talk more about this later, okay? Bye, sweeties.”
“Bye, Poppy!” Abby yells, waving. “I loves you!”
“I loves you, too, Abby-cakes. Have fun!”
“I love you,” I murmur. But he’s already hung up.
25
My little blow-up at Mom this morning must have had an effect, because she doesn’t insist that I come to dinner with her and the group. In fact, she offers to take Abby herself for the night.
I end up having dinner alone. I pick the little outdoor restaurant right next to the Ocean Tower. It’s nice, some would even say romantic, all under a canopy with white lights strung throughout. There’s a guy with a guitar in the corner playing love songs: old ones, new ones, ones he wrote. He’s got a decent voice. The food’s good: Mexican, addictive freshly made chips and salsa that could have been my entire meal. Sizzling fajitas to die for. I eat them glumly. It’s kind of worse that they’re so good.
I’m lonely, I realize.
But this is better than sitting around a table with my mother.
I think about texting Nick. He’d probably come have dinner with me in a heartbeat. But that would feel cheap somehow, like I’m using him. Maybe I am using him, I realize, but he seems okay if I’m using him for sex. There’s no real romance between us. And it should probably stay that way.
My thoughts revolve back around to Pop. He seemed okay today. Maybe he doesn’t know his marriage is completely on the rocks.
Dear god, I think, and then stop myself. What am I doing? I go to mass once a week during the school year, because it’s mandatory at my school, but God’s not someone I have regular conversations with. And even if I did—believe, I mean—I’m sure God wouldn’t appreciate the fact that the only times I attempt to communicate with him are those moments I want something impossible.
I’m only interested in God when there’s a crisis.
But it would be nice to truly believe in God, I think. Because then I might have someone to talk to.
That’s what Mom has done to me, without even knowing it. Because of her, I’m cut off from everyone I used to turn to as a support system: my sister, Pop. And now I am completely alone.
At some point in my pity party I look up and see Afton sitting on the other side of the patio, having dinner with a dark-haired boy with his back to me—Michael, I assume. They appear to be on a real, honest-to-goodness date. She’s wearing a white flowered sundress and the strappy sandals, which I wouldn’t have recommended, as they are probably cursed now, after their encounter with Leo at the swim meet. Her hair is loosely braided in a long fishtail that’s pushed forward over one shoulder. She’s a shade or two more tan than she was only a day ago, and it makes her come off like she’s glowing in the white dress.
She’s perfect. Barf. If a mermaid came to shore for only one night, to have a plate of Mexican food with a handsome prince, she’d be exactly Afton.
She also looks, well, happy. The glow isn’t entirely the tan. She’s leaning forward slightly, listening intently to whatever it is that Michael’s saying, a relaxed smile on her lips. Then she stops for a second to dip a tortilla chip in salsa, and as she’s bringing it to her mouth, it drips. Right down the front of her white dress. Splat.
I brace myself for the drama. Her horrified expression. The frantic dabbing of her napkin dipped in ice water. Maybe she’ll have to excuse herself to go change.
But Afton only laughs. Not a delicate, feminine titter, either, but a real, full-throated laugh I can hear over that dude’s sappy guitar. She throws her head back and lets out a guffaw of pure amusement. Oh, silly salsa. Oh, silly dress.
My breath catches. I immediately want to sketch her expression, but then I realize that I already have. It’s in my sketchbook from over a year ago. I reach down into my bag and pull it out, flip the pages until I find it.
Afton Laughs, I called it.
My sister has never been a big laugher. Pop says it’s because she has a dignified old soul. Not that Afton is missing a sense of humor—she has that fierce, dry wit when the occasion calls for it—but she almost never laughs out loud. When we were kids we’d see something funny on television and I would