Page 5

We used to make this massive feast just for the two of us since most of her family had cut us off, and we stuffed ourselves full of store-bought ham and canned cranberry sauce and boxed stuffing. We would sleep for half the day, and when we woke up, we would always sneak into the movies together—she would hide popcorn from home and candy from the dollar store in her purse, and we would go to the counter saying we just left theater thirteen to use the bathroom and forgot our tickets in the seats. We never knew what movie was playing, so we would just go into it spoiler-free and see how long we could stay. That being said, I’ve seen a lot of military movies that were not by choice.

Just the thought of actually getting together for Thanksgiving, of her really being here for that…my stomach jumps up to my heart and dips back low again.

“Seriously, Flick, why does he smell like fish?”

I ignore Rowen and try to steady my breathing enough to come up with a calm response back to Mom.

Me: That would be great!

She types, it goes away, and then she starts to type again.

Mom: I just have to save away enough to get a flight but I might be able to pick up some extra shifts to cover it…

Me: Don’t worry about that, I’ll grab the tickets!

Mom: That would be fantastic, darling. I’ll see you then.

I’ll see you then.

Without my permission, my heart takes the four simple words as a promise to end all promises and locks it away for safekeeping. Logically, it would make the most sense to be in one of those I’ll see it when I believe it scenarios and keep my hopes down, but when has logic ever stopped my heart from getting all inflated, carrying me around everywhere I go?

I haven’t seen my mom since January, and when she left, it had ended a little nasty, not necessarily with me, but she and Knox got into a massive argument that I still have to force to the back of my mind from time to time.

I like to think a lot has changed since January—no dramatic haircuts or sudden personality transplants—but in small ways. The things nobody else would probably notice unless they were looking closely. Things only a mom might notice.

Like how I actually make my bed now. Every morning. It’s not perfect—one side is always lumpy and the pillows never sit straight—but I do it. January-me would’ve rolled her eyes and thought, Why bother? I’m just getting right back in it tonight. But September-me likes the feeling of starting the day with one small thing already in order.

Or how I keep a water bottle with me instead of living off sweet tea. And I remember to drink it. Mostly…

I fold my laundry without letting it sit in the basket for three business days. I don’t cry in the school bathroom anymore—not that often, at least. I let myself breathe when I mess something up instead of spiraling into five different versions of “I am a failure and everyone hates me.”

It’s all so tiny. Microscopic, even.

But altogether it feels like maybe…maybe I’m becoming someone she’d be proud of.

That thought always lands softly, like a hand on my shoulder. Never heavy, just a light presence.

My eyes lock on to the ugly poster on the pinboard, that freaking QR code staring me down just as another thought crosses my mind: What if I do have a date for the formal by the time Thanksgiving comes around? What if I have something more substantial to show her since January?

Even better, what if it is something real? Something more than a single date to a random night but something—someone—permanent that she could actually be proud of?

The only problem is, I wouldn’t even know where to start with the process. Oak Ridge is a small town with two red lights, the speed limit never goes above thirty-five miles an hour, and there is a definite shortage in boys that (a) are respectful, and (b) have actually gone through puberty.

There’s dating apps out there, I guess, but what are the chances Chad the cute eighteen-year-old from two towns over is actually Henry, the sixty-eight-year-old man who is surprisingly good at catfishing and plans to lock me in his basement?

Other than that, I already know everyone in this town, and I don’t have a clue about how I would strike some form of romance up with them—I mean, if someone wanted to go out with me, to go as far as to fall in love with me, it would have happened by now, right?

I don’t really have someone to ask about this. I could ask Knox’s mom, but then again, her marriage has had its fair share of bumps, and I worry about opening old wounds. I could possibly ask Knox’s uncle Miller—I think he’s still got a girlfriend—but we’re really not close enough for that.

So I walk my way back to the one adult I spend a majority of my time with and spit out the question I’m needing answered.

“Hey, Ro?”

He huffs and I assume that’s answer enough.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Rowen stutters, and I swear, even with his darker skin tone, he blushes, and I feel like my answers are right there. I’ve never seen him with a girlfriend as long as I’ve known him, but that doesn’t make it beyond the realm of possibility. Again: groundhogs eating through metal.