he puts his hand on my shoulder. “Is this all right?”
I nod, and a sob fills the room. It sounds like the cry of an injured animal.
“Look, we can run out the back door right now if you want. You and me. I don’t care what they think. Fuck them. I mean, Jesus. My mom is never here, and she picks tonight to come home….” He trails off. The heat of his hand on my shoulder pins me in the moment.
My heart thuds in my chest so hard I swear my ribs are going to break. “There’s a back door?” My voice shakes, but at least I’m able to speak. At least I recognize it as my voice.
“Yes!” He sounds so eager to fix this, and a wave of shame crashes over me. I made his life such a hell with my dumb, immature vandalism. I bet his mom didn’t even see any of the messages I left. I bet Zach cleaned up his family’s mess, again.
I realize I don’t want to run out the back. I don’t want to be the cause of yet another situation Zach is forced to deal with.
I pull myself together as best as I can. He’s watching me with such tenderness that I want to cry. No one but Lucy has cared about me like this since Jordan died.
“It’s okay. I can do this.”
He makes a face. “May…”
I shake my head. “I swear. I’m okay.” I put my hand over his. “It’s not like she has any idea who I am, right? I’ll just pretend I’m some random girl you know from school and leave it at that.”
He grimaces. “You don’t know my mom very well….She never just lets things lie.”
I force a laugh. “Your mom doesn’t know me very well. Why do you think Rose-Brady kicked me out last year? After they carried me out of that closet, I promised myself I’d never let people intimidate me or back me into a corner ever again.” I wipe my eyes and put on my best resting bitch face. “I’m good. Let’s go.” I stand and hold out a hand for him.
* * *
—
When we walk back into the kitchen, Michelle Teller is there.
Michelle Teller.
Here.
In front of me.
I want to cry.
She’s standing in the kitchen, talking to Zach’s dad. They sound tense. I realize with a jolt that I’ve never seen her in person. She looks different than she does in photos. Smaller. Less like the Antichrist’s little helper and more like a normal, tired, overwhelmed mother. It’s unsettling.
She greets me with a wan smile and a hello, like I’m just another one of Zach’s friends. Like I’m anyone. Like I’m not about to explode all over her kitchen floor. I force a hello out of my mouth. A Nice to meet you.
Nice to meet you, Michelle Teller.
The biggest lie I’ve ever told.
Then Zach’s dad is all Well, everyone, time to eat! All jolly and shit, like we’re just one big happy family. He doesn’t seem to notice that his wife looks exhausted. That his son looks like he wants to scream.
I can’t even imagine what I look like.
We all sit down at the table. Michelle Teller sits at the head, her husband at the other end. Zach has taken the chair between his mom and me, like a human buffer. There’s an awkward pause after we’re all seated, a small silence that digs into my core and twists my stomach into a knot, and then Zach grabs a bowl and passes it to me. I take it from him, thanking him with a voice that’s barely more than a whisper, and then hand the bowl to Mr. Teller, who dishes himself some food. Small talk starts. I train my eyes on my plate and force myself to eat the food in front of me, which is decent. I’d probably enjoy it, if I weren’t about to projectile vomit all over the floor.
Moments pass. They chat about…stuff. I can’t hold on to