at home with nothing to do—it sucked. I’d been staring at my journal for what felt like hours now, reading the words I’d written with a detached sort of feeling. I should’ve been excited about the paragraphs I’d formed, thrilled at how close I was.
Less than a week and I’d be turning this article into Mrs. Gao so she could present it to the school board. Less than a week to learn my fate—whether I’d be in the running for that internship or if I’d be sitting at home every night after school, staring at the ceiling.
Walsh wouldn’t know of the article right away—surely it would take time for word to get around—but it would be following soon enough.
I stared at the last line of my article for a long moment. It’s no secret that Bayview is a play-ball kind of school, but with all these secrets coming to light, I’m left to wonder—and surely you are wondering, too, dear reader—if the Bayview High School baseball team just swung their third and final strike.
I ripped my glasses from my nose, pressing my fingers to my weary eyes.
There was a knock on my bedroom door around seven-thirty, and my dad let himself in. “Hey, kiddo. Dinner’s ready.”
I set down my pen gratefully, pushing my glasses up. “What are we having?”
“Your mother was craving tacos tonight.”
My nose scrunched up.
“Don’t worry. I made the vegetable casserole that you like too.” My expression—which morphed into utter shock from the fact he remembered one of my favorite meals—must have been comical, because he laughed. “We’re sitting at the table tonight.”
I stared at his retreating figure, pushing to my feet. “Were you abducted by aliens?”
“Yep,” Dad called. “And they’re coming for you next. It’s better to have a full stomach.”
When we got downstairs, Mom was already sitting at the table, smiling down at her cuticles. Her eyes lifted when I hopped off the last step, smiling with teeth. It shocked me more than just a little. “Hi, honey. Come sit down.”
I approached slowly to my seat, trying to trick my mind into thinking that this was a normal, everyday occurrence. It didn’t believe me. Probably because Mom called me honey. “Why are we eating at the table tonight?”
Dad carried a plate full of hard taco shells over from the countertop, rattling with every step of his. In his other hand was the veggie casserole, steaming. “A change of pace,” Dad said, setting the plates down and sliding behind Mom to sit. As he passed, I noticed that his fingertips traced her shoulders faintly, and she leaned into the touch.
I immediately braced myself, picking up my knife and fork like they were my weapons in battle.
“Actually…” Mom slapped her palms together, making a loud pop. “We have some good news.”
“Good news?” I echoed, skeptical. I wasn’t sure what really classified as good news to them anymore, and I was worried to find out. But Mom’s face held enough of a glow that my heart couldn’t help but beat a little faster.
Dad caught my eye as he doled out a portion of my veggie casserole. “So, did you know that your mother’s friend, Mariana, is a licensed therapist?”
I looked between them. “Uh, no, I didn’t know that.”
“I spoke with her over the Fourth,” Mom said, smiling wider, “about everything. Things with you, things with your father, and she talked us into it.”
“Talked you into what, exactly?”
Dad reached over and placed his hand on Mom’s, squeezing her fingers. “We’re no longer getting a divorce. We’ve decided to start therapy.”
It took several moments for his words to actually register in my brain. Therapy. The word didn’t make sense at first. They actually signed up for therapy? Like, couple’s therapy? Despite their struggles over the years—they’d never done that before.
I was blinking fast, as if fast blinking would somehow make all this normal. “You’re going to Mariana for therapy?”
“Oh, no,” Mom said. “That would be a conflict of interest. But she gave us a great referral. We’ve been going for the past week.”
“She did help us realize, though, that we’ve been too absent. And I know grounding you was a bit too much, but we’ll find our balance soon.” He dipped his chin a little, staring me straight into my eye. “We’re sorry.”
Mom reached for my hand across the table, across the food, and slid my hand into hers. Her eyes filled, rapidly, a dam about to burst. “We love you—love this family—enough to fight for us.”
A big part of me