Chapter Eighteen. Clara
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CLARA
NOW
ONE DAY UNTIL LEGACY BANQUET
MY HANDS ARE VIbrATING against the steering wheel, tears streaming down my face as I drive home from the hot springs. When Reid told me at Kenji’s last night that he’s not with anyone, I assumed that meant he hadn’t been with anyone since me. That it meant something significant.
Now I know just how wrong I was.
At least I managed to keep it together until I dropped Reid off at home. Until I was no longer confined in the same small space with him. But now that I’m alone, everything I’ve kept inside for months pours out of me.
How could they have done this?
My body feels cold all over, the shock and betrayal hitting me in waves. Delaney spent a night with Reid in a room I’ve never seen. Met his teammates and talked to him about his injury. Supported him. Kissed him. And who knows what else happened between them?
Even though he claims he doesn’t remember, they were alone and drunk, and he’s become too good at lying. How can I believe he would be honest with me about this when I wasn’t honest with him about Josh? Maybe this was his way of hurting me back.
Hurting me worse.
Because even though we weren’t together, and even if there have been others, this is Delaney.
I take a sharp turn too fast, memories from last year rushing through my mind as quickly as the trees blur down the road.
Of her telling me how cute she thought he was, pushing me to go for it with him, her daring him to kiss me, her dancing with him at homecoming.
The way she told me I was making a mistake after I broke things off.
It was all so high school … but also stunningly present now.
I don’t want to believe it’s because she wanted him for herself.
But maybe that’s exactly what it means.
Maybe Josh, of all people, was right that she’s behind Legacy Lore. That she spilled this to let me know. To hurt Reid.
I realize I’m driving faster than I mean to when the approaching stoplight turns red and I have to slam on my brakes to avoid careening into the intersection. People are milling around the town square, talking, laughing—acting like the world didn’t just shatter.
Waiting here, I pull in a shaky breath and remind myself that I was the one who broke things off with him.
I was the one who wanted him to move on.
Now that I know he has, I can finally shut down the ridiculous, pathetic hope that there’s anything left between us.
I can finally stop wondering if I did the right thing.
It’s really over.
My spine bows as I hunch against the steering wheel, my shoulders shaking with heavy, fresh sobs. The pain acute from losing him all over again.
A quick honk behind me alerts me that the light’s changed. I swipe my sleeve across my eyes and keep driving.
By the time I pull into my driveway back home, all the Suarezes’ cars are gone, the house dark and silent. Matching my mood perfectly.
Sadness is contagious here. Sometimes it gets so big it becomes the center of everything—this immovable, choking force driving everyone away from us.
“Mom?” I call out, kicking off my shoes.
She doesn’t respond, but I see a glow under her bedroom door.
I take in a bracing breath as I pad down the short hallway to check on her, flipping on light switches as I go.
The old wood door creaks as I open it, and the television lights her room.
Mom is lying in her bed, covered by a rose-colored quilt up to her waist, eyes puffy and nose red as she watches.
I guess I was wrong about this dip not being that bad.
Legacy stuff is always triggering for her.
Once I lost my Legacy spot, she was despondent, and I wondered if my failure felt like her loss all over again.
How she had to give up her own scholarship and dreams to have me because Dad wasn’t willing to do the same.
I hate that I couldn’t do right by her by winning my own shot at becoming someone.
And it was all made worse by Dad not coming home this weekend like she still hoped he would. A part of me wishes I could just scream, He’s never coming back!
But I never would because I now understand what wishing for another chance does to a person.
I keep my grip tight on the brass doorknob, half in, half out.
“Mama?”
She blinks, startling a little. “Clara? Aren’t you supposed to be out with your friends today?” She sits up, smoothing her mussed bedhead.
“I was, and I’ll have to leave again in a bit for the play,” I say, my nose stuffy from crying.
“All that Legacy nonsense.” Her voice is imbued with bitterness. “What are you doing running around filming all the events? You shouldn’t give them your talents after what they did. Doesn’t it enrage you still?”
My gaze falls to my feet. She knows it does.
“Does it still make you mad you lost it, too?” I counter.
Mom’s eyebrows spring up in surprise at the question, and she pauses her show. I gnaw on my bottom lip, desperate for her to share some sort of wisdom that might help me understand what I’ve been feeling all weekend. All year.
She seems to decide something when she waves a hand in the air and sighs. “Oh, hon, it was a long time ago.” She unpauses the show.
My exhale shakes a little, but I hide my disappointment in another question. “Don’t you have to work tonight?”
She smooths a hand down her shirt, only just noticing a tea stain. Her fingertips worry over the spot, trying to hide it from me. “Called in sick.”
I roll my lips in so I don’t say, Again?
I try to be patient and understand. To remind myself that depression doesn’t have a rhythm or a reason. That the gravity of it becomes so strong, it’s like nothing else exists to her. Not eating or showering or … me. That it just is.
But it also just sucks.
I tap my thumb against the doorknob several times before finally asking, “You’ve been taking your meds, right?”
Mom arches an eyebrow. “Yes, mija. Need I remind you who the mother is here?”
I really don’t want to answer that.
The silence grows, so I say, “I was just going to make some food. Want anything?” If I don’t make her something, she won’t eat the rest of the night.
She nods, her eyes going heavy. Like that conversation took all her energy. I watch her a moment, trying to tamp down the terror I feel whenever she’s this low. Trying to trust that this one will pass like all the others have.
Armed with a task and somewhere for all this agitated energy to go, I head to the kitchen, trying not to get swallowed by my own creeping anxiety.
Earlier, I was feeling excited about filming again, about making this documentary. I got a lot of interesting interviews this morning before and during the Fun Run, and the story map is coming together in my mind faster than ever.
But what if it’s all bullshit? One setback and my mom abandoned it all. I always thought I’d be different, but what if I’m not?
What if this is my life—watching everyone else succeed while I … don’t?
I’m so lost in thought while I pull the chicken mole leftovers, tortillas, and Spanish rice out of the fridge, I startle when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Reid: You’ll never know how sorry I am.
Pulse thundering, I stare at the words. Stare at Reid’s name and the contact photo I never had the heart to delete. The picture is of the back of him as he lies across my lap—his sharp profile, my hand in his hair, and his fingers curled against my leg where he was absently rubbing it.
It was such a simple, soft moment that I never wanted to forget.
Because even though he claimed that I didn’t let him in, he was the first person I ever really had. The only person who made me feel less alone.
Something lurches in me.
I could let what happened between Reid and Delaney go and forgive him. Or I could ask Reid for every excruciating detail all over again so the pain serves as the armor I need against him. I could tell him all the ways I miss him.
But then a different image flashes through my mind, the one Legacy Lore posted of Reid leaning in close to Delaney. Of her looking up at him like they were sharing a secret.
Given how good we are at hurting each other, I know what I need to do.
A hollow feeling takes over as I do it.