CHAPTER 16 #2
Junie shot up, hurrying toward the stairs, but Ivy was slower moving. Rubbing her eye with one fist, she reached for Jamie’s hand. “He’s really good at stories!” Theo told them.
Our eyes locked, and Jamie gave me a small nod. I’ve got this. You take that.
Their footsteps were quiet as they climbed the stairs, leaving Penn and me alone in the thick tension of the living room. Now that it was the two of us, some of her bravado disappeared, her fingers uncurling a little.
“Penn.” My voice was firm. “Where is Mom?”
“She called a little before six and said the train to Addison was broken, and that she was going to be stuck in the city for the night.”
Six. I would’ve been at Nellie’s getting ready by then.
I left here at five, thinking Mom would’ve been home within half an hour.
Penn assured me over and over she’d been able to watch the kids for thirty minutes and, against my better judgment, I’d listened to her.
A small trial run, I’d thought. An easy way to see how much responsibility she could handle.
The answer? Not much. “Why didn’t Mom call me?”
“She…” Penn turned her face away. “She asked me to tell you.”
A heavy pressure settled. “And you didn’t.”
“I could handle it!”
“Theo, standing barefoot on the table, was handling it?” I demanded, gesturing toward the dining room. “Junie swearing at a gun videogame—which she’s not allowed to play—while it’s almost midnight? Ivy, mainlining marshmallows? C’mon, Penn.”
“I mean, other than that, I did fine!” Penn’s expression started to twist. “We got pizza delivered. I paid with the money Mom keeps in the cabinet—”
“You opened the door for a stranger?” I ran both of my palms down my face. “Penn, you’re fourteen. I get that you’re trying to prove yourself, but you can’t just—”
“You did!” Now it was her shout that echoed off the walls, much higher pitched than mine. “Dad died, and you did it all. Here I thought maybe I’d try to help you for once. Heaven forbid I want you to have a fun night out!”
When she turned back to me, her eyes were shining, but no tears had fallen yet. My anger froze at the sight of them. Penn was the queen of scowling, but it’d been years since I’d seen her cry. The last time I could actually remember was Dad’s funeral. “You’re too young, Penn—”
“I’m the same age you were! You’re the only one who can help, is that it? You want to be the martyr and then be depressed about it? Fine!” An angry tear slid down her cheek, and she smacked it off. “I won’t care about you or your dumb feelings again.”
And then she stomped from the living room, her footfalls slamming on the stairs.
I let out a slow breath, the buzzing in my ears still loud. Junie’s game was still paused on the TV, screen red, and I stared at it, unblinking, until my eyes burned.
I don’t want to do this anymore, I thought, but it was a quiet thought, suffocated by the guilt of screwing up. Again.
I tore a hand through my hair, wincing at where the rain and dancing had left it tangled.
The sound of my yelling still echoed in my ears, making me wince further.
What was I thinking, yelling? What was I thinking, even leaving the house?
I should’ve waited until Mom got home. I should’ve checked in with her.
I don’t want to do this anymore.
I don’t know how long I stood there, unmoving. Long enough for my legs to begin to hurt. Long enough for Jamie to quietly creep back down the stairs. “All are in pjs and in bed,” he murmured, coming around the banister.
“Did they brush their teeth?”
He hesitated. “Um.”
“It’s fine,” I said, but it quite possibly could’ve been the biggest lie I’d told myself.
I rubbed my fingers into my eyes again, pressing hard enough to see stars.
Nothing felt fine. While I’d been selfishly thinking about having a fun night without worrying about the kids, Penn had taken on all that responsibility.
Mom had known I was going out tonight—we’d talked about it this morning.
As soon as she’d known her train wasn’t running, she should’ve called me.
“It’s…” I couldn’t bring myself to lie a second time.
Jamie’s feet were soundless as he crossed the living room, and I jumped a little as his hand curved around my shoulder. “We can still do an all-nighter—”
“No, we can’t.” The suggestion almost annoyed me.
“It was a stupid thought, anyway. What, I stay up all day, all night, and all tomorrow? I can’t sleep while the kids are awake.
I have to make breakfast, and play, and make lunch, and keep them from killing each other.
It was stupid to even consider it in the first place. ”
There was nothing he could say. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than for Jamie to wrap his arms around me, to tuck me into his chest. I craved his comfort, but in a way I shouldn’t have.
In a way that I knew, even if Nellie were to offer her arms out, it was still Jamie’s embrace I secretly wanted.
And that was not allowed.
“I’ve just been so… angry lately. Irritable. And I hate it.” All the moments flashed in my head, and I squeezed my eyes shut. It helped a little against the burn. “You and I have been fighting more than we normally do.”
“Do you think maybe it’s because you’ve got so much going on? The college stress, the kids, Dalton coming home. Us.” Jamie’s hand hesitated on my shoulder. “Our fake relationship, I mean. That’s a lot of pressure all at once, Daze.”
Pressure. College, well—my waitlist would turn into a rejection, and that would be it.
Dalton coming home had been rocky at the beginning, but now, with the butterflies gone, it wasn’t too bad.
And the fake relationship with Jamie was nothing different from how we normally acted, except now those butterflies that should’ve been for Dalton came alive for Jamie.
“Tell me I’m a monster for yelling at the kids,” I said in a near whisper. “Tell me that they’re just kids, and getting mad at them isn’t fair.”
“I can’t tell you the number of times Destelle yelled at Nellie and me when we were little. That’s what it’s supposed to be like. You’re allowed to be angry with them, and overwhelmed with them, and tired of taking care of them.”
That, there, was the perfect example of the divide between us.
I couldn’t do those things, because if I didn’t take care of them, who would?
Dad was gone. Mom had to work. They needed me—and tonight was perfect evidence of that.
Everything was on my shoulders all the time, squishing me flatter and flatter until I caved. I don’t want to do this anymore.
But it hurt even more that Jamie could see me struggling—like it was clear to everyone that I was doing something wrong.
“You should head home,” I told him, not quite looking him in the eye. “I’m not sure Junie will actually sleep if she knows you’re still here.”
Jamie’s fingers twitched against my shirt, the sheer barrier just enough to tease his touch but still kept me from fully feeling it. Just as I was about to pull away, to sever the connection I was thinking way too much about, Jamie said, “Draw something for me.”
I suddenly felt bone-weary tired. “My sketchbook is upstairs.” And I don’t want you to see what I’ll draw.
Jamie hesitated before letting go, slipping his hand into his pocket. When he pulled it back out, he had a folded-up piece of paper between his fingers, and he offered it out to me.
The paper was blank, unlined, and perfectly square. Not hastily ripped out of a notebook. It looked more like printer paper. “You keep a piece of paper in your pocket?”
Jamie’s eyes darted to the side, the way they always did when he was about to lie. “Not all the time.”
“Why?”
“In case you ever forget your sketchbook.” He reached for my hand, gently prying my fingers out of a fist, and pressed the paper into my palm. “You always have a marker on your keyring—and I’ll always have the paper.”
A soft sound slipped past my lips, quiet in the room, loud in my ears.
I stared at the way Jamie’s fingers lingered on my palm a half beat before pulling away entirely, and I could still feel that barest touch more than the paper still in my hand.
You always have a marker. I’ll always have the paper.
“Jamie,” I whispered, but he didn’t hear me.
The paper was light in my hand, but as comforting as his arms around me would’ve been.
Seen. That was how I felt. Jamie looking at me now, scanning my expression the way he always did, wasn’t as knowing as the paper in my hand was.
I could picture exactly what my face must’ve looked like—eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed, looking like a girl who’d realized she loved her best friend.
Loved. In love. In that moment, I couldn’t tell which was which. Or if there was even a difference.
All I knew was that I was a goner.
Jamie stepped away, starting toward the door, and this time, my voice was a little louder. “Jamie.”
He looked exactly as he always did—wavy hair slightly mussed, glasses slipping down his nose, expression neutral and focused solely on me. Except now, there was a spark in his eyes, one that unlocked something within me. “Yeah?”
“What do you want me to draw?”
“Someone being disemboweled,” he replied nonchalantly, opening the door and unhooking my keys from the knob—I’d slammed the door shut with them still dangling from the lock. He hung them on the entryway hook. “Or with their arm chopped off. Make it extra gory.”
It reminded me of last Friday, the day Dalton had come and sat beside me on the park bench. Did you finally move on from drawing people dying, DD? Thank God.
Here Jamie was shutting the door behind him as he left my house, but not before I saw him grinning like it was the most normal thing in the world.
And here I was, swooning over him as he asked me to draw intestines.
Yeah. I was an absolute goner.