Chapter 17 #2
The lights in my house are off, but I know Mom will be waiting for me the second I go inside. I’m trying to stall with what little time I have left before I have to face her.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
Caleb turns to me. “For what?”
“For everything.” My cheeks warm as I answer. “I mean it. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t there.”
“Do you feel any better?”
“I do,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have said the things I did. I do like spending time with you.”
I can’t look up at him after those words leave my mouth. It’s too mushy. Too out of character. But he needs to know how I feel.
“So these ridiculous dates aren’t that bad then?”
My stomach twists in on itself, regret filling my mind from our little fight. “You try really hard, and I see that. I do. I think that we could be friends, if you wanted to give that a try.”
His dimples frame his wide grin. “And here I thought I was off the hook for driving you to school.”
I blush. “Well, if you really don’t want to—”
“That was a joke.”
I laugh nervously. “Right.”
“I guess you’re stuck with me for a while.”
I peek up at him and mirror his smile. “I guess so.”
I glance at the glowing clock on the dash. It’s nearing my dreaded curfew. I sigh, opening the door. “Well, I have to head inside.”
“Do you want me to go in with you?”
I exhale, bracing myself for my exit. “No. It’s okay. Besides, I’m sure you’re tired.”
His hand rests on my shoulder. “I’m not going to be able to sleep until I know you’re okay.”
“Go home. I promise I’ll be fine.”
His mouth twists, unsure of my response. “Will you text me after you talk with them?”
I nod once.
“You better. Otherwise, I’ll be so sleep deprived I won’t be able to drive tomorrow,” he says.
I laugh again and smile. “Okay. Sounds like I don’t have a choice.”
He nods, tapping his phone to his chin as a subtle reminder to message him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Goodnight,” he says.
“Night,” I reply, leaving him behind.
I walk through our front yard and up our porch steps. I crack the door open and slip inside.
Mom sits at the bottom of the stairs, wrapped in her robe. She has a tissue encased in her hand, and she looks up the moment the door opens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about how you’d feel when we started packing up his room.”
I stare at my feet, pulling at my sleeves. “I’m fine.”
“No, I should’ve asked you first. We did it because it’s one of the bonding activities the counselor suggested for Dad and me.”
I kick off my shoes, scooting them closer to the wall with my foot. “Where’s Dad?”
She daps her eye with the tissue. “He left.”
A surge of guilt pulses through me. Did he leave because I yelled at him? “What? Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.” Her back tenses up. “If he doesn’t come home soon, I’ll call the bar he’s been going to.”
This isn’t what I wanted. I need him to be more present, not give up.
“I thought he was done drinking,” I say.
She rests her head on the wall next to the stairs. “Addictions are hard to break.”
I step back. Addiction? Dad’s never had a problem controlling himself. I know he’s been drinking more lately, but I didn’t realize it had gone that far. “He’s not addicted.”
“I wish that were true,” she whispers. “But he needs to get it under control—”
“Or what? You’ll kick him out? You’ll leave him? Is losing two people better than losing one?”
“No, calm down,” she says, eyebrows furrowing. “I never said that. I just need this place to be a safe place for you, and if he keeps this up, we might need to take some time—”
“Since when do you know what’s best for me?”
She lets out a rushed breath. “I don’t, but I’m trying here.”
I wave my hands in front of me. “I don’t want to hear any more.”
She may be giving up on Dad, but I’m not going to. I won’t let her take him away from me. I push past her, marching up to my room, trying my best to ignore the way her shoulders tremor as she starts to cry again.
Plopping down on my bed, I stare at my empty easel. Part of me wishes I didn’t throw away my art supplies because I could use a good painting session to distract me right now.
I need an escape.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I smile.
He’s my new distraction.
Caleb:
So? How’s it going?
It’s going.
Will you be okay? Do I need to run over there?
That isn’t the best idea.
You have a window.
Were you recently bitten by a spider? Because that idea is even worse.
Ladders exist.
No.
Noted.
Crisis averted.
What are you doing?
Texting you. Obviously.
Why don’t you try to do something to get your mind off of everything? Maybe watch a movie?
Nah. I feel like painting, but I threw everything away.
No, you didn’t.
You literally saw me throw it away.
There’s a possibility someone grabbed it.
My heart skips. Did he really save my collection of paints and brushes?
If you’re joking, I’m going to cry.
I’m not joking, I swear. I’ll set them outside your house right now.
Thanks, but you can do it tomorrow?
I thought you wanted to paint?
I’d rather do this instead.
Talk to me?
I pause. My fingers hover above the screen as my heart starts to race.
Yes.