“I think so.” I nod, taking a deep breath in.
“Hey, Stevie?” Nora says, moving the notebook aside so she can scoot her knees up against mine. She holds my eyes and takes both of my nervous hands securely in hers. “We’re going to be okay.”
And I think she’s saying it for herself as much as she’s saying it for me.
CHAPTER 36
NORA AND I SPEND THEnext week getting all of our plans into place. Together, we find and get a deposit down on an apartment we hope is livable, book our plane tickets out of Pittsburgh, and set up our bus passes.
When I told Kendra I needed to talk to her the other day, she thought I was going to ask for more hours permanently. She looked more than a little disappointed when I gave her my notice, but I just told her I wanted to focus on my studies this upcoming year. And she seemed to accept that.
Then I finally got a reply from the UCLA admissions office and they were more than understanding about why I haven’t been in contact all summer. After they set me up with an advisor, the two of us hopped on a Zoom call to figure out my class schedule. We decided to take it slow with a semester of the most basic gen-eds in five different areas, since I might need to play some catchup anyway. And that’s actually perfect, because I still have no idea what I want to major in.
In between, it’s hard for me to interact normally with my mom at first, but every day when I say good night to her, I’m alittle less angry. And by the last day before we leave, the only thing I really feel when I look at her is, well… sad. When I look atbothof my parents, really.
“Hey, guys,” I say to them early that evening. My dad is actually home before it’s pitch-black out for once. He’s sitting on the couch watching Fox News and flipping through a hunting magazine, and my mom is emptying the dishwasher in the kitchen.
“Hey, kid, what’s up?” Dad asks, sitting up a little.
“You two want to go out to eat tonight? My treat,” I offer.
“Oh, you don’t have to pay, sweetie. You thinking Lola’s or…?”
“I want to. Actually, I was thinking we could go to Valley Grille over in Tipton,” I suggest.
“What’s the occasion?” my mom asks, holding a stack of clean plates.
I shrug. “Just thought it’d be nice to go somewhere different, spend some time together.”
… Before I leave forever.
The Valley Grille is packed to the gills tonight, every table full. We haven’t been over here since we celebrated my mom’s fortieth birthday when I was in fifth grade. It’s nothing fancy. I mean, it’s not earning any Michelin stars in its lifetime, but I think it’s the nicest place we have within thirty miles and that feels right for tonight.
The host walks us through the tables and seats us at a booth against the wall.
The only thing louder than the group of men watching thePirates game at the bar is the group of old ladies in the corner playing cards for nickels. On top of that, one of the kids from the family of six next to us has spilled his milk not once, not twice, butthreetimes, and his mom is still insisting that he’s too old for a sippy cup.
Okay. Maybe it’s not quite as nice as I remember, but it doesn’t matter. I’m still going to make the most of it.
The waitress brings the little boy another glass of milk and then plasters on a smile to introduce herself to us and take our orders.
“My daughter’s paying so I’ll take the biggest steak you’ve got,” my dad says, with a mischievous grin that I haven’t seen much of all summer.
I laugh and shake my head at him, because I know he’s waiting to get a rise out of me, and this poor waitress is just trying to get through her shift.
“Just kidding. Give me a Bud and the house burger, medium rare, with fries,” he says, closing his menu.
“You’re in a good mood,” my mom says to him after the waitress leaves to put our orders in.
He sits back in his chair and lets out a breath of relief. “It’s nice to be done at the garage a little earlier today, and out to eat with my family.”
I agree. I’m glad to be hanging out with Dad from before, the one who isn’t constantly saying something offensive or thoughtless. But it also frustrates the hell out of me too. He really couldn’t have been home earlier any other days this summer? He waits untilnow, the night before I leave, to find some time in his busy schedule to spend a couple of good hours with me?
My mom looks at him pointedly, like she wants him to say something, and he seems to take the hint.
“Stevie, I—well…,” he starts, his face turning down toward the table. “I just want to say that I’m sorry I haven’t been around more all summer with you and your mom.” He looks right at me. “I’ve, umm… just been trying to get ahead of all these medical bills we’ve been getting.”
Oh.
