Mom and I are frozen. Dad rubs his forehead in disbelief. “Gavin, if you felt that way, why didn’t you tell me?”
Gavin sighs, resting his arms on his knees and leaning on them. He looks up at Dad in an almost childlike manner, struggling to find the courage to say what’s on his mind. “I didn’t want to let you down.” His voice cracks, and he quickly clears his throat before continuing. “I could tell you wanted it so badly for me. So I tried. For you. Only Icouldn’t keep up with it. You have these unrealistic expectations of me. Of all of us.”
“Is that true?” Dad looks at me and Mom.
I’m pretty sure I’ve said enough, so I shrug, but Mom doesn’t meet his gaze, which is enough to answer his question.
He sighs almost devastatingly. “I raised you the way I was raised. On the farm, men were taught to be strong and provide for the family. Women maintained the children and the house. I didn’t think anything was wrong with that. Our family seemed happy. Like a team.” He turns to Mom. “It seemed to work when we first came to LA. Right, Gloria?” He desperately searches her face for an answer.
“It did,” Mom agrees. “Until it didn’t. When the business started taking off and you left me behind, we were no longer a team.” He deflates at her words. “But it’s not too late to learn from our mistakes,” she says, reassuring him that what she’s about to say next is coming from a place of love. “We learned on the farm which crops couldn’t grow, but more importantly we learned which crops thrived. If you don’t learn from the past, then you’ll never reach the level of success you’re looking for. Because that type of success doesn’t exist.”
Although I feel guilty about the way this conversation started, I’m not sorry it happened. We’ve felt this way about Dad for a while, and if we want to get through this, we can’t keep trying toactlike a family. It’s time we startbeingone.
“I used to think that’s what we wanted. A thriving business to buy nice things—a big house, the best schools, the finest foods money could buy. I wanted our kids to have a better life, an easier one than the one we lived.” Dad stands up from the chair with great effort, as if the heaviness from the conversation is weighing himdown. Slowly, he walks over to the family photo leaning against the kitchen wall. He stares at it for a long time. The intense expression on his face tells me that he’s looking beyond the surface of the photo.
Dad always said he cared about us, but to me, actions spoke louder than words. Being a workaholic made it seem like he was more interested in money and success than in his own family. But now his actions are making me see that I was wrong. He wasn’t just doing it for show; he really does care about us.
“It seems that this business has done more to tear us apart than keep us together.” Dad shakes his head.
“We wanted so much for them that we tried to do it for them. Now they need to live their own lives, just like we did ours.” Mom puts a hand on Dad’s shoulder.
Dad reaches to put his hand on hers and looks at her. “You’re right,” he says. The smile on his face seems forced, but his words feel genuine.
“I shouldn’t have spoken for you.” My eyes flick between Mom and Gavin.
“No, Elena. You shouldn’t have,” Mom says flatly.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
She doesn’t say anything. Instead she nods with her lips pressed in a line, acknowledging my apology. Which is more than I can say for Gavin, who’s too upset to meet my eye, let alone answer me. And maybe I’m still mad at him too.
“Look, Gavin—” I start. But I’m cut off by a loud ruckus outside our front door.
Mom and Dad peer out the window facing the front of the house.
“It’s the press.” Dad abruptly moves back from the window.
Mom ducks behind the curtain. “How did they find us?”
“What are they doing here, Elena?” Gavin’s head whips over to me.
The three of them stare at me in an all-too-familiar way.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. But it doesn’t stop the uneasy feeling rising from the pit of my stomach.
Chapter 32
So, Willow’s a liar.
Not only did she not Facetune me, but she posted the photo on all her socials with the caption:Me and my poor friend Elena Ok, who has lost everything, including her will to live.
Now that her #Blaire post has gone viral, the media outlets have gotten wind of my location and are camped out in front of our house. The dial-up internet was so slow loading the comments, so I didn’t read them all. But even if we did have high-speed internet, I don’t know if I could read any more. Most of the comments fixate on the drastic change in my appearance, assuming that my unstyled hair; ill-fitting, off-brand clothes; and makeup-less face mean that I’m sad, alone, and weary living in Blaire. The truth is, I’ve always felt this way, even when we lived in LA. I was just better at hiding it.
The scathing comments aren’t just about me either. They’re about Blaire too. How poor the town is, how obvious it is that no one wants to live here, and how it’s no wonder that no one knew of its existence before. It’s only a matter of time before the town becomes a public spectacle. After today I will henceforth go down in Blaire’s history for putting back on the map the town that’s been forgotten about. An achievement I would have been proud of underdifferent circumstances. Instead of highlighting its good qualities, Blaire has become a laughingstock—all because of me.
For the past hour, we’ve been cooped up inside our house since the reporters have been camped out outside. Mom and Dad think it’s a good idea not to make any comments or public appearances, and for the first time, I agree with them. Gavin and I are in our room, and even though he isn’t speaking to me, it doesn’t mean it’s been silent. There may not be as many reporters as I’m used to, but they are loud and unrelenting nonetheless.
“Elena, have you really lost everything?”
