“How we wish on our fingertips?” I take her good arm and press my hand against her palm. Our fingers are the same length now. And after all these years, I realize she’s right. The stars won’t help me. No one will, not really. No one can.
No one except me.
“Of course I remember that, baby,” she whispers, increasing the pressure between our hands.
“This is my wish, Mom. You need help. And I need to let you go.” And then I pull my hand back from hers slowly, widening the space between us.
I spent my last dollars on junk food and acetone. I sit on a bench on Spring Street, staring at my phone, trying to get up the nerve to call Luca, Eva, Emmy. Even Macon. But I can’t seem to get my fingers to tap their names. Can’t seem to stop my eyes from leaking, my heart from pounding, my mind from screaming out in simultaneous relief and anger and hurt.
After I asked Mom to get help—?after I made my wish, for better or worse—?Mom escaped to the shower, speechless, and I knew I had to leave right then. I didn’t know if I’d have the strength to stay if I’d waited for her to get out.
And now, I know if I don’t call someone, I’ll go back to that hotel. I’ll try to fix it. Fix her, and I can’t. Only she can do that.
I stare at my phone, flipping between the names of the only people in the world who love me.
There are a few more missed calls from Luca and Eva. Even Emmy called once, but now it’s the middle of the night and everything’s quiet, allowing doubt upon doubt about what I’ve just done to pile up. It’s hard to wade through them. Where will I live? Luca and Emmy are the obvious choice, but do they even want me? Emmy’s got Eva now, a brand-new girl to take care of. Will I be too much? It’s all too overwhelming. I’m too tired, too sad, too desperate to see Eva, and too terrified she’ll turn me away.
But I need to go home.
So I tap on a different name and press the phone to my ear.
An hour later Jay’s peeling-paint Jeep pulls up to the corner of Spring and Pleasant Streets. He doesn’t say anything as I round the front of his car, open the back door, and toss my suitcase onto the back seat before climbing in next to him. He just stares straight ahead, waiting until I’m buckled to start driving.
“Thanks for coming,” I say as he pulls onto I-295.
“Sure,” he says.
Some band I’ve never heard croons out of his iPod, and he turns the volume up. That’s fine. I don’t want to talk either.
He doesn’t say a word until we pull up outside of Luca’s house. It’s the middle of the night, I’ve just left my mother in a hotel room in Portland, and now I’m sitting in my ex-boyfriend’s car, staring at the darkened windows of Macon’s old room and wondering if my girlfriend is still my girlfriend.
It’s almost enough to make me laugh.
Almost.
“You going to tell me what the hell happened?” Jay asks, his hands still wrapped around the steering wheel.
“Is that your subtle way of asking?”
“Is that your subtle way of saying no?”
We stare at each other for a moment, and then I laugh. I laugh long and loud, tears springing into my eyes, and I’m not sure if they’re from actual laughter or exhaustion or sadness or what.
“Did we fight like this when we were together?” I ask, wiping under my eyes.
“Hell, yeah, we did. It was hot.”
“Jesus, you’re such an ass,” I say, but I laugh through the words and Jay grins.
“So,” he says. “You and Eva, huh?”
My eyes widen. “Where did you hear that?”
He shrugs. “I saw her in LuMac’s yesterday looking like someone killed her kitten. I asked Michaelson if she was okay. He asked if I knew where you were. And then I remembered how you used to stare at that Daisy Lowe poster in my room a little too intensely.”
My stomach flip-flops. My heart flip-flops. Everything flip-flops. This is the first time someone I didn’t already trust implicitly—?or trust implicitly by proxy, like Kimber—?has found out about Eva and me. It’s terrifying. My fingers tighten on my bag, my whole body flushing cold and then hot. I brace myself for a jeer, a mean joke, a slur, even anger—?I did sleep with the guy—?but Jay just narrows his eyes at me. He’s even smiling a little.
“I put two and two together,” he says quietly, gently.
