Authors: Anna Cruise
“
What do you feel like doing tonight?” Aidan asked me. His friends had left.
I shrugged. “Don't know. You?”
We waited for the Walk signal before crossing Mission. Aidan's car was a half a block away, wedged between a white Suburban with Arizona plates and a Mercedes convertible. It looked old, shabby.
“
It's pretty dead tonight. Not much going on. Movie, maybe?”
“
Hmm.” I thought about this. A movie. Not some party or bonfire or intimate night in his room, but a movie, another means of escape. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
“
Let's go.” He dug his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door.
The wind blew and I shivered and rubbed my hands over my bare, sunburned arms. “I think I want to swing by my house first. Grab a sweatshirt or something.”
Traffic on Mission was a tangled mess driving back into PB. Cars and bikes crowded the street and the stoplights seemed to be stuck on red as people heading out to dinner and home from the beach. Aidan jammed a Bob Marley CD into the radio and turned up the volume. I picked up the case and studied the cover. The noise was yet another diversion that helped drown my thoughts.
“
Someone at your house?” Aidan asked.
I blanched, not wanting to look up, thinking it might be Cheri's car. Maybe she'd come by to show the house. Or maybe it was my dad, ready to blast me again for my behavior the previous night. I sighed and glanced sideways out the window. A familiar car was parked out front, a white Volvo streaked with dust and dirt.
Sara's car.
I braced myself, wondering what bad news she'd been recruited to pass on to me this time. “My aunt is here.”
“Want me to come in with you?” he offered.
I didn't plan on sticking around. “No. Give me a couple minutes.”
He nodded. “I need to swing by Ben's, pick up some weed. I'll be back in fifteen.”
I planted a quick kiss on his cheek before getting out of the car and trudging down the sidewalk. My feet felt heavy, as if I were battling chains and iron balls. I didn't want to see her. I didn't want to know why she was there. The house was quiet when I opened the door. Too quiet. The light in the kitchen was on but there were no voices, no indication at all that anyone else was there with me.
“Hello? Mom?” My voice sounded hollow as it traveled down the hall and into the nothingness.
Sara appeared in the hallway. She wore jeans and a brown tank top that looked like an extension of her long brown hair. She usually wore her hair up, pulled back tight. I searched her face for some indication as to why she was there, for some hint of emotion, but it was blank.
“Megan.”
“
What? What is it?” I couldn't help it. I panicked. “Is everything OK?”
“
No, everything is
not
OK.” She wasn't heartbroken or sad. She was furious.
I took an instinctive step back, away from the entrance to the kitchen where she stood, her hands now on her hips. A dark frown swept across her face like a vicious storm, wiping out the blank expression she'd so carefully composed moments earlier.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“
Out. With a friend,” I stammered.
“
All of last night? All of today?” She pointed to the kitchen and I noticed her hand was trembling. “In there. Now. You have some serious explaining to do.”
The invisible chains encircling my ankles grew heavier as I followed her. She held a chair out for me and I sat down. She sat across from me and folded her arms against her chest, looking like a police officer prepared for a long interrogation. She waited for me to speak, to say something—anything—that would explain my absence. What I wanted to ask was how she knew. It wasn't as if my mom would have noticed.
“I'm waiting.” I had never seen her look or sound so angry.
I sighed. It really sucked having Sara mad at me. She was my aunt, not my mother. She was supposed to be the fun one, the cool one, the one I could turn to when my own parents were driving me nuts. I hated seeing her this way, the frown settled deep in her face, her eyes narrowed, her hands now drumming the table as she waited for me to respond. More than that, I hated knowing I was the cause of it.
“I told you, I was with a friend. At the beach. Belmont.”
“
So you spent the night there, too? You know, after you threw your fit at your dad's and went storming out of the house?”
My eyes widened and she continued. “Yep, I know all about it, Meg. So does your mom. Do you think your dad was just going to forget, not say anything? Not mention your abominable behavior? What on earth were you
thinking
?”
I looked down at the table and chewed my lip. “I know. I screwed up.”
“Big time, Meg. Big time.” She took a deep breath. “Tell me what happened. I want to hear it from you.”
This was going to take longer than fifteen minutes, I realized.
I sighed. “Hang on.” I reached for my phone.
She started to protest but I held up my hand. “My friend was coming right back. I need to tell
—”
“
Fine. Call.”
I stood up but she stopped me. “No. In here.”
She pointed to the phone on the counter. I swallowed my irritation and dialed.
He answered on the first ring. “You ready? I'm just leaving Ben's.”
“I can't go.”
“
What?” His voice was incredulous.
“
My aunt is here.” I glanced at her and lowered my voice. “Um, she wants me to stay home tonight.”
“
So tell her no.”
“
I can't. It's...complicated.”
“
OK.” But I could tell from his voice that it wasn't. He was confused, slightly pissed. “Call me later.”
The line went dead.
I set the phone down on the table and, in a halting voice, told Sara about my dad's. About what I'd said. What I'd done. I was pretty sure my version wasn't going to be any different than the one she'd apparently already heard.
“
What were you thinking?” she asked again, shaking her head. She put her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. “Why would you
do
that? Say those things? And then just walk out? Why?”
“
He
told
me to go, Sara. He kicked me out.”
“
Well, he had every right to after what you did,” she shot back. “You insulted his wife, trashed his dining room—”
“
I broke a plate. I'd hardly call that trashing the place.”
“
The table broke, too. A huge crack, right down the middle. It was a custom-made table, over two thousand bucks.”
'“Oh.” The guilt seeped back in and I didn't know what to say to that. I knew what I was thinking: who the hell spent thousands of dollars on a custom-made, glass dining room table? My dad couldn't afford to keep me in my own house but he could drop a couple grand on a goddamn table? Showcase number one, winning again.
“Did he...did he call you?” I asked.
She nodded. “Your mom wouldn't answer the phone. He called me this morning.”
“Did he say,” I swallowed. “Did he say if he tried to find me last night? Did he look for me at all?”
Sara's expression softened just a bit. “No. He was an ass about that and he admitted it. He was so angry he just sort of blanked, he said. That's as unforgivable as what you did, at least in my eyes. More so.”
I thought so, too, but I didn't say this.
“
So, did this...
friend
...come pick you up last night, too?” She tried to keep her voice neutral but it came out too high, too controlled. “And you spent the night?”
At least I didn't have to lie about that. “No. It's the truth,” I said when she eyed me doubtfully. “A friend of mine from school picked me up and dropped me off at home. Case. It was around ten, I think. Maybe eleven.” I couldn't remember.
“Your dad called here this morning. Early, he said. Why didn't you pick up?”
“
I left early. Like at six. Another friend came and picked me up. We went out for breakfast.”
It sounded lame, even to me.
“Megan.”
“
It's true! I was with Aidan today.” I hesitated, wondering how much I should tell her. “He...he's my boyfriend. But I wasn't with him last night. I tried to call him, to have him come pick me up but he was—I couldn't get a hold of him. So I called Case. I swear it's the truth.”
She ran her hands through her hair and looked up at the ceiling. I knew what she was thinking. That she was the younger sister, the unmarried one, the one without kids. Why was she having to deal with the rebellious teenager? Why did she have to decipher which of my statements were lies and which were truths?
“I want to believe you.”
“
It's the truth,” I repeated.
“
I don't know, Megan. I feel like I don't know who you are anymore.” Her hand moved back to her hair and she ran her fingers through to the ends, curling a strand around her finger, a habit I'd never noticed before. “You verbally abuse your stepmother, trash your dad's house and then run away. You disappear for hours on end and you come home reeking of cigarettes. What the hell is going on? What's happening?”
“
Nothing,” I lied. I just wanted this conversation to be done with. Over. “I got mad. That's all. I didn't want to go and see him. And
her
. And I don't like being here. By myself all of the time. That's why I'm never here. And my boyfriend smokes, not me. Big deal.”
“
You're not by yourself,” she pointed out.
I glared at her and she backed down. Did she really think having a comatose mother holed up in a back bedroom, a woman who could barely get herself out of bed most days, counted as company, as an actual presence in the house?
“Look,” she said, her voice soft. “Your mom needs help. I know that.”
I didn't respond and she continued. “Not just with depression but...” She stopped as if debating whether or not to tell me. She looked away. “Well, she's been drinking.”
I shook my head. Did she think I didn't know this? Did she think I didn't live with the knowledge of this daily? My mom's drinking was a perpetual presence in the house. It dictated whether or not I saw her, whether or not the bills got paid, whether or not there was food in the refrigerator or in the cupboards. How could I
not
know?
I thought about how I should respond. Should I feign shock and dismay or simply be sad and resigned? I wondered what reaction would garner the most empathy from her, what would help bring a quick end to the interrogation I was suffering through.
I went for the sympathy. “Yeah, I know.” I looked down at the table and began to trace my finger along a long, thin scratch on the wooden surface.
Sara covered my hand. “She's getting help. She's going to get help.”
My surprise was genuine. “What?”
“
Tomorrow. A place in Ramona.”
“
You mean she's leaving? What am I–?”
All I could think about was me. If she left, where was I going to go? My eyes widened as I thought about the frilly, God-awful white bedroom that waited for me at my Dad's. Not to mention the dark-haired witch who occupied the other bedroom there. I would not go there. Ever. I couldn't believe he'd even want me to, not after what I had done.
“Your dad wants you to stay with him,” Sara said, confirming my fears. She saw the look on my face and said, “Yes, even after last night. But that would mean switching schools mid-year...”
“
I'm
not
.” I didn't care about school. I wasn't going to be stranded twenty miles away from my boyfriend. And I was not going to live with
her
.
She held up her hand. “I know, I know. Another option is to stay with me.”
I frowned at her. She lived fifteen miles in the opposite direction, a garden apartment in Hillcrest. Definitely not in my school district and not any closer to Aidan.
“
Or I could move in here. While Sandy is gone.”
“
You'd do that?”
It was Sara's turn to frown at me, as if she couldn't believe I'd asked that question. “You're like my little sister, Meg. You and your mom are the only family I have left.”
“So you'll stay? Here?” I swallowed. With my problem solved, I let my thoughts drift to my mom. “How long...how long will she be gone?”
“
I don't know,” she admitted. She found another strand of hair to twirl. “Probably a month. Maybe longer. It's not going to be easy. For any of us.”
She stood up and opened the refrigerator. “Is there nothing to drink in this house?” she asked, scanning the empty shelves. “Or eat?”