Page 43

But if there’s anything you could say about Bev, it wasn’t that she was great at taking a hint. She continued, oblivious, “Did you do a lot of cooking with your mom growing up, like Seth did? You said you grew up in the area. Are they still here? Do we get to meet them?”

I closed my eyes, willing the sudden throb behind them away. My first instinct was to hurl the berries at her head as a distraction and then run away, maybe vaulting down the fire escape.

As you may have noticed by now, my first instincts are not always great.

Bugs chewed at my insides. I set the berries down gently on the counter and crossed my arms over my chest. Bared my teeth in what I hoped looked like a smile. “I don’t think so. I probably won’t see them while I’m here.”

Bev looked as if she’d rounded a corner in a haunted house and come upon two zombies chewing each other’s faces off. Real zombies, not fake costumed ones. “Oh, my. Why not? I certainly wouldn’t begrudge you two taking some time to go see your family.”

Seth’s hand found my shoulder. “Abby, I just realized I need to charge my phone. Can you show me where you put the charger?”

Huh? I hadn’t touched his charger. But it was an excuse to leave the room and get away from Bev’s prying questions, so I let him take my hand and lead me to our shared bedroom. There, without those questioning eyes on me, I was able to take a breath. “I don’t know where your charger is.”

“I know. It’s in the outlet over there. You just looked like a deer in headlights and I thought you might need a break from my parents.”

I was able to let out that breath I just took. “It’s not that I needed a break. They’re really nice people,” I said. “And asking about someone’s family or where they grew up is a normal question. I’m not saying they were doing anything bad.”

“But you don’t like talking about your family,” Seth said.

I looked away, but I could still feel his eyes on me. “No.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell my parents not to bring it up again.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I said. “I’m not some damsel in distress. I really don’t mind.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” he asked. “Sometimes the things you don’t want to talk about are the things you need to talk about most.” He shrugged. “I won’t push. I’ll leave it at that.”

“Nobody wants to hear about my family drama.” Which was convenient, because I didn’t want to talk about it.

“I do,” Seth said, and he actually sounded like he meant it. I probably should’ve expected him to say something like that. When I shook my head, it was at both him and myself.

“I didn’t have a very happy childhood. What’s the point of dredging up all those bad memories?”

“It can help you process it and learn to deal with it in a healthy way,” he said earnestly.

Sure. Said someone who had a happy childhood with loving, caring parents. Besides, I had processed it. And I was dealing with it in a perfectly healthy way by not wanting to talk about it or think about it in any form. He’d have room to talk if I’d thrown the berries at Bev, maybe. But I hadn’t.

I was fine. Everything was fine. So what if my headache was darkening into a Category 4 and bugs were still chewing at my stomach? That didn’t mean anything. I was just hungry from spending all this time thinking about French toast while not eating French toast.

I shrugged. “The bread is soaked enough at this point,” I said. “If it soaks too much, it’ll fall apart.” There was a metaphor somewhere in there if I wanted to think about it a little harder.

“Okay, got it,” Seth said. We headed out the door and back out into the hallway, marching past a line of smiling framed Seths growing younger and younger. I was glad he wasn’t pushing. Old, even more annoying Seth would probably have pushed or told me something vaguely threatening, like You can’t outrun your past forever. See? He totally was the one who’d changed, not me.

Back in the kitchen, Benjamin had butter sizzling in a pan on the stove while Bev plucked each soaked piece of bread from the dish to lay it out. They looked back at us. “We thought we’d better get started, since if the bread soaks too long, it’ll just fall apart.”

“Good thinking,” I said, stepping up to the counter. I could feel Bev’s eyes piercing into the side of my head. “It looks perfect as it is.”

To no one’s surprise, Bev proved unable to take a really obvious hint. “So, your family,” she said. “If you don’t have time to get up there, you’re welcome to invite them over here. I’d love to meet them.”

“Mom—” Seth said, and as much as I appreciated his willingness to speak up for me—something that I knew was hard for him to do, especially with his mother—I wanted to do it myself. I took a deep breath.

“I grew up in Riverdale. Honestly, it wasn’t a very happy time for me. It’s part of the reason I moved to Vermont. So I’d rather not talk too much about it, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, dear,” Bev said immediately, and god, I hoped she wasn’t going to hug me. Her hands were covered in egg goop, which lowered the probability but didn’t entirely eliminate it. “Of course. I won’t bring it up again.”

The French toast was exceptionally delicious, and, technically, since it was fried in butter, it counted as a Hanukkah food. I chewed slowly, savoring the delicate sugary crust on the outside of the bread and the luscious creamy texture within. It tasted even better knowing that I’d made it over the hump with Bev and Benjamin. They wouldn’t ask about my family again; therefore, I didn’t have to think about it around them. See? Everything was fine. Everything was fine.

15