
Lin, on the other hand, gives me a quick hug. “We’ll plan for another time.”
Raegan smiles. “Yeah, it’d be good to see Mr. Seneca.”
A knot of worry forms in my stomach, so I keep it noncommittal. “Yeah, for sure.”
I drive back home, trying not to feel bad about lying to my friends. It’s for the best. And I really,reallydon’t want to get sent back when I just got here.
The first thing I notice when I get home and open the front door is music. It’s not Queen, thank god. It sounds like something that you’d hear at a serene water garden.
Confused, I step into the living room—which does not look like a living room anymore. Our beige couch and leather recliner are pushed against the wall, and our coffee table has been moved in front of the stone fireplace. The only thing in the middle of the room is our olive area rug and, dead center, Saylor, who is sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed.
“Uh, hey,” I say, making sure my voice is clear over the music. “What are you doing?”
