“You’ve probably noticed they’re not around.”
She nods.
“They… don’t actually live here.” I don’t say anything else and she nods again, then rests her head on my shoulder. It’s not what I needed to say, but it’s all I can say.
“I just wanted you to know.”Liar.If she’d never gone into that room, I never would have had to tell her.
VIRGINIA
With Cam’s arms wrapped around me, I feel safe. I want him to know that he’s safe too—he can tell me anything. “Can I be Dakota? Just for a minute?” We’re still swaying, still pressed up against each other.
“Always,” he says. “For as long as you need.”
“Do you still want to know something no one else knows?”
He nods, urging me to go on.
“Sometimes I hate my mother.”
In truth, I hate my father, too, but he’s never around. It’s harder, somehow, to hate him. But my mom—even though she isn’t physically there most of the time, she still is. Her voice sits in that house. In the living room, where she told me we moved because of money issues. In the kitchen, where she makes my breakfast every morning. We tell pretty lies, talking about upcoming family vacations and weekend outings that won’t ever happen.
“I found a key last week.” I pull it from my pocket and dangle it from my finger.
Cam wraps his hand back around mine, crushing the cold metal in my palm.
“What does it open?”
“My old house.” It’s my mother’s old key ring, a silver music note charm I gave her for Mother’s Day when I was nine or ten. I found it in a drawer in the kitchen. “It made me think about the house, so I went by there. Mostly, I just wanted to see if it looked any different.”
“Did it?” Cam asks.
“Not really,” I say. “I walked around, looked in the windows, like some sort of burglar. I was curious what it looked like now, with another family’s things.” I try to swallow down the emotion that’s rising up out of my chest, choking me. “I didn’t expect it to be empty.” My eyes are fixed on the poster hanging on the wall behind Cam. I’m staring it down, like I’m waiting for it to leap off the wall. “Except there was one room full of stuff.”
Cam kisses my forehead, his breath hot against my skin. “What kind of stuff?”
“Her old comforter, Nonni’s old vintage dresser,” I say. “It’s my parents’ old room, and it’s still full of her stuff.”
“I thought your parents sold that house.”
“She’s a liar. I hate her.” It feels good when Dakota says it. When I say it, I feel guilty. “How can someone who’s supposed to love me more than anything think it’s okay to lie to me like that?” Cam tightens his arms around me, and I lay my face against his chest. My silent tears soak through his shirt, and I feel like I’m marking him with my pain. Like we’re sharing this secret now. I should have told him last week, when I found the key, because I feel better now that I’ve told him.
Idon’ttell him I used the key to go into the house. Or that I curled up on the floor of my empty bedroom. And I don’t tell him that before I left, I sat in the three seasons room, looking out at the lake, until the sun finally set and I had to go to band practice. I don’t tell him that I’m questioning everything now.
***
There have been countless times over the years when Logan and I have gone for days without talking. It’s always Logan’s fault. Usually it’s over summer break, or when he gets a new girlfriend. Or if his brother is in town for the holidays. When something occupies Logan, it isn’t uncommon for him to forget to call. And if he doesn’t call me, I refuse to call him. Until we inevitably cross paths. He acts hurt for not hearing from me, I act like I don’t know what he’s talking about, and things go back to normal. It’s a familiar, choreographed routine. It’s another reason the two of us would never work as an actual couple. We’d be the worst kind of dysfunctional.
So this little stint of radio silence between me and Logan? It’s not a first. And it’s not like we never see each other. We’re at band practice twice a week, in calculus class together, and we eat lunch at the same table five days a week. Logan sees me more than my mom does, and one hundred times more than my dad does, but we haven’t actually been alone together in months. I don’tthink we’ve really talked in weeks. My life feels fuller than ever. I’ve been pleasantly wrapped up in my “whatever” with Cam, and I’ve kept busy setting up gigs for the band. I’m actively avoiding thoughts of college and what I plan to do. Because The Plan—it’s been teetering on the edge for a while now, and I think it’s about to fall off a tall building and splatter all over the sidewalk. The Plan feels like it’s in a million unrecognizable pieces lately, and I’m not even sure why. Maybe becauseIfeel like I’m in a million unrecognizable pieces.
Last night, Cam and I played at the beach.Ourbeach. It was just the two of us, playing for the waves, but I felt vulnerable and exhilarated and terrified all at once. And as scary as it was, it was also incredible.
“Hey, Vee.” Logan is crossing the parking lot toward me as I lean against Cam’s car and fiddle with my phone. “How’s it going?”
I straighten up and try my best to sound normal. “Good. What’s up?”
Logan shoves his hands in his pockets and leans his hip against the car next to me. “Nothing, I just—haven’t seen much of you lately.”
“I’ve just been busy.”This is not my fault.
