Oh. This is not what I expected her to say.
“I mean, Dad died—and then you and Jared left when summer ended. All of it was hard. It feltreal—you both got to escape thisplace while I stayed. I couldn’t stop seeing him in every room, every memory.”
My heart aches. I recall all the times I’d lingered in the astronomy lab or down by the lake. I understand how she feels. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“No one did.” She’s staring at her hands now. “But I’m working through it. With therapy, medication. I guess it seemed easy for you and Jared. Like, I have two brilliant older siblings who overshadow me all the time, so of course you knew how to handle your grief better than me.”
“That’s not true,” I protest. “You’re so fearless, Mads. I’ve always felt likeyouovershadowme. You just—you go after what you want. I wish I was more like you. It’s admirable.” She looks up. “And I struggle, too. Every day. Over the summer it felt like—like if everyone was together and getting along then we’d be okay. But I wasn’t. I kept going down these dark and existential thought spirals that followed me here.”
“You never told me.”
She’s not wrong. There was only one person I wasn’t afraid to spill my thoughts to, and after our fight last night, I doubt we’ll ever speak again.
“I wasn’t used to disrupting what people expected from me,” I admit. “I didn’t know how to be sad.”
She looks somewhere offscreen, thoughts dancing behind her eyes. “You just…let yourself. Don’t overthink. Just, you know. Exist.”
A wave of emotion builds, messy and fragile.
“I got this email from him?” she goes on, a statement phrased like a question. “A scheduled email on my first day of school. Maybe he knew I’d need it. I wasn’t going to Ivernia like you and Jared and part of me still feels inferior because of that, even though it makes sense to stay here with the theater program.”
“I got a scheduled email from him, too. On my birthday.”
Relief softens her features. “That makes me feel better.” She adjusts so she’s sitting in a kneeling position. “I guess what I’m trying to say is—sometimes I need space to process my own shit. If I want to shout and cry and feel my feelings, I’m going to do it. That’s not something you can help me with. That’s…” She thinks. “Part of life, I guess. Maybe one day the hole won’t feel as large.”
I let this sink in. “You’re wise, you know that?”
“I know, but validating.” She smirks. “And listen, Mom’s been really great about my therapy appointments. I’m sure you could find someone too, if you wanted. Mine suggested writing to Dad after I told her about the email. I’d never thought to do that, but in a strange way, it helped. Maybe you could try.”
“I will,” I say, and I mean it.
“And hey, I’m sorry Ivernia might close,” she adds. “But it’ll always be there, you know? It’ll still belong to us.”
I want to believe her, I do, but I’m not sure it will.
We hang up, and I slide the dress on a hanger and tuck it in my closet. Then I drag myself to the dining hall. My stomach twistslike a wrung cloth as I scan the room, but Sumner isn’t here. All I feel is plummeting disappointment.
I’m at my usual table by the window slicing a banana into my oatmeal when William drops into the seat across from me, tray in hand.
“Good morning,” he says, going after one of the three bowls of cereal he’s brought with him. “Did you and Sumner have a row?”
I almost drop my knife. “He told you?”
“I sensed something amiss.”
“Not exactly uncharacteristic of us.”
And then William does something I’ve never witnessed in my time knowing him. Hehesitates. Like he’sthinkingbefore speaking.
This gets my attention. “What?”
“Well,” he says slowly, as if searching for the right words. “Perhaps the underlying problem is unreciprocated feelings. You have to understand he does deeply enjoy your company. Otherwise, why would he have asked for my assistance?”
I am so confused. “What do you mean,unreciprocated feelings? And assistance with what, exactly?”
They aren’t keeping secrets from me, are they?
A flicker of amusement lights in his eyes. “Between you and me, he sought to change his insufferable habits. Demonstrate common courtesies, if you will.”
