“Did you see the letters on the table?” Zinnia asks suddenly.
My foot slips off the gas pedal. The car lurches forward, and I slam the brake just before we hit a parked truck.
“Lily!” Zinnia yelps.
I pull over to the side of the road and put the car in park. My heart is hammering against my ribs. My hands won’t stop shaking now.
“Sorry,” I manage. “Sorry, I just—”
“Are you okay?”
I’m not okay.
Letters?
From Mom?
Why would she be sending letters after all this time? Why letters instead of calls or emails, or I don’t know? And why after all this time? It’s been years like who cares, let’s move on.
“Lily?” Zinnia’s voice is small.
I take a breath. Then another. Force my hands to unclench from the steering wheel.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Um, did you say letters?”
Zinnia nods but says nothing more. She sits there quietly while I pull myself back together enough to drive.
When we get home, the Honda Pilot is in the driveway.
My stomach drops.
I park in the garage and sit there for a second, staring at the steering wheel, trying to breathe normally.
Zinnia gets out first.
I pull out my phone, open Instagram, and send Elle the first meme I see. I was trying to lighten my mood by opening social media, but it doesn’t help.
I shove my phone in my pocket and follow Zinnia inside.
My dad is sitting at the kitchen table. He looks up when I walk in, and without a single word, I know that he knows. Just one look and I can tell I’m in deep shit.
“How was school, Zinni?” he asks.
Zinnia shrugs. “Boring.”
“Okay.” He turns to me. “And you?”
I don’t answer as I head toward the hallway, already planning to lock myself in my room and not come out until morning.
“A moment, Lily,” he says. Not a question. A demand.
I stop and turn around. “Okay.”
Zinnia disappears down the hall. Her bedroom door clicks shut.
Then it’s just us.
He’s still sitting at the table, hands folded, and calm.
