10. Indy
TEN
INDY
“Nick, darling, have you had time to pick up your cap and gown yet?” Mom doesn’t look up from the list she’s making on her phone.
She’s been engulfed in all the minute details about graduation for weeks now, determined to make the day perfect.
I don’t know what that means, other than that there’s a vision board and a lot of lists involved.
Nick stops somewhere in the middle of the kitchen and frowns at Mom.
“What?” he asks.
I almost laugh at the thoroughly horrified look he sends her.
Mom looks up from her phone impatiently. “Your cap and gown. If not, please do that as soon as you can.”
“Yes, Nick,” Dia says, mimicking Mom’s tone to a tee. “I’ll have you know it’s T-minus fifteen days to G-day.”
Mom sends Dia a look. “You laugh now, but you’ll thank me once everything goes off without a hitch.”
“I’m not laughing,” Dia says. “It’s how I show my gratitude. Mockery is the highest form of flattery, Mother.”
Mom taps her phone against the top of Dia’s head gently before she turns her attention back to Nick. She snaps her fingers in his direction. “Cap? Gown?”
“I don’t need those,” Nick says with a suspicious look around like he’s afraid somebody’s going to jump out from behind the corner and force a gown on him.
“Yeah, nice try.” Dia snorts. “If I can’t wear a beautiful dress to walk across that stage, you sure as hell can’t show up in jeans.”
Nick ignores her and goes and opens the fridge. “I have stuff going on that day. Sorry.” It doesn’t sound like he means it at all.
“You have stuff going on on your graduation day?” Mom repeats.
“Shift at work.” Nick shuts the fridge and turns around. “You all have fun, though.” If dismissiveness had a voice, this would be it.
“Nicholas,” Mom says, like saying his full name is supposed to have an effect.
He looks at her.
“It’s an important day,” Mom says. “It’s an accomplishment. Something to celebrate with your family.”
Once again she sounds so hopeful. I will never understand why she tries so hard with him. Why she hopes so hard.
“Maybe for people who have somebody to celebrate with.” Nick walks out.
Mom presses her lips into a thin line.
“God, he’s an asshole.” Dia rolls her eyes.
Mom sighs. “Do we have to swear?”
“I find it gives my words flavor,” Dia says. “That little extra oomph.”
Mom shakes her head and goes back to her to-do list.
“What’s his deal, anyway?” Dia says. “I get that he doesn’t want to be here, and the whole thing is sad and all, but did he really think foster care would’ve been a better choice?”
Mom opens her mouth, then closes it. She looks more conflicted than I’ve seen her in ages. Dia and I exchange looks.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mom says. It’s not a reprimand, though. Her voice is sad. Almost gentle.
Dia throws her hands up. “Well, then explain it to me. I’m all ears.”
Mom goes very, very still for a bit, but then she just goes back to her list.
Dia turns her gaze to me. “Did I black out and miss story time?”
“It’s not my story to tell,” Mom says. “Not just my story,” she amends a second later.
“So there is a story to tell.” Dia straightens her back.
“Drop it, darling,” Mom says firmly.
“But—”
“No.” Mom very rarely uses this kind of strict tone, and as a result, it works every time.
“Fine,” Dia grumbles.
She says fine, but I don’t think she means it.
I’m not going to make any promises either.
Dia finishes her breakfast, gives Mom a quick kiss on the cheek, and rushes upstairs to get ready.
I gather the dishes, put them in the dishwasher, and clean up the kitchen. Mom stands, still leaning against the counter, but her phone display turned off a long time ago, and her eyes are on the window, gaze locked on some point I can’t see in the distance.
I go to her, and she turns her head to look at me. She sends me a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Her shoulders are slumped like there’s something heavy resting on them, and there’s a deep line between her eyebrows.
“I could talk to him,” I say. Pointlessly. Nobody, least of all me, believes any of us can talk Nick into doing anything.
But I don’t really care about that. All I know is that I’m itching to go after him. I’m itching to do something about the disappointment that’s gathered into a tight ball in the middle of my chest.
I’m mostly angry at myself for being an idiot. For being the kind of idiot who doesn’t get the message. I’m angry at myself for being disappointed. Nicholas and I are never, ever going to be anything other than resentful strangers. He won’t let it happen, and I shouldn’t care. I don’t want to care.
Mom sends me a small smile. I hold my arms out, and she hugs me. I’m a head taller than her and for a moment it almost feels like it’s less that I’ve grown taller and more that she’s gotten shorter.
“I’ll talk to him,” I say.
She tilts her head up and looks at me. “You’re sweet. But you focus on you, okay?”
She squeezes my arm and goes back to her list.
I go to the hallway, grab my bag, and settle in to wait for Dia. I’m still scrolling on my phone when I hear the footsteps, but when I look up, it’s not Dia. Instead, it’s Nick, jogging down the stairs.
“Blue,” he says in a mocking tone before he brushes past me and disappears out the door.
I’m not fine with any of it.
I tell myself to let it go.
But I won’t.
The front door shuts behind him.
Disappointment pushes front and center until it’s all I am.
I glance toward the kitchen, and then I’m going after him.
The sky is filled with thick clouds, and the wind makes the temperature feel much cooler than it actually is.
“Hey!” I call out.
He stops and turns around, and if I thought that maybe him helping me out that one time would mean some kind of truce, he clearly hasn’t interpreted it the same way. Now I’m pissed about it.
“Would it really be so difficult to just not be a dick for once?” I ask when I stop in front of him.
He raises his brows.
I wave my hand toward the house. “In there. She’s been nothing but accommodating and nice to you. You know what? Fuck it. We all have.”
“Lucky me,” he says tonelessly.
The emotionless delivery sets my teeth on edge.
“Nobody forced you to live here,” I snap before I make myself breathe in. “I’m sorry things suck right now. And I get that it’s really hard to lose a parent, but—”
“Do you? How many parents have you lost?”
He’s got me there. Still.
“You don’t think I have a shred of imagination or empathy to realize that it might be incredibly difficult?”
“Oh! I feel seen,” he says tightly. “Thanks for that.”
“You’re angry. I get it. You have the right to be angry. And sad. And everything else. Feel whatever you have to feel or want to feel. But you can’t just go around and pour that anger out on people who don’t fucking deserve it. It’s been fucking years. Get over yourself.”
His dark eyes settle on me, and then he’s stalking closer until we’re standing toe to toe. I’ve never felt like he could be dangerous—he hits with words, not fists—but I’m not so sure that’s true in this moment right here.
Then he lets out a short, harsh laugh and steps back. “It’s actually pathetic how little you know about anything.”
He turns around. The car door slams shut a moment later, and then he’s speeding away, leaving me in a cloud of dust, fingers curled into fists, breaths coming out in huffs, shaking from the arrogant dismissal.
It follows me like a shadow the whole day. His coldness. That harsh laugh. The disappointment. It’s there in my gut, and it grows until I’m almost trembling with barely contained anger by the time it starts to get dark outside.
I can’t shake it off no matter how hard I try. It’s right there in the forefront of my mind. It’s a ball of thorns I want to pick up and toss away, but every time I try, it just digs deeper into my skin.
I pace the length of my room and listen to the thunder rumbling in the distance. The wind rattles the windowpanes and rain pounds against glass. I pace. I simmer with anger. Thinking of the years spent passively taking all his shit makes me scream inside, because how fucking pathetic is that?
Anger is like acid. It dissolves everything else until I’m all claws and chaos.
Unable to take it any longer, I grab my jacket and march to Dia’s room.
“Car keys?” I say the moment I step into her room.
“On the shelf,” she says distractedly, eyes on her phone, thumbs flying over the screen. She glances up just as I turn to leave and frowns. “Where are you headed?”
“Out for a bit.”
Her eyes flick to the window. “Dude, there’s a storm out there. A nasty one.”
“I won’t be long.”
“But—”
“Don’t have time. I’ll be back in a bit.”
She waves her phone toward me. “But it says here—”
I’m already jogging down the stairs.
When I push the front door open it slams against the side of the house. The fuck? Even the weather is dramatic today.
Wind tears across the driveway, tossing twigs and leaves around. The sky is so dark it looks black, with heavy clouds rushing over it. Every now and then a flash of lightning cuts across it, lighting everything up in a stark white before the darkness takes over again.
I make a run for the car, but in the thirty seconds it takes me to get in, I’m already soaking wet.
It only makes me angrier, and that well was already overflowing. I grip the steering wheel. The wipers fight for their life to keep up with the downpour.
Nick works at a diner on the outskirts of Annapolis.
The lights are on inside, but the parking lot is completely empty.
I turn off the engine and grip the wheel again.
Somewhere in the back of my mind is a voice of reason that says none of this is a good idea, but it’s faint enough that it’s easy to ignore.
I slam the car door shut behind me. The rain has gotten even heavier, and the thunder and lightning are right above my head now.
The wind pelts my face with water, and the bell above the restaurant door lets out a jaunty jingle that gets almost completely lost in the noise of the storm when I pull the door open.
The place is empty.