“No. Especially because he’s definitely not that anymore, if he ever was. I don’t even know what to say.”
“I’m not even sure you need to say anything,” she muses. “Just send him a picture of your tits.”
I spit my coffee back into mymug.
“What? I’m just saying, men are simple creatures. Don’t underestimate the value of a good blowjob.”
“I’ll…keep that in mind.”
“Do.” She nods. Then checks her watch. “I have to get going.”
“Thanks for last night,” I say, following her out of the kitchen. “It was really fun.”
“It was,” she says. “I’m glad you came over.”
“Me too.”
She walks me to the door, then folds me into a hug. I squeeze extra hard, hoping it tells her all the things I dare not say out loud.
I want so much for my sister to be happy. I’m so scared she isn’t. But I have to trust that she knows what she’s doing. And like Connor said: even if she doesn’t, I’ll be there.
Thirty-Four
I shout hello as I kick off my shoes at the front door, and when no reply is forthcoming, head straight upstairs to my room. I stop short on the threshold. I blink, then blink again. It is completely, utterly, empty. Everything is gone.
I hear my mother’s footsteps approach. I whirl on her. “Mom, what the hell?”
It’s clear she is feelingverypleased with herself.
“I told you, sweetie,” she says, her tone saintly. “We’re doing up your bedroom.”
“Where did all the furniturego?”
“We had to move it for the painter coming.”
OK, yes. She did mention the painter coming, now that I think about it. But this is extreme, surely. Waiting until I’ve left the house to return my bedroom to its factory settings is hardly subtle behavior. Where did she hide everything?
I have a brief vision of my parents scrambling to clear all the furniture and nearly giggle. I wonder how long she’s been waiting in the wings for me to come home and see this.
“Where am I supposed to sleep?”
She taps a finger against her chin, considers the options.
“Back in your own apartment? Just an idea,” she says airily, like she’s tossing out a crazy suggestion on the spot.
I glance at her sideways. She raises an eyebrow.
“Or,” I say, calling her bluff, “I could just stay at Shannon’s? Problem solved.”
“Your sister won’t help you. She thinks you need to go back to New York and apologize to this boyfriend I’m only just hearing about.”
Shannon! Traitor. She must have called Mom the second I pulled out of her driveway to tell her I was on the way home.
I want to argue about it, but you know what? Maybe they’re right. Hiding out in Canada isn’t doing anything. Connor’s not coming after me. If I want to fix this, I’m going to have to go to him. What am I waitingfor?
“Let me look up the flight times,” I sigh. “Maybe I can go this afternoon.”
“Would you look at that, I have them right here,” she says, unfolding a sheet of paper she’s torn from her notepad. Four flight times are neatly listed. 11:45 is circled inred.
