I stare at my red fingertips, and I’m angry that Norah has made me cry again. I’m angry that she’s in my house. “She doesn’t care about us. She’s only here because she doesn’t have any other options.”
Andy sighs. “Then we don’t have any option but to help her, do we?”
It grows dark outside. I call Lindsey.
“Thank God! Cricket called two hours ago, and I’ve been so worried. Are you okay? Should I come over? Do you want to come over here? How bad is it?”
An explosion in my mind. “Cricket told you?”
“He was concerned. I’m concerned.”
“Cricket told you?”
“He called the restaurant and gave my parents his number, and then told them to tell me to call him. He said it was an emergency.”
I grip my phone harder. “So you didn’t see her, then? Or hear her? Or hear about it from anyone else?”
Lindsey realizes what the issue is. Her voice softens. “No. I haven’t heard anything, neighborhood-wise. I don’t think anyone noticed her.”
And I’m relieved enough to let the sadness and frustration flood back in. After nearly a minute of silence, Lindsey asks again if I’d like to stay with her. “No,” I say. “But I might take you up on it tomorrow.”
“She wasn’t . . . was she?”
It’s easy enough to fill in her blank. “Not wasted, not high. Just Norah.”
“Well,” she says. “At least there’s that.”
But it’s humiliating that she had to ask. There’s a beep on the other line. Max. “I have to go.” I switch calls with dread. A vision of my boyfriend at brunch with Norah flashes through my head. This is bound to put an even bigger strain on his relationship with my family. What will he think of her? Will it change his opinion about me? And what if . . . what if he finds something of myself in Norah?
“I missed you,” he says. “You coming to the show tonight?”
I’d forgotten about it. I’ve been so fixated on last night’s show that I didn’t remember he’d be back here for another one tonight. “Um, I don’t think so.” The tears are already building. No, no, no. Don’t cry. I’m sick of crying today.
I practically hear him sitting up. “What’s going on?”
“Norah is here. She’s staying with us.”
Silence. And then, “Fuuuuck.” He says it like an exhale. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. Me, too,” I add.
He gives a small, understanding snort of laughter, and then I’m surprised by how angry he gets when I tell him the full story. “So she expects you guys to bail her out of this?”
I roll onto my side, still on my bed. “Like we always do.”
“It’s messed up your dads are letting her take advantage of them again.”
The thought has occurred to me many times over the years, but I still don’t know if it’s true. Are they—Nathan, especially—enabling her? Or would she be even more lost without them? “I don’t know,” I say. “She doesn’t have anyone else to turn to.”
“Listen to yourself. You’re defending them. If I were you, I’d be pissed. I’m not you, and I’m still pissed.”
His anger refuels my own. It’s getting easier to talk about it, to talk about everything. We go for another hour until he needs to pack the van for his show. “Do you want me to pick you up?” he asks.
I tell him yes.
I get dressed with a fury I haven’t felt in years. I find a gauzy black dress that I’ve never liked in the back of my closet, and I rip the hem shorter. Orange-and-yellow makeup. Red wig. Boots that lace to my knees.
Tonight, I’m fire.