Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
DAKOTA
I woke up with a fever. Low-grade, but an actual fever. I’d thrown up two more times in the night, too nauseous and tired to care about what Micah would think anymore.
My anxiety about Anthony had actually made my body ill. Strange.
But I still had to go to Thanksgiving today.
It’d been a while since I’d seen either of my parents—even longer since I’d seen Anthony—and I just needed to get it over with. I didn’t have class or work today, which was unfortunate only because it meant I had no way of distracting myself, unless I created one myself.
Micah was sitting in the leather armchair on his laptop while I sat on the ground in front of the coffee table, a plate of microwaved mini pancakes in front of me and YouTube on the TV. I dumped on more syrup while watching a video essay on some cult.
“Are you creating the final exam?” I asked, looking over at Micah.
“The final exam has been created since the beginning of the semester.”
“Do you think I’m going to fail?”
He set his laptop on a side table next to him and motioned for me to come to him. I crawled across the carpet to sit at his feet, resting my cheek on his knee.
“Now, what sort of bullshit question is that?” Micah cupped my jaw with his strong hand, arching an eyebrow.
I giggled. “You never know.”
“I do know.” He leaned forward and grabbed under my arms, hoisting me onto his lap and tucking my legs up. “You are so capable, Masters. Your final lab report was immaculate. I’m inputting the grade this weekend.”
“Really?”
“Of course. And you’re going to do well on all your finals. Not just mine.”
“Mmmmm,” I hummed. “I hope so.”
“Your birthday’s coming up,” Micah said, rubbing his palm up and down my thigh.
Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I ducked my head to hide it.
I didn’t really like my birthday. I never had.
It was just another day that’d always made me sad, mostly because the emphasis that was supposed to exist on that day never did.
It made me feel more forgotten than usual.
“I don’t want to do anything for it,” I said, my voice muffled against Micah’s shirt.
“That’s unfortunate for you.” Micah tipped my head back. “Because I have plans for us.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. And Mason’s invited.”
Tears sprung up in my eyes, and I pushed my face back against his chest. I could tell he didn’t want it this way, but he was doing it for me. To make me happy, at the expense of his own contentment. I felt as guilty as I did grateful.
“What are the plans?” I asked quietly.
“Surprise plans.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“I know you, baby girl. I’m not going to plan something you won’t like.
” He held me tighter, stroking my skin with his fingertips.
“Most of the day is already planned, anyway. You’ve got your final exam that morning—my exam—and then you can come back here to rest while I finish meetings and other teacher bullshit I have to do for the end of the semester. ”
“And then what?”
“And then you have a nice night.”
“At home?”
He nodded.
I wondered what he had planned. He didn’t tell me when I asked again.
━━━━━
Cold air bit at my cheeks as I walked up the front steps of the trailer I’d grown up in, a dog barking somewhere in the distance.
I knocked on the door, then wrapped my arms around myself.
I was extra early because I didn’t want to take any chances of Anthony arriving first. It would throw me off more than I already was.
The door opened after just a minute.
“Dakota,” my mother said as she held out her arms for a hug. She looked thinner than the last time I’d seen her, more lines creased into her pale face, exhaustion weighing on her shoulders.
“Hi, Mom,” I said and hugged her, then stepped inside.
So much time had passed since I’d last been here.
The smell of cigarette smoke slammed into me like a fucking wall, the scent dropping me back into the past. I’d never ended up burning the flash drive I found in my closet, the one with all the old PhotoBooth videos on it, and everything was the same now, as if I’d walked through the screen right into one of those grainy memories.
My father was sitting on the couch, watching football on the TV. He didn’t acknowledge me when I went past.
I followed my mother into the kitchen, where she’d been preparing food. Most of it came from a can or a box, but it was still better than what I ate living on my own. At least Micah and Mason had mostly remedied my problem of never having any food to eat.
“How have you been?” she asked, busying herself with opening a can of green beans. “Oh, why don’t you take your coat off?”
I shrugged it off my shoulders and went to hang it on a hook by the door.
Back in the kitchen, I propped my hip against the counter and glanced around at all the familiar sights. “I’m doing alright. How are you?”
“Doing well.”
“That’s good.”
“How’s school going?”
“It’s fine. I graduate in the spring. You can come watch, if you want.
” I took in a shaky breath, then blew it out slowly.
I was already getting a headache just being here.
The fan on the microwave over the stove was rattling loudly, and I could hardly smell the food beneath the cloying stench of cigarette smoke.
My eyes shifted to look out the back window, towards the edge of the forest.
Did you run away, too?
“Right, I—”
“How about you help out instead of just standing there?” my father yelled over his shoulder, never pulling his gaze from the screen.
I could barely hide the distaste on my face as I glanced at my mother to get her reaction. She just looked down, quiet, then offered me some potatoes to peel.
“Oh, um—Anthony’s mother died about eighteen months ago, just so you’re aware,” she said as she wiped her hands on a rag. “You probably don’t want to ask him about her.”
My chest went tight.
“Oh.” I picked up the peeler and started to cut the skin off the potatoes into a yellow bowl. “What happened?”
“She overdosed a few months after getting out of prison. She’d been staying with Anthony in California while she was looking for work, so I believe he was the one to find her.”
“That’s sad,” I said, trying to ignore the lump in my throat.
“Yes, it is. I never knew much about her. I just wanted you to be aware before he got here.”
“Okay.”
We didn’t talk much while I helped her finish preparing the meal, and my dread continued growing larger inside of me with each passing second.
He was going to arrive soon. As much as I wished I could put it off forever, I needed the bandage to be ripped off.
Once I dealt with this nightmarish meal, then I could go home. Home was not here.
There was a knock at the door. My stomach dropped.
I felt lightheaded as my mother went to answer it. I stayed hidden in the kitchen, staring down at the countertop littered with burn marks, listening to Anthony greet her, then another female voice do the same. I heard my father get up from his chair, then heavy footsteps on the floor.
A rough hand landed on my shoulder and I flinched.
“Don’t be fuckin’ rude. Hiding away in here like there’s something wrong with you.” My father shoved me forward out of the kitchen, forcing me to stumble a few steps before righting myself.
Anthony’s eyes found mine. Green and green.
Always in my blood.
Every part of me had been wishing that he would’ve gotten ugly, had a horrible life, fallen into a pathetic pit reserved for incestuous pedophiles.
But he hadn’t.
He was handsome. Well-liked. Successful. Engaged.
The knot in my gut twisted tighter and tighter and tighter.
My mother disappeared back into the kitchen.
“Dakota,” Anthony said gently. My palms were clammy, my stomach turning, sweat beading on my pale forehead. I couldn’t speak. His fiancee was staring at me with concern, and I swallowed, feeling like I was having an out-of-body experience.
“Hey,” I said, my voice rough. I cleared my throat, attempting to be normal.
“Samantha, this is my half sister, Dakota,” Anthony said and his fiancee extended her hand. I just stared at it. A cold sweat bloomed along my spine. “Dakota, this is Samantha. My fiancee.”
“Hi,” Samantha said.
I couldn’t say anything back to her.
She eventually let her hand drop back to her side awkwardly. My eyes flicked between her and my brother and my mouth was so, so dry.
“Are you sick?” Anthony asked.
“I don’t know,” I said quickly under my breath, then speed walked away from them, heading straight to the bathroom. I flicked on the light switch, the fan humming to life over my head as I shut the door and turned the lock.
In the dirty mirror, I could see just how terrible I looked.
Pale skin, the whites of my eyes bloodshot, my sunken and dark undereyes.
I looked away quickly, down at my shaky hands, my chipped black nail polish. It was bad enough to be back in this trailer at all, but having to see him again? I whipped my phone out of my pocket and pulled up my texts, thumbs hovering over the screen. But who could I text? What would I say?
I swiped out of the app and put my phone away, then turned on the water and stuck my wrists under the cold stream.
Why did he get to move on with his life?
Sobs were building up in my chest and I didn’t know how to stop them. My sadness just kept growing and growing and growing, consuming me, shoving me into the worst parts of my mind. My shame ate me alive. How did it not eat him alive? How was he so happy?
But was he happy?
His mom just fucking died, and thinking about that made me remember how he used to be when he first came to live with us.
He’d been halfway through eighth grade then, dealing with the fact that the only parent he’d ever lived with was now gone.
He’d had to switch schools because we didn’t live in the same school district he was coming from.