but he’s not okay with me doing schoolwork during dinner.
“Have you heard from Sawyer?” he asks.
“Not since this morning.” I pour ketchup onto my plate even though I’m not hungry. “Do you think I should text him or should I wait for him to reach out to me?”
Dad takes a huge bite from his burger and takes his time chewing. “As a guy, I’d say give him space.”
“But what if he’s stuck in his own head and needs encouragement?”
Dad sets his burger down. “Your mom was good at that. She’d know when I needed space and when I didn’t.”
“How do I know when to give space and when not to?”
“I’ve never been good at emotional stuff, peanut. I only knew how to love your mom.”
“And me,” I add. “You love me.”
Dad doesn’t say anything, just stares at his plate. “It’s moments like this that I wish she were here. She’d guide you better through life.”
Is she? Guiding me to a better life?
Mom haunts me.
Mom chose a slow death.
Glory says I’m choosing the same.
A slicing pain through my skull, and I convulse but force myself to stay upright in the chair. Dad cuts his gaze away from the plate to give me the eagle eye. “You okay? I thought I saw you shake.”
“I think you’re seeing things. When was the last time you had your eyes checked?” I hate that the lying has gotten easier. Dad stares at me for too long, then starts eating again.
Mom sits on the window seat, and since Glory left yesterday, she hasn’t moved from there. Hasn’t talked to me. But then again, I haven’t talked to her, either.
I’m not choosing a slow death. I’m choosing a full life. Glory’s wrong. I know she is. Mom tilts her head then, as if she’s a puppet on a string. Absolutely no emotion passes over her face and I shiver then glance quickly away. My cheeks warm, ashamed that my mother has frightened me.
I comb a hand through my curls and pull slightly at the strands as I stare at the words on the computer screen. Most of the words are spelled wrong. Red wiggly lines underneath. But I can’t seem to understand what I’ve done wrong.
What is wrong with my brain today?
“Are you cold?” Dad asks as he puts down his burger again and slips to the edge of his seat. My mouth dries out as I know that expression—he smells blood.
My cell pings, and I breathe out with the distraction. I check it, hoping it’s Sawyer, but instead it’s Sylvia. I wanted to let you know Sawyer just pulled up and it’s my mom’s girls’ night at my house. Say some prayers. I think things are about to get tense.
SAWYER
Saturday November 9: Took a half day today. Cured until 11 o’clock and then came in and went to services.
My throat is just as sore as ever. I don’t know what I’ll do if it keeps on like this.
I don’t know what I’ll do if my life keeps on like this, either.
Sylvia opens her front door before I knock or ring the doorbell. “Hey.”
I shove my hands into my khakis. They aren’t pressed like normal. Wrinkled to hell and back, but life has been complicated. “Hey.”
She steps out onto her stone patio, leaving the door slightly ajar. “What’s going on with you? Your mom is in the kitchen going off with how moody you’ve been—and the weird part? She doesn’t even seem to know you didn’t go to school today. Are you okay? And where’s Lucy?”
“Lucy’s with a friend, and I need to talk to my mom.”
“Okay. I’ll get her.”
She doesn’t understand. “No. I need to talk to my mom in front of everyone.”
Sylvia holds out her hand to me. “Do you need a friend to stand by you?”
Those are the same words I said to her when she decided to come out. Sylvia’s news that she shared with her family years ago was good news. The scary part was everyone else’s reaction. “My news isn’t good.” I’m hoping it will eventually be freeing, but there won’t be any joy found in my words. “You don’t know what I’m going to say. At the end of this, you could chose her side.”
“I like your mom,” Sylvia says. “But you’re my friend. I’ve been your friend. Just like you’ve been mine. Whatever it is you’ll say, I’m not going anywhere.”
“What if I tell you I’ve been jumping off quarry edges into water for an adrenaline rush? And that