my voice upbeat. “I already told you—most of my friends’ parents are divorced. As long as you can get full custody, it’ll be fine.”
“Full custody?”
“Or whatever it’s called. Mom can move out and you and I can stay here.” Dad takes a deep breath, which starts him coughing again. I hop off the counter and bring him the glass of water he left by the sink. “You’ve said it yourself: I’m grown-up for my age. I can help take care of you.”
“Oh, Cecelia,” he says.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m breaking your heart.”
“Sit down with me.” He reaches for my hand and pulls me closer until I’m sitting in his lap, the way I used to when I was little. “Your mom and I aren’t getting divorced.”
“I know you’re not officially married.”
“It’s not that.”
My stomach feels weird, the way it does for a second right before I go onstage. I stand up and turn around so I can look him in the face. “But I heard her. Mom said, ‘Don’t leave me.’”
“She did,” Dad says, his voice eerily quiet.
“Where are you going?” I pull my chair out and sit down so our knees are almost touching. “Daddy?”
He reaches over and takes my hands in his. They’re shaking, and so is his right leg. “I’m sick, baby girl.” He coughs again as if he’s making a point.
“But you’ll get better,” I tell him. “You’ll go to the doctor.”
He looks down at the floor and squeezes my hands. When he looks back up, I can see the truth in his eyes, shining with tears that are about to fall.
I’ve never seen my dad cry before. I don’t want to see him cry.
“I have to go.” My legs wobble beneath me as I stand up. I take a careful step, like I’m made of glass and the smallest wrong move could shatter me into a million tiny pieces that he’ll never be able to put back together. “I should go check on Mom.”
I keep walking out of the room, away from his sad eyes. He doesn’t stop me.
Upstairs, I close the door and collapse on my bed. The tears start falling before my head even hits the pillow. My shoulders start to shake and a loud noise comes out of my mouth that I’ve never heard before. My heart is racing, my stomach aches, and my breath is fogging up my glasses, but I don’t care enough to wipe them off.
I don’t hear my door open, but I feel the bed shift as Dad sits down beside me.
“It’s okay,” he lies. “It’s going to be okay.”
Chapter Eight
Alexis
The sound of a jackhammer wakes me before I’m ready to get up. Everything hurts. The roof of my mouth is drier than a desert and my tongue feels thick, like it’s coated with sandpaper.
There’s no need to call in sick today now that Becky knows what’s going on—it was her idea for me to take another few days off. I flip the pillow over to the cool side and try to fall back asleep when I realize the offensive noise is inside my head.
In the hallway, I hear CeCe banging around, getting ready for school. I’m not sure if it’s my imagination or my current state, but it sounds louder than normal.
“Keep it down, please,” Tommy whispers loudly. His normal shrink voice is soft and quiet, but whenever he tries to whisper, he fails miserably. “Your mom is still sleeping.”
“So, what, she gets rewarded for being drunk?” CeCe’s voice gets louder with every word. “You’re the one who’s sick, but she gets to stay home from work? And I have to go to school?”
My stomach turns—I hope I didn’t let it slip last night that he was sick.
“I said keep it down.” Tommy raises his voice, clearly forgetting he was trying not to wake me.
“It’s not fair.”
I strain to hear his reply, but I can’t. Either they really are whispering now, or more likely, Tommy is using one of his shrink moves and not saying anything at all.
“Do you want to stay home from school today?” he finally asks. “I’ll be working, but you can hang out with your mom.”
Now it’s CeCe’s turn to not say anything. I picture the scowl on her face, causing her thick black glasses to slide down her nose, making her even angrier. The image makes me smile until I realize Tommy used the thought of spending time with me to make school look like the better option.
“Well?” I hear Tommy say.
“It’s not like