Chapter Twenty-Three Sawyer
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sawyer
I give myself one last look in the mirror as my mother rambles from outside the bathroom door. Something about dust bunnies, I think. She’s been here for less than twenty minutes and already did the dishes and told me I needed a vacuum because the one Dad bought me didn’t have enough power for the thick carpet in the bedroom. I tuned her out a while ago when she told Bentley to try finding the duster in the closet I keep all my odds and ends in.
Running my hands along the sides of my throat, I feel the lumps that make it hard to swallow. They’ve gotten bigger. Harder to ignore. Sighing, I take my hair out of the messy bun I’d thrown it into before they arrived and let it fall over my shoulders, hiding the swelling that I’m sure Mom would notice if she gave me another look.
Scanning the makeup lining the sink, I think about covering the dark bags under my eyes or adding color to the sharp cheekbones that make my face look hollower than normal, but I decide against it.
My family are the only ones I don’t have to pretend with.
I can tell from the look on my mother’s face that I’m about to be scolded as she pulls back from the millionth hug she’s given me since arriving. As much as I want to be annoyed by the clingy affection, I’m not at all. Even though her strong hold hurts my thin frame, which isn’t padded nearly as much as it usually is.
“By the way, Dr. Ortiz’s secretary called and said that you missed your last two appointments,” she informs me, disapproval in her blue eyes.
My shoulders droop. It wasn’t intentional, if that’s what she thinks. At least, not the first one. “I’m sorry. Something came up and I got distracted. I didn’t see the reminder email for the makeup appointment until the day after.”
Mom’s hand brushes my cheek before dropping to the ends of my hair. I left it down the way she loves it. “I knew I should have called and reminded you. Your memory isn’t as strong as it was before your last round of chemo.”
Cheeks burning, I stare at the floor.
Bentley, who’s been messing around on his phone for the past hour, snorts. “Busted.”
I stick my tongue out at him. “Shut up, twerp. Go back to texting your girlfriend .”
His whole face turns red. “She’s not my girlfriend!”
I laugh, and even Mom looks like she’s trying to fight a smile. “Whatever you say. I’m sure your love for skiing has nothing to do with her being on the team.”
He mumbles under his breath before going back to his phone, probably texting the cute brunette who I’ve seen tag him in photos on social media at least five different times. I’m no expert, but I’d say that means something.
Mom focuses on me again. “I know you’re busy, and I want to respect your space. But it’s still important to talk to the doctor. That’s why they’re willing to do virtual appointments for you while you’re here.”
I’m not trying to take advantage of my health-care team, who have been nothing but great to me since I said I was coming to Louisiana for college, so I feel a little bad. I told Mom I didn’t want to fill my schedule with appointments and having to hear the same lectures and spiels I have on and off for half a decade, but I never said I refused. I know it means something to her that I’m trying to give her peace of mind when we’re apart.
So I say, “It won’t happen again.”
My appeasement puts her smile back, although the worry in her gaze doesn’t go away completely. “Is everything okay? It wasn’t something serious that made you forget, was it?”
I’m not telling her the real reason my mind has been scattered because that involves explaining why there was a boy in my bed Sunday morning. And while I’m sure she’d still lecture me on safe sex practices, she definitely wouldn’t brush over the fact I fainted the day before and needed somebody to check on me to begin with. I can picture her now, telling me it wasn’t smart to let a boy increase my blood pressure when I already had one fainting spell.
“Like you said, I’ve been busy with school,” I say.
And the boy across the hall.
Mom watches me for a second, her hands going down my arms before taking my own hands and squeezing them and then pulling me in for hug number God knows what.
I can’t help but laugh softly as I wrap my arms around her back and squeeze her as tightly as she is squeezing me. “I love you,” I tell her, resting my cheek on her shoulder.
Her arms tighten even more. “Oh, baby girl. I love you to the moon and back. I’ll make sure to schedule another appointment soon.”
I don’t fight her as much as I want to.
Because I’m here.
In a different state.
Away from family.
Letting fate take charge.
I think that’s scarier for her than it is for me because I’ve accepted my fate, a feat not many people can conquer.
But I know my mother isn’t going to accept it as easily because she hasn’t had to fight the same way I have. I just hope she can forgive me.
Someday.
Eventually, my brother groans from the couch, flopping around like a fish out of water. “I don’t want to spend the rest of the day here if there are no video games. Can we get some food now? There was a Taco Bell down the road.”
“Trust me,” I muse, thinking back to my first night here back in January. “There’s way better food around here than Taco Bell.”
I can feel Mom’s eyes on me, and who knows what she sees? I’m fairly certain mothers have some sort of superpower that children will never be able to understand. She can see right through me at times when I really wish she couldn’t.
But instead of questioning me, she grabs the keys to the rental that she got from the airport and says, “Let’s go before your brother starts gnawing on your couch then. I’ll let you pick where we eat.”
She and I walk out side by side, me tucked under one of her arms, with Bentley trailing behind us. My eyes go to the door across the hall briefly, not long enough to catch notice but long enough to know that Banks isn’t home. I haven’t heard from him since Sunday night dinner, and I haven’t reached out either.
He needs time to figure something out, so I’ll respect it.
I don’t have time to feel sad about it when Bentley starts complaining about how hungry he is. I pull my attention to my family, who I’ve missed ten times more than I let myself believe.
“You’re lucky Maggie isn’t here,” I tell the thirteen-year-old in the back seat. “Or else I’d give her your portion of food since she’s not annoying.”
“Then I’d let her puke in your bedroom and wouldn’t clean it up,” he dishes back with a grin. “It’d be like a welcome-home present.”
I stick my tongue out.
He does the same.
Mom exhales dramatically. “Should have known it wouldn’t take long before you two were at each other’s throats.”
I grin at her. “Did you expect any less?”
* * *
I’m sure some college students would hate having their family around for a week during their spring break, but after a few days, I realize how much family means to me. And not just because I have clean clothes that are folded and put away, a polished apartment, and food in the fridge. I can sleep in until eleven to rest my body, opt for silk scarves around my head instead of the wigs that sometimes itch my scalp, and not have to worry about cooking for myself.
I’d like to think that I stay true to who I am even when I’m hiding behind the mask—and inevitably under the wig. Maybe the physical stuff about me changes, but my personality has always been the same. Like how much love I have for the people who came all this way to spend time with me, to see the place I missed for half my life.
When I walk out of my bedroom, I rub my eyes and walk toward the smell of bacon. I stop and smile when I see Dad in front of the stove holding a sizzling pan.
Walking up behind him, I wrap my arms around his waist. “I thought we were meeting you tonight.”
Dad wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me over and hugging me to his side. “I figured I’d surprise you early. Your mother and brother went to the store a while ago to grab a few more things because we didn’t have the right ingredients.” He gives me a skeptical look. “I told you to tell me when you needed groceries and didn’t like seeing such an empty kitchen.”
Sheepishly, I steal a piece of crispy bacon from the plate set aside. “I eat plenty.”
I can see from the corner of my eye the way he studies my thin figure. “There were barely any take-out containers in the garbage when I took it out,” he notes, one of his brows raised in question.
Do I tell him that my neighbor has been cooking for us and leaving me leftovers? It’s innocent. Enough. But Dad already asked me how many personal coffee deliveries I got from Banks, so I’d rather not feed his suspicions. “A friend has been teaching me how to cook.”
Now both his eyebrows are touching his receding hairline. “Somebody is teaching you how to cook?” he repeats.
I shrug, hoping it comes off as nonchalance.
Dad studies me but chooses not to press the way Mom would, although it looks like he wants to. “Your mother and Bentley should be back any second. Then we can eat.”
My stomach rumbles when I see the assortment of chopped lettuce and tomato on the counter. “Are you making sandwiches?”
It’s odd how something as simple as a BLT can create so much excitement, but there’s something about him making them that reminds me of my childhood when we all used to live together. Mom might have spent most of the time in the kitchen, but Dad would help whenever he could. And nothing compared to his homemade mac and cheese or his BBQ chicken that he’d grill in the summertime.
Dad glances at his watch, reminding me of Banks’s silver Citizen. “Surprised they’re not back yet,” he says in concern.
I walk over to the window facing the back parking lot, my eyes widening when I see Mom chatting with Banks. “Oh God,” I groan, quickly darting to my bedroom to grab my wig.
I’m not sure I can trust Mom talking to anybody because she doesn’t always have a filter. And since I haven’t exactly mentioned my neighbor, who knows what she’s told the virtual stranger?
Dad appears in my bedroom door. “What’s the matter, pumpkin?”
I can feel him watching as I frantically try putting my hair in place. “Mom” is all I say, brushing the frizzy strands out of my face.
Shouldering past him, I jog over to the window to see if she’s still trapping Banks in conversation. I dart away when I see her pointing in my direction.
Dad follows me, head tilting and a secretive smile gracing his face. “A friend, huh?”
I ignore Dad as I head out the door and speed walk to the back lot, where Bentley is holding two grocery bags beside my mother.
“There she is.” Mom beams, holding her arm out for me as I approach them.
“Mom,” I greet nervously, eyes moving from her to Banks. At least he looks amused. That means she couldn’t have told him too much.
Hopefully.
“I just met your neighbor,” she says, rubbing my arm. “You never told me you had cute neighbors. I told him he should join us for lunch. Your father certainly made enough.”
Heat blossoming over my face, I shift from one foot to the other on the loose gravel, only then realizing that I came out in my socks.
Mom notices too. “Why on earth do you come out here without shoes?” She shakes her head, looking up to my neighbor. “I swear, this girl always keeps me on my feet. She’s an adventurer. That’s why we named her Sawyer. We both knew she was going to be a handful.”
Banks’s spine straightens. I’m not sure what the alarm in his muddy eyes is when they dart to me, but I simply shrug it off. “They named me after—”
“Tom Sawyer,” we say simultaneously.
Mom perks up, happiness curving her lips. “Oh, how nice. Not many young people have heard of the character before. Such a shame they don’t teach the same classics they did in my day, although I suppose Mark Twain is a bit controversial.”
Banks’s attention goes from me to my mom, studying her as if trying to figure something out. His eyes move up to her hair, then over to me, his brows furrowing.
He must be uncomfortable with the invite.
I clear my throat. “If you have plans, it’s no big deal.”
It’s Bentley who says, “What, sis? You don’t want your boyfriend to join us for lunch? Are you afraid we’re going to embarrass you or something?”
Narrowing my eyes at my annoying little brother, I hiss, “He’s not my boyfriend.”
Banks is now shifting uneasily. I can’t look him in the eye for fear of what I’ll see. Is he mad he was called that? Does he assume I referred to him as that to my family? Or does he see it as harmless fun?
Wrapping my arm around my mother’s, I pull her in the direction of the apartment building while nudging Bentley along. I look at Banks as I shuffle along the driveway. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
I don’t give him time to reply before I all but shove my family back inside.
As soon as the doors are closed behind us, Mom pulls her arm away from mine. “That was rude, Sawyer. Why don’t you want him around? He seemed perfectly nice.”
“He is,” I agree, walking them back up to my apartment. “But he also doesn’t know.”
“Doesn’t know what?” my brother asks.
Mom doesn’t need me to explain. Her eyes are sad and sympathetic when they meet mine, a combination I hate seeing. “Honey…”
I shake my head, brushing off the hand she tries putting on my shoulder. All I want to do is get inside. “Let’s just have a nice family lunch together. I’m starving.”
I can tell Mom wants to say more, but she doesn’t. She probably knows it’s a lost cause. And she and Dad will probably have something to say about it later, but this can’t be surprising to them. I never said I was going to tell people the truth about me.
Not long after settling in with the plates full of food, I hear the door across the hall open and close. I feel a little bad for not inviting him in, especially because I’ll have to explain later. At least it’ll give me time to come up with an excuse.
That doesn’t stop my mother from bringing him up halfway into our lunch. “I still think that boy is cute. I don’t know, Sawyer. Maybe he’s understanding too.”
With food in my mouth, I say, “I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
It’s something I’ve been telling myself for a long time now. The same thing I wish she would drive into her head. Hope is the only thing stronger than fear, which means it has the power to destroy.
Dad sets his plate down on the coffee table and scoots to the edge of the couch. “Your mother and I want to talk to you guys about something.”
Bentley and I share a look before turning to our father.
Mom puts her hand on Dad’s leg, and he puts his palm on top of hers. Considering how lovey-dovey they seem, it can’t be anything bad.
Dad smiles. “I’ve decided to retire after this year. I won’t be renewing my contract.”
Bentley perks up on the couch beside me, almost dropping his food on the carpet. “Are you being serious?”
Dad nods. “It’s time. I’m getting older, and I can’t keep up with the new recruits. Plus, I’ve been missing out on valuable time with family. I want to make the most of it.”
His eyes meet mine, and my stomach clenches when I hear the words he doesn’t speak.
While I still can.
My smile isn’t forced, but it’s tight with emotion. “Does that mean you’re moving back to New York?”
Mom and Dad look at one another, something in their eyes flashing as they silently communicate.
It’s Mom who answers. “We’re considering our options.”
Bentley frowns. “What other options are there? My school’s in New York. So are my friends.”
When Dad looks at me, I know what the other option is. Bentley is right though. He’s got a lot of time left before he graduates. Unlike me, he didn’t have to move around a lot when he was younger. He’s settled and happy where he is now.
I’ve already taken his peace away—the last thing I want to do is take his happiness too.
So, locking eyes with my father, I shake my head. It wouldn’t be fair to my brother if they packed up their things and moved down here for me. It wouldn’t be a permanent solution, only a temporary home.
Bentley deserves more than that.
Dad’s eyes dull, but his chin dips in acknowledgment. Even if they haven’t decided yet, they know my vote. And I hope it’s enough for them to consider what even five years down the line looks like, the way I have.
He turns to Bentley and says, “We’re only looking into other options. That’s all.”
Mom’s smile wavers, one of the corners of her mouth tilting downward.
She knows why I don’t want them to move.
So does Dad.
My eyes trail to the time on my phone.
Tick tock, tick tock.
I stand, grabbing my plate and refusing to dwell on the reality we’re dealt with. Voice cracking, I walk to the kitchen and ask, “Who wants more food?”
Bentley is the only one who answers.
That night, I hear voices outside my door when I thought everyone left for their hotel.
I use the peephole to see my father shaking Banks’s hand.
Dad speaks so quietly to my neighbor that I don’t know what he says.
Banks turns to the door, staring as if he knows I’m spying.
Then he nods at my father.
Once.
Dad leaves.
Banks glances at my door one last time before disappearing into his apartment.
I step back and rub my arm, wondering what they could have been talking about.
Walking over to the couch, I sit where Bentley was all afternoon as we watched movies as a family.
My hand drags across the stain he left on the couch when he spilled his soda.
Mom freaked out about it more than I did. She sprang into action and started cleaning it.
It’s so quiet here now without them.
I hug my knees to my chest and look at the door, unsure if I should knock on Banks’s.
I pick up my phone, nibbling on my lip when I see the time.
Dialing a number, I wait as it rings a few times before it picks up. “I didn’t know if you’d answer,” I tell Dixie.
She hasn’t spoken to me much since we studied at the library together. I know I hurt her feelings because she found reasons to avoid me. First it was tests she was stressed about. Then it was homework she was behind on. Once, she mentioned a group of girls she met at Dawson’s basketball game had invited her out to a game LSU was playing against a nearby college.
I’m happy she’s making friends, even if it means I get the boot. It’s what I deserve anyway.
Dixie sighs. “I was upset,” she admits, her voice still weighed with emotion that makes guilt wrap around my heart. “There’s just been a lot…” She sighs. “Never mind.”
We’re quiet for a long time, neither of us knowing what to say.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, fidgeting with the throw blanket beside me. “I’ve never been very good about opening up. It’s not just with you.”
For a while, I don’t think Dixie is going to reply. But then she sighs. “You don’t owe me any explanation. I shouldn’t have been ignoring you. It was stupid.”
It’s not though. “Friends should always be there for friends” is my response, as I rest my chin on top of my knees. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been. When you get back from Pennsylvania, we should do something. I’ll make it up to you.”
There’s a brief pause. “I’d like that.”
I smile.
After another brief moment, she says, “I hope one day you’ll be comfortable enough to share your skeletons with me.”
One day.
I hate that saying.
My lips part.
Then close.
The words get stuck in my throat.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself to nod and get out, “Yeah. One day.”