At this point, I never want to see his face again.
With Andromeda on my heels, I hike up the stairs and shut the door to my room so hard, one of my glow-in-the-dark stars falls off the ceiling. It’s weird to be back here. This used to be a safe space, but now it feels tainted. Everything smells weird. Dusty and artificial. I think I was out in the wild for too long, because this feels like a prison, not a sanctuary. Andromeda is the only happy thing in this apartment. At least she seems to have missed me.
It’s one in the morning, and I’m in that weird state of being exhausted but not tired. I can’t even look at my wall calendars. Summer is a disaster, and right now, instead of helping me stay calm, they are a reminder of everything that’s gone wrong. So I busy myself with what I can control, steadily unpacking my gear. And I’m in the process of making a pile of dirty clothes to take to the washer when I hear a soft knock on my door.
“It’s open,” I say flatly.
My mom’s face appears in the doorway. “Can I come in for a second?”
“How am I going to stop you?”
She sighs, closes the door behind her, and sits on the bed next to my backpack. “I know you’re angry with us right now.”
“You have to admit, I have pretty good reasons to be.”
Dark circles hang beneath her eyes. “And we’ve got reasons to be angry with you, too. You lied to me, Zorie. When we talked a couple of days ago, you could have told me you were with Lennon.”
“Did you already know?”
She fiddles with a zipper on my backpack. “Reagan’s mom called me. Apparently, Reagan came home early with Brett Seager, but she didn’t tell her mother that they’d abandoned you and Lennon in the national park. The glamping compound got in touch with Mrs. Reid, and they’re the ones who informed her what actually happened. Kicked out for stealing wine?”
“I wasn’t a part of that plan,” I argue. Mostly. “It was Brett’s idea.”
Mom sighs and shakes her head. “Regardless, the glamping compound’s phone call poked holes in Reagan’s story, and that’s when Reagan admitted that they left you and Lennon. Mrs. Reid called me in a panic, a couple hours before I heard from you. Your dad wasn’t here, so I went next door and talked to the Mackenzies.”
I groan quietly.
“Yeaaahh,” Mom drawls, and then gives me a tight smile. “It stung to find out that they knew you were on the trip. Lennon had told them, but you hadn’t told me. It made me feel like a bad parent.”
“I didn’t know before I left, honestly. I knew . . .” I hesitate, but what’s the point of lying anymore? “I knew Brett and the others would be there. But I didn’t realize Lennon was coming until we were leaving.”
“But you obviously made up with him. That wasn’t a friendly kiss.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
She sniffles. “I always knew it would be a matter of time before your friendship changed. The way he looked at you. The way you looked at him . . .”
“What’s so wrong about that? You should be happy. You used to like Lennon.”
“I still do. Quite a bit, actually.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
She doesn’t answer, just pets Andromeda, who’s jumped onto the bed and is trying to insert herself into the conversation.
Fine. She doesn’t want to talk. I don’t either. I lift my portable telescope out of the backpack and set it on the floor. Check all the pieces. So stupid to think that I lugged it up and down mountains for days and I didn’t even use the damn thing.
“Lennon and you spent a lot of time alone,” my mom finally says. “I hope you were safe.”
“We were.”
She makes a small noise and then blows out a hard breath.
I don’t want to talk about that right now. I set my camera next to the telescope and steer the conversation in a different direction. “We had plenty of time to talk about all the secrets that everyone’s been keeping from me.”
“Zorie . . .”
“Did you know his father died last year?” I say angrily.
Mom blinks at me. “Adam . . . ?”
She didn’t know either. I think this might be worse, somehow. Were we all so caught up in our own petty issues that we didn’t realize our neighbors needed us? It makes me hurt all over again.
“Yes,” I tell her. “Adam died. You can say it. He killed himself last October. None of us knew because Dad tore our families apart.”
She covers her eyes and makes a low noise, and then pushes up from the bed to pace around the room. “I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” I say. “Can you imagine what it must’ve felt like for Lennon? He was there for me when we first moved here and I was grieving. And all this time, he’s been alone, trying to cope. How unfair is it that—” My voice warbles, and I have to stop for a moment. “None of us knew because Dad was too busy trying to cover up the fact that he was banging some side chick.”
“Don’t talk like that to me,” she says sharply.
“Dad can do those things and get away with it, but I can’t say it?”
“We went to counseling.”
I stop unpacking. “Counseling? Counseling? Not only did you fail to mention that my dad was a cheating asshole, but you secretly went to counseling?”
“It was our issue, not yours.”
“I thought we were friends.”
Her face falls. “We are friends. Zorie, I care about you more than anyone else on this planet. More than . . .” She stops. Start again. “I only wanted to keep this family together. I didn’t want to poison you against your father.”
“Too late. He did that all on his own.”
“Relationships are complicated,” she says. “You will understand when you’re older. Things aren’t always black and white. People make mistakes because they’re damaged inside, but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve forgiveness. It doesn’t mean they can’t change.”
“Dad is damaged all right,” I mutter. “And I don’t see how his forgiveness is elevated above the respect that you deserve. How is he worth more? He cheated on you with God knows how many women—”
“It was just one, and he was still mourning your mother.”
“My mother? She’s been dead for years! I never even saw him cry over her death. Never! Not once.”
“That’s how he coped. He tried to compartmentalize it—to box it away and forget about it. I don’t know if he learned this from his jackass of a father, but it’s something he does. He thinks if he ignores a problem, it will go away.”
She’s right. He does do this. All the time.
So do I.
Sighing, Joy looks out my balcony window. “Grief is sneaky. Sometimes you think you’re over something, but you’ve just been lying to yourself. If you don’t face up to it, grief will hang around until you do, whittling away small parts of your life. You don’t even know it’s happening.”
This I understand.
My birth mother’s death came unexpectedly. One day she was there, and the next, she was gone. It was the worst kind of surprise. My world was upended. I never even got to tell her goodbye. And that sudden loss triggered my anxiety problems . . . and altered how I dealt with change. If I have a plan for something that’s stressful, if I’ve carefully considered all the angles and possibilities, then I’m controlling it. I’m in charge. Nothing can pop up and surprise me, because if I’ve planned very carefully, then I’m ready for any situation.
With Andromeda on my heels, I hike up the stairs and shut the door to my room so hard, one of my glow-in-the-dark stars falls off the ceiling. It’s weird to be back here. This used to be a safe space, but now it feels tainted. Everything smells weird. Dusty and artificial. I think I was out in the wild for too long, because this feels like a prison, not a sanctuary. Andromeda is the only happy thing in this apartment. At least she seems to have missed me.
It’s one in the morning, and I’m in that weird state of being exhausted but not tired. I can’t even look at my wall calendars. Summer is a disaster, and right now, instead of helping me stay calm, they are a reminder of everything that’s gone wrong. So I busy myself with what I can control, steadily unpacking my gear. And I’m in the process of making a pile of dirty clothes to take to the washer when I hear a soft knock on my door.
“It’s open,” I say flatly.
My mom’s face appears in the doorway. “Can I come in for a second?”
“How am I going to stop you?”
She sighs, closes the door behind her, and sits on the bed next to my backpack. “I know you’re angry with us right now.”
“You have to admit, I have pretty good reasons to be.”
Dark circles hang beneath her eyes. “And we’ve got reasons to be angry with you, too. You lied to me, Zorie. When we talked a couple of days ago, you could have told me you were with Lennon.”
“Did you already know?”
She fiddles with a zipper on my backpack. “Reagan’s mom called me. Apparently, Reagan came home early with Brett Seager, but she didn’t tell her mother that they’d abandoned you and Lennon in the national park. The glamping compound got in touch with Mrs. Reid, and they’re the ones who informed her what actually happened. Kicked out for stealing wine?”
“I wasn’t a part of that plan,” I argue. Mostly. “It was Brett’s idea.”
Mom sighs and shakes her head. “Regardless, the glamping compound’s phone call poked holes in Reagan’s story, and that’s when Reagan admitted that they left you and Lennon. Mrs. Reid called me in a panic, a couple hours before I heard from you. Your dad wasn’t here, so I went next door and talked to the Mackenzies.”
I groan quietly.
“Yeaaahh,” Mom drawls, and then gives me a tight smile. “It stung to find out that they knew you were on the trip. Lennon had told them, but you hadn’t told me. It made me feel like a bad parent.”
“I didn’t know before I left, honestly. I knew . . .” I hesitate, but what’s the point of lying anymore? “I knew Brett and the others would be there. But I didn’t realize Lennon was coming until we were leaving.”
“But you obviously made up with him. That wasn’t a friendly kiss.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
She sniffles. “I always knew it would be a matter of time before your friendship changed. The way he looked at you. The way you looked at him . . .”
“What’s so wrong about that? You should be happy. You used to like Lennon.”
“I still do. Quite a bit, actually.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
She doesn’t answer, just pets Andromeda, who’s jumped onto the bed and is trying to insert herself into the conversation.
Fine. She doesn’t want to talk. I don’t either. I lift my portable telescope out of the backpack and set it on the floor. Check all the pieces. So stupid to think that I lugged it up and down mountains for days and I didn’t even use the damn thing.
“Lennon and you spent a lot of time alone,” my mom finally says. “I hope you were safe.”
“We were.”
She makes a small noise and then blows out a hard breath.
I don’t want to talk about that right now. I set my camera next to the telescope and steer the conversation in a different direction. “We had plenty of time to talk about all the secrets that everyone’s been keeping from me.”
“Zorie . . .”
“Did you know his father died last year?” I say angrily.
Mom blinks at me. “Adam . . . ?”
She didn’t know either. I think this might be worse, somehow. Were we all so caught up in our own petty issues that we didn’t realize our neighbors needed us? It makes me hurt all over again.
“Yes,” I tell her. “Adam died. You can say it. He killed himself last October. None of us knew because Dad tore our families apart.”
She covers her eyes and makes a low noise, and then pushes up from the bed to pace around the room. “I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” I say. “Can you imagine what it must’ve felt like for Lennon? He was there for me when we first moved here and I was grieving. And all this time, he’s been alone, trying to cope. How unfair is it that—” My voice warbles, and I have to stop for a moment. “None of us knew because Dad was too busy trying to cover up the fact that he was banging some side chick.”
“Don’t talk like that to me,” she says sharply.
“Dad can do those things and get away with it, but I can’t say it?”
“We went to counseling.”
I stop unpacking. “Counseling? Counseling? Not only did you fail to mention that my dad was a cheating asshole, but you secretly went to counseling?”
“It was our issue, not yours.”
“I thought we were friends.”
Her face falls. “We are friends. Zorie, I care about you more than anyone else on this planet. More than . . .” She stops. Start again. “I only wanted to keep this family together. I didn’t want to poison you against your father.”
“Too late. He did that all on his own.”
“Relationships are complicated,” she says. “You will understand when you’re older. Things aren’t always black and white. People make mistakes because they’re damaged inside, but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve forgiveness. It doesn’t mean they can’t change.”
“Dad is damaged all right,” I mutter. “And I don’t see how his forgiveness is elevated above the respect that you deserve. How is he worth more? He cheated on you with God knows how many women—”
“It was just one, and he was still mourning your mother.”
“My mother? She’s been dead for years! I never even saw him cry over her death. Never! Not once.”
“That’s how he coped. He tried to compartmentalize it—to box it away and forget about it. I don’t know if he learned this from his jackass of a father, but it’s something he does. He thinks if he ignores a problem, it will go away.”
She’s right. He does do this. All the time.
So do I.
Sighing, Joy looks out my balcony window. “Grief is sneaky. Sometimes you think you’re over something, but you’ve just been lying to yourself. If you don’t face up to it, grief will hang around until you do, whittling away small parts of your life. You don’t even know it’s happening.”
This I understand.
My birth mother’s death came unexpectedly. One day she was there, and the next, she was gone. It was the worst kind of surprise. My world was upended. I never even got to tell her goodbye. And that sudden loss triggered my anxiety problems . . . and altered how I dealt with change. If I have a plan for something that’s stressful, if I’ve carefully considered all the angles and possibilities, then I’m controlling it. I’m in charge. Nothing can pop up and surprise me, because if I’ve planned very carefully, then I’m ready for any situation.
