“Um…” she hedges. “I’ll think about it.”
“I-I was joking. After Ines and Owen’s parents, you can absolutely listen.”
“Thanks.”
The car is awkwardly silent again as I pull up to a traffic light, so I choose the safest topic I can think of to keep the conversation going.
“How is the family?”
She shrugs. “Good. Hudson spends most days playing with hisbest friend, Maya. Hunter is building a tree house in his spare time.” She peers over at me quickly, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “And I’m sure you already know about Story being accepted into a prestigious ballet company.”
Fuck. I didn’t have a clue, but I don’t tell Riley that.
“She’s making plans and preparing herself for all the changes that will bring. Piper is…Piper. Taking care of everyone. She’s also discovered a love for flowers, so she spent a lot of time gardening while I was there.”
How did I not know any of this?
Because you’ve been in your head for months, my inner voice says.You barely notice what happens under your nose, let alone on the other side of the country.
“Good to know,” I mutter.
She shifts in her seat, facing me. “You had no idea about any of it.”
It’s a statement, not a question.
My stomach rolls, making bile rise in my throat. “Yeah. I was…too focused on myself and my own problems.”
She looks away and puts her hands on her knees.
Guilt slams into me, making my skin crawl. I should be used to feeling this way by now, but it still fills my mouth with bitterness. Dealing with grief is hard, but it’s not an excuse to ignore the people I care about. Sure, I’m helping Ines, so I’m not entirely hopeless, but treating my family like an afterthought isn’t okay.
I don’t deserve their care or their attention.
I’m a waste of space.
She coughs, pulling me from my thoughts. With her eyes closed, she rests her head back against the seat, breathing slowly. She mentioned not feeling well a few days ago, and I never bothered to check on her afterward.
Fuck.
“How are you, Ry? Still feeling sick?”
She swallows, the delicate column of her throat working. “I’m fine.”
“Are you overthe food poisoning?”
“Uh-huh.” She dips her chin, but she doesn’t look at me.
A hint of relief threads through me. “Good. Being sick on vacation sucks.”
She doesn’t respond, and when the silence starts to suffocate me, I ask about Story and her plans for the fall. Maybe talking about ballet will make the atmosphere between us more bearable.
In a matter of minutes, I know I was wrong.
She explains what Story’s days will look like, mentioning homeschool and her change in college plans. With every word, she becomes more distant, more closed off, like she’d rather talk about anything but this. Why?
The question I’ve had in my head for a very long time grows louder: What made her quit ballet?
Maybe one day, she’ll trust me enough to tell me.
