He found himself once again spending his days in excruciating inactivity, watching clips of singing competitions and falling prey to more than oneVanderpump Rulesmarathon. He learned, too, that there were entire spin-off series, and their siren call was very strong indeed. He skipped his writing group for the second time in two weeks, which he hated almost as much as he hated having to tell Willawhyhe was missing it.
Even Annie noticed something was off.
“Where’s Merritt?” she asked one morning over waffles. Whit was rushing from room to room, looking for her shoes and backpack and the folder where they were supposed to be keeping track of her daily reading minutes, for which he usually just made up numbers that sounded about right.
“What?” he called back from the living room, stalling for time.
“Where’s Merritt?” she said in the drawn-out voice she always used when she had to repeat herself.
Whit snagged a second sneaker from under the couch and stared at it. Well.
He walked back into the kitchen and dropped the pair of shoes at Annie’s feet, before pulling a chair out for himself. They were just going to have to be late to school today.
“I don’t Merritt think will be coming around here much anymore.”
Annie’s face fell with her fork. “What?”
Whit shrugged. He was determined to be honest in this already belated conversation. Annie deserved that.
“We aren’t working together anymore. We had a disagreement, and—”
“But you’re stilltogether, right?”
The words sped like arrows through his chest.
“What?”
Annie gave him the most grown-up look he’d ever seen her make.
“You two are together. I know Evie said you weren’t, but you are.”
Whit made a noise almost like a laugh.
“You’re right. We were. Um... how did you feel about that?”
Annie ignored his question to ask one of her own. “So you aren’t together anymore?”
“No, sweetie,” he said gently, unsure what this news would mean to her.
Annie stared at her plate. She poked at a triangle of waffle and then slid it around in syrup before dropping it and sliding the plate away from her. She looked at the empty table as she spoke.
“Is it my fault?”
“No,” Whit said instantly. “I’m glad you showed me Mom’s journals.”
“No,” Annie said, dismissing his last sentence. “Is it my fault she’s not your girlfriend anymore?”
Whit pulled back slightly, confused. “Why would it be—”
“Sometimes you act like I’m sad,” she said forcefully, “and you’re weird about Merritt.”
“Are you sad?” he asked, ignoring the “weird” comment.
Annie looked away, scrunching up her face like she did when she was about to cry.
“Yes,” she said tersely. “Sometimes. I miss Mom.”
Whit got up and moved to kneel next to her, holding her hand in his.
