Dad stuck his head through the doorway. “It’s not?”
“Just a kiss,” Mom assured him.
The kettle whistled. “I’ll be right there,” Dad promised, ducking back into the kitchen.
Mom patted my hand. “We’ve been meaning to have the Talk with you, but to be honest we assumed we’d have more time. Or that you’d ask one of your sisters,” she added hopefully.
“It’s not about that. I mean, it is, but it’s not.” Could I even form a sentence anymore? I closed my eyes to stop another gush of tears.
Dad bustled into the room, setting a steaming mug on the coffee table in front of me before handing one to Mom. “What did I miss?”
“It is and also isn’t about the kiss,” Mom recapped.
I wrapped my hands around the hot mug, pulling it close to my face. The steam eased some of the stiffness. “I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Because?” Dad said leadingly.
“Because I told everyone he was a bad person. But now I think maybe—” I drew a ragged breath, “I’m the bad one.”
Once I started talking, the words poured out. From Alex liking Terry and how I’d kept them apart, somehow kicking off three wonderful friendships, to our vexed efforts in the dating arena, including the misguided setup with Jeff.
“Your friends encouraged you to pursue your sister’s boyfriend?” Dad interrupted.
“That was before we realized. And now I think maybe Terry likes Cam too. And Miles and Arden broke up because of something I said! It’s a catastrophe.”
“It is a bit melodramatic,” Dad agreed, which did not strike me as a helpful observation.
The tears flowed anew. “I ruined everything. They’ll never want to be friends with me again.”
Mom’s brows drew together. “Because you kissed the boy your friend wasn’t dating?”
“No! Because it makes everything I ever told them look like a tissue of lies!” Part of me hoped they would argue the point, but that wasn’t my parents’ style. They took their time mulling my words, making contemplative sounds—a lingeringhmmin Mom’s case; head scratching for Dad.
“Can’t you tell your friends what happened?” Dad asked at last.
I shook my head violently. How was I supposed to explain to them when I didn’t understand it myself? It was as though I’d discovered a hidden door inside my own home, one that led to a dank and cobwebbed basement I’d never known about. Only the door was in my head, and the basement was a side of me I’d never seen—a selfish, sneaky crawl space.
“Now, now,” Dad said as I began sniffling again. “I’m sure things aren’t as dire as they appear. Friendships have survived worse.”
I couldn’t tell him that in my world, friendships were brittle things that could be shattered with a few words. How lowering to think I’d alienated all my friends for the second time in the span of a few months. Not to mention Alex.
“There’s something else,” I said. “Someoneelse.”
I felt Mom stiffen beside me. “Another boy?”
“The same one,” I sighed. “Alex. I kind of ... threw him to the wolves.”
“How so?” Dad asked.
“I let my friends think it was his fault. The kissing. Like I was just an innocent bystander.”
For several endless moments, the only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock. “That was unfortunate,” Mom said at last.
“I know! And I feel terrible about it.” I raised my head far enough to glance hopefully at my parents. “I sort of confessed the truth on the way home.”
“To your friends,” Mom clarified. I nodded.
“And your fellow?” Dad asked.
