job transfer — did he even try to get out of it? Maybe if he had told them he wanted to stay at the Chicago office —”
“Otis.” She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her forehead. “It’s time to move on.”
That was rich, coming from her. “Oh, like you’re such a role model for accepting things and moving on?”
Instantly, I wished I could take it back. She looked like she’d been slapped.
I lowered my eyes. “Sorry,” I mumbled to the floor.
I didn’t dare look up. After a moment, she spoke. “No, you’re right. I haven’t moved on. And I’m not talking about Mason, because that’s not something I’m going to get over.” Her voice wavered, and suddenly my own eyes stung, too. I might have told her I didn’t think I was ever going to get over it, either, if I could have gotten the words out without my voice breaking. “But everything else . . . There has never been any closure with any of us. You think I don’t feel bad about Karen? You think I’m not stressed about seeing Jay tonight? You think I don’t have feelings about Meg coming back? I don’t even know why she’s coming! Do you?”
I didn’t know which point to focus on first. “What feelings? About Meg.”
She gestured with her hands like it should be self-evident, whatever her feelings were. “For over three years, I have been trying to forgive her.” She turned away and put her hand to her mouth.
“What do you mean?” I took a step closer when she didn’t answer. “Forgive her for what?”
She just shook her head.
“You mean forgive her for leaving me like that?” I asked.
She hesitated, her eyes shifting toward me. “That was terrible for you. Not hearing from her.”
It was hard not to see her point, but at the same time, I didn’t want my mom mad at Meg. All I wanted was for things to be like they used to be. Except for all the parts that couldn’t be. Which, I guessed, was almost all of them.
She sighed, then pressed her lips together for a moment. “Do you remember . . . a few months after they left, you were so upset about not hearing from her that you wanted me to call Karen and tell her to make Meg write to you.”
I closed my eyes.
Shut up shut up shut up.
I didn’t want to think about that. It was bad enough as a sort of background ache, the memory of all that desperation and agony. I didn’t want it sharp and in the fore. I gave my mom a level look. “You can’t be mad at her for that. She was thirteen, and you yourself were just saying how hard it was for her. If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at Karen and Jay for moving away.”
“Otis.”
I looked at her, and her eyes were so sad. I could barely remember a time when they weren’t. A mottled gray-green, her eyes were an anomaly in an otherwise brown-eyed house. It hurt her to see me suffering, I knew. That must be why she struggled with Meg: she could never forgive her for breaking my heart.
“You’ve been through so much, honey,” she said. “We all have. I just don’t want you to get hurt again.” A little eleven furrowed into the space between her eyebrows, which was approximately how much she worried about me on a one-to-ten scale.
“I won’t.”
She watched me for a moment, then nodded. But the doubt in her face was plain.
I texted Dara that I wasn’t going to swim today. She phoned me back. “That bitch is fucking up your career, and she hasn’t even gotten here yet.”
She called me a few choice names and then hung up on me.
I spent a ridiculous afternoon: I cleaned my room. I reorganized my bookshelves, trying to see them through fresh eyes. I tried on different clothes. I shaved. I did push-ups and pull-ups, trying to pump up a little. I took an extra shower, washing myself so many times I think I reduced my epidermis from five layers to three. All the while I mentally rehearsed what I’d say when Meg and I first saw each other. I wanted it to be smart and funny, confident and intriguing. As it
“Otis.” She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her forehead. “It’s time to move on.”
That was rich, coming from her. “Oh, like you’re such a role model for accepting things and moving on?”
Instantly, I wished I could take it back. She looked like she’d been slapped.
I lowered my eyes. “Sorry,” I mumbled to the floor.
I didn’t dare look up. After a moment, she spoke. “No, you’re right. I haven’t moved on. And I’m not talking about Mason, because that’s not something I’m going to get over.” Her voice wavered, and suddenly my own eyes stung, too. I might have told her I didn’t think I was ever going to get over it, either, if I could have gotten the words out without my voice breaking. “But everything else . . . There has never been any closure with any of us. You think I don’t feel bad about Karen? You think I’m not stressed about seeing Jay tonight? You think I don’t have feelings about Meg coming back? I don’t even know why she’s coming! Do you?”
I didn’t know which point to focus on first. “What feelings? About Meg.”
She gestured with her hands like it should be self-evident, whatever her feelings were. “For over three years, I have been trying to forgive her.” She turned away and put her hand to her mouth.
“What do you mean?” I took a step closer when she didn’t answer. “Forgive her for what?”
She just shook her head.
“You mean forgive her for leaving me like that?” I asked.
She hesitated, her eyes shifting toward me. “That was terrible for you. Not hearing from her.”
It was hard not to see her point, but at the same time, I didn’t want my mom mad at Meg. All I wanted was for things to be like they used to be. Except for all the parts that couldn’t be. Which, I guessed, was almost all of them.
She sighed, then pressed her lips together for a moment. “Do you remember . . . a few months after they left, you were so upset about not hearing from her that you wanted me to call Karen and tell her to make Meg write to you.”
I closed my eyes.
Shut up shut up shut up.
I didn’t want to think about that. It was bad enough as a sort of background ache, the memory of all that desperation and agony. I didn’t want it sharp and in the fore. I gave my mom a level look. “You can’t be mad at her for that. She was thirteen, and you yourself were just saying how hard it was for her. If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at Karen and Jay for moving away.”
“Otis.”
I looked at her, and her eyes were so sad. I could barely remember a time when they weren’t. A mottled gray-green, her eyes were an anomaly in an otherwise brown-eyed house. It hurt her to see me suffering, I knew. That must be why she struggled with Meg: she could never forgive her for breaking my heart.
“You’ve been through so much, honey,” she said. “We all have. I just don’t want you to get hurt again.” A little eleven furrowed into the space between her eyebrows, which was approximately how much she worried about me on a one-to-ten scale.
“I won’t.”
She watched me for a moment, then nodded. But the doubt in her face was plain.
I texted Dara that I wasn’t going to swim today. She phoned me back. “That bitch is fucking up your career, and she hasn’t even gotten here yet.”
She called me a few choice names and then hung up on me.
I spent a ridiculous afternoon: I cleaned my room. I reorganized my bookshelves, trying to see them through fresh eyes. I tried on different clothes. I shaved. I did push-ups and pull-ups, trying to pump up a little. I took an extra shower, washing myself so many times I think I reduced my epidermis from five layers to three. All the while I mentally rehearsed what I’d say when Meg and I first saw each other. I wanted it to be smart and funny, confident and intriguing. As it
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