Eloise tries to help. “She’s a legend. Did you see Royals Anonymous? There are already three memes.”
“Memes.” Mom says the word like it’s an insect she found in the flour. “I just want you to be happy, Emery. That’s all.”
“I will be.” I cross my arms, defensive even now. “It’s what I want. I’ve wanted it since… always.”
Mom shakes her head. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, sweetie. Least of all us.”
“I do.” This time my voice cracks. “I do. You never believed in the omega stuff. You always made fun of people who leaned into it. But you sent me anyway, and you bought all the stupid extra lessons, and you paid for everything I needed even when I was a pain. I want this. I want to be the best omega ever. For you. For me. Even for them.” I don’t say the alphas’ names. I can’t.
The room is a vacuum. No one moves. Eloise is a statue. Even the dust motes hold their breath.
Mom puts down the garment bag and slowly walks to me with tears still wet on her cheeks. She hugs me tight. “You never have to be anything but yourself,” she whispers, low enough that Dad won’t hear.
“I don’t even know what that is,” I whisper back.
“Neither does anyone. But you’ll figure it out.” She lets go and smooths my hair, tucks a stray strand behind my ear. “You always do.”
Dad clears his throat. He looks like he’s about to cry, and I can’t handle that, so I hug him first. He squeezes so tight my spine pops, then lets go fast and claps me on the shoulder like he’s jumpstarting my confidence.
“I’ll call every Sunday,” he says. “Or text. Whatever you want.”
“Sunday’s good.” I blink fast to keep the tears in. It feels so formal. So unlike our conversations in the past to the point where I wonder if they think I’ll simply never return home now that I have a pack.
That’s not the case at all,I want to scream, but I don’t.
Mom steps back and straightens her skirt. “Let me take a photo.” She digs out her phone.
I stand with Eloise and we both try to smile, but it comes out as two grimaces. Mom doesn’t care. She snaps three photos, then one more, then another, just in case.
“Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do,” Dad says, then laughs, like he remembers what he used to get up to in college. Somehow I can’t quite picture either of my parents as anything other than they are now.
The house goes quiet after they leave, shutting the door with an almost apologetic click. I stare at the wall for a minute.This still feels like some final moment and I’m not sure how to process it.
Eloise plops on to the bed. Her dress balloons around her like a ridiculous cloud. “They love you so much it hurts.”
“I know.” It does.
Eloise pats the spot next to her. “Do you want to talk about what happens next?”
“No.” I sit anyway. My eyes drift to the ceiling, where a dozen glow-in-the-dark stars still linger from middle school. “Do you think they’ll hate me?”
Eloise is quiet for a beat. “No. But I think they’ll try.”
I snort. “Good. At least we’re all on the same page.”
We finish packing in a kind of mutual trance, methodically rolling clothes, taping boxes, and tossing the “regret” pile into trash bags. The suitcase zipper catches and I nearly rip my thumbnail off, but I don’t scream. I just press my lips together and breathe through it.
At 2:58 on the dot, a long black car pulls up in front of the house. It’s the kind of car they use for foreign dignitaries or funeral processions. The windows are tinted so deep you can’t tell if there’s even a driver inside.
“Showtime,” Eloise says, grabbing her own duffel and swinging it over her shoulder.
We drag everything to the porch in three trips. The driver is tall, dressed in a suit so flawless it looks like he ironed it on his body. He doesn’t make small talk. He doesn’t look at me, not even when I nearly tip a box onto the sidewalk.
Eloise jumps in first, then helps me with my bags. The inside is mostly cold leather seats, all empty, and it smells like money and disinfectant. The doors thump shut with coffin-finality.
I look out the window. My parents are standing in the driveway, arms around each other. Mom is crying for real now. Dad is waving, eyes screwed up against the sun.
The car pulls away. I stare until the house vanishes, then I sit back and let myself feel nothing for a while.
