A little later the three of us sit on the outdoor terrace of the hospital cafeteria with trays of food. I close my eyes and raise my chin to the sun, so warm against my skin. It should be comforting, a natural boost in serotonin, but instead it unsettles me, because it feels to me that just yesterday we had snow, half a foot deep, icicles hanging from the roof on the other side of my classroom windows.
Shade moves over me, blocking the warmth from my face, and I open my eyes to find my mom standing above me, adjusting the shade of the umbrella over our table. My dad takes a bite of his cheeseburger.
They haven’t said much of anything since this morning. I can tell they don’t want to push me too hard out of fear of asecond mental breakdown. So I guess they’re waiting formeto talk. I have a million questions, but I really have no idea where to begin.
I set my fork down on the plastic tray, doing some simple math in my head. Knitting my eyebrows together, I look at my mom, nervous to ask what I want to ask, because if I’m eighteen and it’s summer, I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.
“What is it?” She leans toward me over the table. My dad sets his fountain drink down to listen.
“I um… I graduated high school, didn’t I?”
My mom’s jaw drops open in surprise, then pulls into a smile. “You remember?” she asks, but her smile immediately disappears when I shake my head.
“No. But I want to jog my memory. I want to know everything.”
“Right. I’m sorry,” she replies, composing herself. “Yes. You did. Shortly before everything happened, actually.”
I try to remember myself in a yellow cap and gown, walking down the aisle to get my diploma, but… imagining is the best I can do. I try for something else.
“Did I make varsity? Did Savannah and Rory? Did we make it to the championships ever?” I ask.
“You made varsity. Lettered your juniorandsenior year,” she says proudly. “You guys never made it to the championships, though… and Savannah and Rory, well, they quit… when was it, John?” my mom asks, looking to my dad.
“I’d say about halfway through the season junior year.”
“You’re kidding me!” I stare between the two of them.“We’ve been playing soccer together since we could walk. Why did they quit?” I ask.
“Um…” My dad looks at my mom, who looks back at him.
“We’re not really sure,” she says.
“I literally tell you everything.” I draw my eyebrows together. “What do you mean, you’re not sure?”
“Stevie, I don’t remember. You’ll have to ask them. What other questions do you have?” Mom asks, bringing a plastic forkful of salad to her mouth. Her tone is closed off, almost sharp.
Okay? Weird.
I sink back into my chair, poking around at the pork chop on my tray. I’m missing two whole years of my high school experience. How am I supposed to even know what to dig for? I can’t even begin to imagine how much is missing. Inside jokes and school drama. All the parties I must’ve gone to and exams I passed or flunked. Summer sleepovers, SATs and college applic—
“Wait. So then where am I going to college?” I ask, nervous because I’m not sure I’m ready for this or that I could even still go, but also excited to see where the future is taking me. I’ve lived in this bubble my whole life. In the back of my mind, I’ve started to wonder recently what it might be like to actually get out of Wyatt. To explore other parts of the country. To go to college somewhere warmer, with a beach. Somewhere with a few people who maybe look kinda like me. Did I still feel that way?
“Oh!” My mom lights up and then I do too.Wow. It must be something really exciting!
She finishes chewing and swallows. “You got into Bower!”
I feel every muscle in my face drop. “What?” I must have misheard her. She can’t possibly mean I’m attending the community college that is literally within walking distance of my house.
“You wanted to live at home to save yourself some money and keep your job at the coffee shop,” she says, as if that’s going to make this news any better. As if my mind is at all focused on some stupid part-time job right now. I don’t evenlikecoffee. Why the hell would I want to spend all day making it?
“Bower?”I ask again, incredulous.
“My old stompin’ grounds,” my dad says, proudly patting his chest a couple of times. “Actually, it’ll bereallygood now for you to be around home after all of this, so close to us, you know?” he says, digging his big hand into a tiny bag of Doritos.
“Yeah. I guess so.” I try to fake a smile for them, but my face feels too heavy to mask my disappointment.
There’s a lot of room for change in two years, but I cannot imagine a single version of myself that would have wanted this.
“And you don’thaveto live at home if you don’t want to down the line,” my mom offers, but it doesn’t make me feel much better. Whether I’m in a dorm room or at home, I’ll still be stuck in Wyatt.
