But she sets the trophy carefully between us, like it’s ours and we’ve got shared custody.
She studies the stars hanging in the sky. I study her.
“So.” I ball up my napkins in my fist when I’m done, tossing them haphazardly towards the trash. I don’t need to look; I know they went in. But Ren does. Her gaze follows the balled-up napkin when it travels through the air, and she gives a dry laugh when it lands. I grin, shrugging. “We marked the first thing off your list. We won trivia. We started working on another one of mine. But we didn’t do the other thing you said we had to.”
“What other thing?” She tilts her head in question, folding her napkin into a triangle and tucking it into the cardboard box she put her hot dog in.
“Tell each other something,” I toss out, asking the first thing I can think of. “Why dinosaurs?”
She sniffs, but she doesn’t hesitate, murmuring, “My dad.”
“Is he—” I start, but the way her face collapses—not entirely, just quietly, like it’s something that still hurts even though she’s used to it now—tells me her father isn’t anis. He’s awas. I try again. “Was he ... into dinosaurs?”
“He’s a geologist.” She smiles, sort of wistful. A small noise comes from the back of her throat. It sounds like it’s trying to be a laugh, but it can’t quite form. “At least, he was. I have no idea what he does now. He left when I was eight.”
“Why?” I ask, even though I know what it’s like for a parent to just ... stop choosing you. I just can’t imagine a world where someone would ever stop choosingher.
“No idea. He just ... did.” She picks at the edge of the cardboard container still in her hands before she sets it down on the steps beside her. “One day he was there, and the next day he wasn’t. But he left behind hisNational Geographiccollection. And as an eight-year-old, I thought that was some sort of message. If I could just learn enough—know enough—it might be enough for him.” She scoffs before she turns to me, lifting her brows. “Trust me, I know. I’ve spent the last four years tryingto unpack that one in therapy. Turns out forming those kinds of pathways and connections as a child really influences your self-image later in life.”
“No shit.” I laugh dryly, running a hand through my hair. I know what that’s like too. “I didn’t mean to imply—I just—I get it. What it’s like for a parent to leave. No rhyme or reason. My mom dropped me off with my aunt and uncle, and that was that.” Rubbing the back of my neck, I turn to look at her, and I feel the heat rising on my skin. “Can’t really imagine someone leaving you, though. Bet you were cute. Little Ren with a little fossil brush, playing with rocks out in the driveway.”
She rolls her eyes, pushing at my shoulder, but her cheeks pillow with a smile. “I bet you say that to all the pretty girls.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Oh,” she says softly. She turns back to the parking lot, but she bumps her shoulder against mine. “I can’t imagine someone leaving you, either. I know we talk a lot about the pretty girls you allegedly love, but I’m sure they love you right back. You were probably lethal as a cute little kid.”
“Lethal’s a word for it. I was a little shit. Difficult. Not as easy as Matty. Only paid attention in gym class. Needed extra help with my math homework. My mom—I think it, uh, used to frustrate her. It’s hard to remember now, but my aunt and uncle didn’t seem to mind.” I tap a thumb against my knee. “What about your mom?"
Ren waves a hand, but her eyes pinch closed. “She remarried when I was ten. Had my first brother two years later. And then had the new baby of the family two years after that.”
“Big age gap.”
She nods. “I was twelve when she had Oliver. Fourteen when she had Logan.” Ren turns back to me, propping an elbow on her knee and dropping her chin to her hand. “They’re both still in school. Oliver’s in his second year. Business major—he’s greatat math. Logan likes working with his hands. He just started trade school.” She lifts her brows, but I don’t miss the poorly buried hurt that lances through her next words. “She and my dad married young. So, she got to start from scratch with my stepdad.”
“Too bad,” I mutter, palming my jaw. “Don’t think she needed to start over.”
Ren exhales, sort of rueful. “I’d say tell that to her, but she’s happy. My stepdad treats her well. He was never unkind to me. And I love my brothers, even though we ... don’t see each other often. Like I said, almost like they were a whole new family.”
She’s already told me enough—more than she needed to. And even though in a million years, I’ll never be as smart as her, the pieces of her start to fit together in my mind, forming a picture that takes shape and starts to make sense, too.
But pieces won’t cut it, I don’t think. For the first time in a long time, I want something.
More of her.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “What’s the deal with you and school? Why’d you never get your PhD? Yas told me you’ve got two master’s. Can’t be that you suddenly decided you hated academia.”
She bites down on the inside of her lips, running a finger along the spine of the trophy that still sits between us, before she looks at me through shining eyes and whispers, “Can we tackle that one next time?”
“Oh. Yeah, yeah. Of course.”
She smiles, thankful, and her shoulder meets mine again. “Your turn.”
“Ask away.” I push my shoulder back against hers, just for a second. It feels nice, to sit here on some random curb with her. To really talk.
She hesitates, her bottom lip extended thoughtfully as she wrings her fingers together before she asks gently, “Do you—do you want to tell me about him?” She gives a small shrug. “It’d be nice. I’m getting to know you, and maybe I can get to know him too.”
“Uh—” I start with a wince, rubbing a hand across the back of my neck. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk about him ... it just ... hurts. And I don’t really—what do you want to know?”
