Eliza and Her Monsters - Francesca Zappia Page 0,89
too much trouble to break routine. I don’t know if the publisher’s offer to him still stands, and I don’t know if he expects me to show up on his doorstep one day—like I’m doing now—with those pages in hand.
I do know that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I have to make him understand this guilt festering inside me.
I wait fifteen minutes before a car pulls down the street and into the driveway.
The Keelers get out. Tim, Bren, and Lucy first. Then Vee. Wallace gets out of the back seat last, which means he must’ve been sandwiched between Bren and Lucy. How the three of them managed to fit, I’ll never know.
“Oh, Eliza! We didn’t expect to see you here, hon!” Vee flies over and sweeps me up in a hug.
Lucy comes next, like friendliness is programmed into her DNA. Her million little braids have been replaced with smooth, straight locks. “Did you see the pictures I sent Church? I didn’t get very many, but he said he wanted some, so . . .”
“Yeah, I got them.”
Then Bren and Tim appear, but neither of them are huggers, and that’s fine with me. Bren puts a hand on my shoulder. Her hair is held back today with a thick orange headband. “How are you feeling?”
“Not too bad.”
She smiles.
“We were sad to miss you at graduation tonight,” Tim says, also smiling. I wasn’t sure about his opinion of me before, but now that he knows I made Monstrous Sea, it must be higher. Surely. “Are you going to be staying for a while?”
“Oh—I don’t know. I wanted to talk to Wallace for a few minutes.”
Tim looks over his shoulder to where Wallace still stands by the car. “Okay then, we’ll leave you kids to it.” He herds the rest of the family into the house, and then it’s only me and Wallace and the quiet of the street.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” he says. His quiet voice barely crosses the distance between us. His cap and gown are tucked under one arm; he wore a suit beneath them, without the jacket.
“You look good in a tie,” I say.
“I feel like I’m being strangled,” he says. “Are you wearing makeup?”
“A little. Does it look stupid?”
“No.”
I tuck hair behind my ear. I force my breathing to even out, and my thoughts slow down from there. My body is not a disgusting thing I have to carry around with me. I am not being squeezed through a narrow tube. I am here. I can do this.
I repeat these things to myself over and over again, but I don’t know that I believe them. Not yet.
“Lucy sent us a picture of you. It made me—it made me really happy.”
“Okay.”
I take a step closer to him. “I haven’t finished the pages. I would have told you if I had. I . . . I did try.” He doesn’t move. “I want to finish so badly. I hate that I can’t. I hate that I’m the one holding you back. And you were right. That I have everything I could ever need. I don’t think my life is perfect, but it’s pretty great compared to others, and I shouldn’t complain about it as much as I do.”
He stays silent.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “For lying to you about everything, and for not being able to finish.”
Still nothing.
Finally I blurt out, “I miss you.”
“You miss me,” he says. I can’t read his face.
“I know things are weird now for a lot of reasons. And I don’t blame you if you—if you hate me.” My legs start to shake, so I press my knees together. “But I wanted you to know that I miss you, and I don’t want things to be like this. If you just want to be friends—or if you don’t even want to be that—that’s fine, but after this summer we won’t be in the same place anymore.”
After an unbearable stretch of silence, he says, “I don’t know if you understand how angry I am.”
My stomach plummets. “What?”
“You lied for so long, even after my email, and then . . . the writing stuff.” He shrugs his massive shoulders. “I’m not sure how I’m going to pay for school. Get a lot of jobs, I guess. I’m going to be working most of the summer, so I don’t think I can hang out.”
“Oh.”
“Just. You know.”
“Yeah.” I focus on the car’s front bumper.
He walks past me to go inside. No good-bye. No see you later. He disappears into