Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Later that afternoon after Jenna is gone, I hear my school tablet ping with a Connection Services message.
A smile crosses my face as the tablet gets set down, but then—wait.
How did he know about Jenna today? The tablet comes back up and a quick scroll through our messages reveals nothing that would have told him we were meeting—only that I'd agreed to take his advice.
Weird. But if he is Jake… then he would have known where Jenna was going.
The sound of the front door opening and my dad calling out “hello” makes me toss the tablet aside and bolt down the stairs.
My feelings about our family are a mess, but the thrill of him being home for good is undeniable.
And at least that Instagram picture, while still questionable, likely wasn't what I'd first feared.
Dad’s still in the entryway kicking his shoes off when I skid towards him and throw my arms around him.
The warmth of his body and the smell of his cologne feel so familiar and my heart aches for all the days and nights I’d missed him.
Even before he went to the southern hemisphere, he’d been busy on local projects too, putting in long hours.
We are jolted by Hunter flying into the entryway and throwing himself against us as well, causing all of us to be locked in a group hug. Dad laughs and squeezes us tightly.
“Man, I missed you guys,” he says. “Let’s have spaghetti for dinner and play some Uno. What do you say?”
“Yeah!” Hunter yells. “And ice cream!”
“And ice cream.” I can feel the grin in Dad’s voice even though my face is still buried against him, with Hunter’s smaller arms wrapped around me to the side.
“Loser has to do the dishes,” I add.
Dad holds on for one more beat, then lets us go. “I have a better idea. Let’s do everything together today. Even clean up.”
Hunter and I glance at each other. For a moment, it truly feels like everything will be ok. Maybe it won’t be, but maybe enjoying the moments we have now is good enough.
“Deal,” Hunter says.
For the rest of the night we eat, play, and then watch a movie.
It all feels familiar. Routine almost. But I can’t help but feel some of the unknowns about our family hanging over my head, despite trying to enjoy the here and now.
Hunter seems completely oblivious, which I can’t blame him for—he’s only eight, after all.
The credits from the movie begin to scroll across the TV screen. Dad scootches to the edge of the couch opposite me and begins to pile plates to bring to the kitchen. Hunter’s asleep, his head tucked against the arm of a nearby recliner.
An urge to take advantage of this moment with just Dad overwhelms me, or perhaps it’s the catharsis of opening up to Jenna. All I know is that I want to bridge the gap between us.
“Dad,” I say quietly, “can I talk to you?”
He immediately stops stacking dishes, sets them down, and sits fully back on the couch with his body facing mine. “Of course. You can talk to me any time, Avey girl.”
I hesitate, feeling awkward after committing myself to this conversation.
My mind flicks over the possible things to share, from Braden to the swim team.
Then I think about how Dad was always the one to help me with school projects, even the year of the science fair when Analiese burned my project.
He took me to the library, ran through flashcards with me, and did extra practice problems. Up until the past couple of years, Dad was truly a driving force behind my academic success.
“Yesterday, I had a meeting with Mrs. Nelson. My advisor.” I pause while fiddling with the edge of the blanket on my lap and glance at his face. He nods and waits patiently. “You know how I wanted to go to MIT with Braden next year, and I wanted to be valedictorian?”
He smiles. “You showed me your vision board every time we FaceTimed.”
I smile back, though it’s not with joy. I think of how my vision board sits now—with the MIT logo having fallen off entirely, sitting on my dresser like a symbol of my falling-apart life.
“Yeah, well, I found out I’m not valedictorian. Or salutatorian. Or even close at all. I’m currently ranked sixth.”
My shoulders crunch up with the shame of it all, eyes fixed on the blanket, bracing for his disappointed look. But what comes instead is his large hand gently grabbing my forearm.
“Avery, sixth place is amazing! I’m so proud of you.”
I look up, surprised. “You are?”
He laughs softly. “I’m pretty sure I was ranked 200th or something in my class.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I can’t say academics were my focus in high school. You can still go to MIT if you want. But honestly… I’ve always been surprised at that choice for you.”
It’s been something I’ve talked about with Braden for so long, it feels weird to have the choice questioned. But it was always Braden’s dream, not mine. Or maybe it was actually Braden’s parents’ dream, as it turns out. Braden doesn’t seem to care about college at all these days, let alone MIT.
“Where else would I go?”
“Anywhere. You’re the one who runs the show.
You organize things. You make plans happen.
Maybe you can do something more along the lines of, I don’t know, maybe project management.
” He pauses for a moment and removes his hand from my arm to rub his chin in thought.
“Do you really, in your heart, feel like math or science are something you’re passionate about? ”
I think about all the hours I spent with Braden doing math homework, or the hours I spent perfecting my science fair project. Did I want to do those things, or did I just want to impress Braden or beat Analiese? Maybe it wasn’t my own personal passion driving me.
Dad speaks again while I consider his point.
“I see the things you enjoy. How you love writing lists for yourself, color-code everything, create vision boards. You love that! You absolutely thrive on creating timelines and plans toward a goal. I think you’d be amazing as a project manager, and you don’t have to go to MIT to do that.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I concede, then scoff lightly. “Does that mean I applied to all of the wrong colleges?”
“How many did you apply to?”
A shrug. “Like, twenty?”
He laughs again. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. It doesn’t seem like MIT is the best choice for you, and not because you can’t go if you wanted to make it happen. I just think, as your dad, you’d enjoy another direction for your future, and I definitely don’t want you to regret your choices.”
His last thought hangs in the air, a note of sadness or melancholy in his voice.
It almost feels like he’s referring to himself rather than me.
Does he regret his choices? Is that why he went from involved dad to jet-setting-across-the-world dad?
He supported Mom through all of her years of med school and residency, which is why he was the primary parent for so many years. Does he wish he hadn’t?
I want to ask so badly, but it doesn’t seem like my place. The questions are on the tip of my tongue, but he stands with the plates in his hands before I can decide.
“I’m glad we talked, and that we got to spend this time together tonight. Can you help me clean this up before we wake Hunter for bed?”
“Yeah, but Dad…”
He pauses, hands full, “Yeah?”
“How long are you and Mom going to be—” The word catches in my throat.
His eyes look sad, and all the anger I’d felt last night seems like ash that’s drifted away. Maybe the flames will be rekindled at some point, but for the first time, it occurs to me that maybe this isn’t what he wants. Plus, I don’t want to ruin the nice night we’ve had together.
“Never mind.”
I set my questions aside and help him load the dishwasher, then start it.
While he's rinsing a plate, a question surfaces that's been sitting in the back of my mind. “Dad, are you going to want the Corolla back? Now that you're home?”
He looks at me, surprised. “No, Avey girl. That's your car now. I'll figure out my own situation.”
I nod, not sure why the answer makes my throat tighten. When we finish, I fold the blankets on the couch while he rouses Hunter and gently convinces him he does, in fact, need to brush his teeth before he goes back to sleep.
The next day, Mom drops us off at Dad’s new apartment.
The moments between Dad opening the door and Mom driving away are strange, but the day goes pretty well.
Hunter is in a good mood and enjoys helping construct all the furniture for our bedrooms, especially when Dad lets him use the electric drill.
Our rooms are fine—sparse—but that’s to be expected in a new space.
It’s hard to imagine bringing half of my stuff from my room at home.
Dad assures us we’ll go shopping to fill in for whatever we need at his place, but that’s something to worry about in the future.
Monday morning after AP Lit, I catch up to Analiese in the hallway as she walks towards her locker.
I watched her all during class and noticed she wasn't as engaged as usual.
Her eyes stayed downcast—her hair a messy jumble, clothes rumpled.
And now, as I approach her rifling through her open locker, the tension pinching her eyes into angry creases is clear as day. To summarize: she looks stressed.
Why should Analiese be stressed? She’s a swim captain and she’s likely valedictorian. From my perspective, Analiese is crushing my goals.
“Hey, Analiese.”
She startles, like she’s completely surprised to notice I’m standing next to her in the loud and crowded hallway. Her eyes only examine me for a second or two before she goes back to organizing her things in her backpack and locker, apparently deciding not to acknowledge my existence.
I recall our last day together—watching that movie—and Jenna’s nudge to reach out to Analiese.
Though I'm questioning that advice right now, I'll follow through.
Even if it makes me uncomfortable, I can see how the things Analiese has done and said over the years have been rooted more in her own pain than in any desire to spite me.
The story she shared with me earlier this school year about her dad was absolutely brutal.
Even though things have changed with my family, my dad has never directly done anything to betray us.
I clear my throat and try again. “I just wanted to say… I look forward to being co-captains next month.”
She cuts me a disbelieving look as she slams her locker shut and slings her backpack over her shoulder. For the first time I notice how frayed and faded her bag is.
“Sure you are. Avery James, queen of all she sees, is excited to share her crown? I think not.”
Her shoulder roughly brushes past mine as she begins to walk away, but I anticipate her departure and fall in step beside her. I ignore her heavy sigh. Maybe I’ve learned some moves from Jake.
“I hear you're the one with the crown, as you’re the currently ranked number one and likely to be our valedictorian.” I swear I keep all the bitterness out of my voice. I give myself an internal pat on the back.
She snorts. “I’m sure you hated that news. I’m not even sure why. Your parents are loaded and can send you to whatever college you want anyway. Some of us have to work for our way there.”
“Ok, first of all, my parents aren’t ‘loaded.’ Yes, my mom is a doctor, but doctors have massive student loan debt.”
She gives me a disgusted glance but keeps walking down the hall at a brisk pace.
“And secondly, I’ve always worked as hard as you, if not harder.”
That makes her stop so suddenly I have to turn and retrace my steps to where she stands, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.
“You can’t be serious.”
I shrug my shoulders, legitimately confused about why she’s confused.
“Not only did you have two involved parents helping you every step of your life, you’ve had Braden carrying you through every math and science class since middle school.”
I blink, caught off guard. “Braden didn’t carry me. We studied together.”
“Avery, please,” she gives a humorless laugh. “He practically did everything for you. You don’t get to lecture me on hard work.”
“I did work hard,” I insist, heat rising in my face. “You don’t even know—”
“Yes, actually, I do.” Her voice drops, quieter now, but sharper. “I know exactly how much harder everything is when you don’t have anyone at home checking your homework or packing your lunch or buying you new everything.”
Her words hit me harder than I expect. But at the same time, I can tell she’s not mad at me. Well, she’s definitely at least a little mad at me. This seems like it’s about more than that though.
My mouth opens, then closes. I feel stupid for every assumption I’ve made about her life. For my petty jealousy.
“I didn’t realize,” I say finally.
“No,” she mutters. “You didn’t.”
She starts to walk again, shoulders tense, worn backpack slipping slightly down one arm. For a second, I think she’s done with the conversation. But then she adds, in a tired voice that’s almost too low to hear, “Just because you’re struggling doesn’t mean the rest of us have to listen to you.”
I stand there frozen, watching her disappear into the stream of students heading toward class. I'm not sure what stings more—the truth in her earlier words or the barbs of her last ones. But underneath all of it, I think Jenna was right. Analiese needs someone. Even me.