Isn’t it?
She led me to the amber-stained dining table with its bead-carved trim, and I couldn’t help thinking of Dad, the story he’d told me about it, and the way he’d broken afterward. For the first time, I let myself think about him alone in that apartment while Mom and Jeremy and I were together.
“Tell me about the girls.”
I folded my arms on the table and I did, mostly. I told her about Jolene agreeing to help me take pictures, about how we became friends, and how, before I even realized it, I was having more than friendly feelings for her, which made me a complete jerk because I’d finally gotten together with my dream girl here at home.
Mom covered her mouth at that point, and I was starting to worry that my confession had seriously lowered her opinion of me when a laugh slipped through her fingers, muffled at first and then louder as she gave up trying to hide it.
I leaned back. “I’m glad you find my pain funny.”
“No, not funny.” She reached for my hand. “Honey, you have to be honest with this other girl.”
“Erica. And I know. It’s just...she knows that I liked her for a really long time, and breaking up with her this quickly makes it look like I was messing with her. I don’t want to do that to her.”
“If she knows you at all, she’ll never think that.”
I wasn’t so sure. “Plus, Jolene knows I have a girlfriend, and she doesn’t seem to mind the way I would if she had a boyfriend.”
To that Mom only smiled. “Let me see your phone.” When I handed it to her, she pulled up our texts, and, sliding her chair closer to mine so that we could both see the screen, she scrolled thought the photos of Jolene and me, dozens and dozens of photos of the two of us, way more than I needed for Mom. The latest was one of us outside, lying in the snow with a single red scarf wrapping our necks and most of our heads together. Only our eyes were visible, but it was obvious that we were laughing.
I wanted to object that these were photos that were taken specifically to make her believe something that wasn’t real, but the more I looked at them and the more I remembered each moment, the less sure I became.
“Maybe she minds more than she’s letting on,” Mom said, handing me back my phone. Before she let me take it, she added, “And I don’t want you lying to make me feel better anymore, okay?”
“I just want you to be happy again,” I told her, and for some reason that admission brought tears to her eyes. “Mom?”
She shook her head, trying to stem them, but they fell.
“Mom,” I said again, wrapping my arms around her.
She cried for a very, very long time.
I sighed on Friday morning when I saw Erica standing by her locker. I knew this was the moment; it had to be. And not just telling her about Jolene either.
I’d been avoiding the conversation for way too long. I didn’t want to be just Jolene’s friend, and the more time I spent with her, the more I wanted.
And that meant ending things with Erica.
I’d texted her while she was sick, but I wasn’t about to break up with her over the phone, so I’d taken the reprieve like the coward I was.
I didn’t have any more excuses.
“Erica,” I said as I closed the last few feet between us. “I guess you’re feeling bet—”
She turned around and slapped me across the face.
SIXTH WEEKEND
December 4–6
Jolene
“Hello, Adam.”
He rolled his eyes at my formality and joined me on the stairwell. It was snowing hard outside, so hard that I’d wondered if Adam and his brother were going to drive in it.
The apocalypse could have been happening and Dad’s lawyer would still have made me come. By foot if necessary. So I’d been there, sitting on the thinly carpeted step for over an hour when Adam finally showed up.
