23. Ava
AVA
Two days until OA Con
I kissed Declan. My eyes fly open, the events of last night rushing in alongside the morning light. I kissed Declan, and Declan kissed me back. And it was…everything.
I close my eyes, allowing myself a moment to relive the magic before reality sets back in.
It hadn’t been my first kiss—no, that dubious honor went to Eric Hayes back in the eighth grade.
I’d gone through a rather lengthy string of short-term relationships in my quest to numb the pain of Dad’s leaving, and Mom’s less physical departure.
Kissing became a twisted form of therapy, one I’d used more than I care to admit.
I never went farther, though, breaking things off and moving on whenever the lines began to blur.
By the time I reached high school, I’d tired of the game, and threw myself into pep club and more academic pursuits.
I still flirted a bit, attended Homecomings and Spring Flings, but relationships had officially been shelved for a few years.
Until now.
I roll onto my stomach, pulling the lavender comforter right along with me so that I’m wrapped up burrito-style as I squeal into my pillow.
Me and Declan. Has any pairing ever felt more perfect?
We’re like Romeo and Juliet, only without the horrifically bad choices at the end.
And we’ve known each other for more than two seconds.
Okay, so maybe not Romeo and Juliet at all.
But we do have our obstacles. Or rather, one singular, mom-shaped obstacle.
If Declan and I are going to be more than friends—and I really hope that we are, because that kiss—I’m going to have to tell Mom.
Which ultimately means telling her everything, not just that Declan and I have been hanging out again, but about the workshop, about OA Con.
Just thinking about the impending conversation leeches the wind from my post-kiss fueled sails.
She just learned about Dad and Becky’s baby. Do I really want to hit her with this right now too? Surely it can wait a few days? Maybe I can slip it in after prom and the convention are over. Ease her into it after things calm down a bit.
Okay, so maybe I’m stalling, but I don’t care. I’m in too good a mood to deal with this today, so I’m making the executive decision not to. Because I can.
I get ready for school, taking extra care with my hair, and spending an inordinate amount of time choosing an outfit. The amount of clothes piling up on the bed makes me feel ridiculous, but I can’t help it. I’m nervous, in an excited kind of way.
When I get downstairs, Mom’s cooking again, only not in a mouth-watering, cozy oatmeal kind of way. Instead, I’m hit with the smell of burned bacon, and there’s a grayish pile of what I suspect might be scrambled eggs in a pan at the back of the stove.
“Hey, Mom.” I try not to wrinkle my nose as I head toward the fridge, pausing briefly to give her a hug. “Smells good.”
She tosses the metal spatula she’s holding into the sink with a scowl. “Liar.”
“Perhaps, but only with the best intentions.” I pull out the orange juice and pour a glass for each of us, then hesitate. I’m torn between holding on to my post-kiss euphoria for as long as possible and checking in to make sure she’s keeping her head above water.
And if she isn’t? What am I going to do then? Start another bonfire? Force her back into therapy? Stasia was right. She’s a grown woman. She can take care of herself.
It’s what I want to believe, but the fact is, I love her more than anything. And it never hurts to listen. So, tentatively, I ask, “Is something up? It’s not like you to commit sacrilege where bacon is concerned.”
Mom growls at the pan of maybe-eggs and scrapes it into the trash bin. The paper towel full of charred bacon follows suit. Sighing, she accepts the glass I hold out to her, sinking onto one of the counter stools. “Your dad called.”
Seriously, this guy. Months with barely a word, and now that he has a newborn on the way, he’s suddenly Mr. Chatty. I wish he’d just leave us alone. “Oh yeah? And what did he want this time?” Other than to make Mom miserable. “I answered his last call.”
Mom takes a hit of OJ and sets the glass down firmly enough that I side-eye it for potential cracks.
“It would seem he’s going to be in town this weekend.
Wanted to take you out for dinner. I told him you were busy with prom, and he had the audacity to ask to come over for photos.
I hung up on him, but ultimately, he’s your dad.
” She keeps her gaze fixed on the table, posture tense.
“If you want him there, I won’t stop you from inviting him. ”
I place a hand on her shoulder. “There’s only one parent I want in those photos with me, and it’s you. I don’t know why Dad’s coming to town this weekend, but he can bite me if he thinks he can just waltz in and—”
Oh.
Oh no.
No, no, no, no, no.
I bet I do know why Dad is coming to town this weekend.
He’s going to OA Con.
This is so not happening.
I literally avoid all things nerdy for five years, and the moment I step back onto the scene, Dad shows up?
Are you kidding me? Maybe Mom could handle the idea of my being there with Declan, but with Dad?
There’s no way. And, if I’m being honest, it’s not just Mom I’m worried about.
Seeing Dad back in his element? All those buried memories mixing with the picture of him and some new kid? I feel sick just thinking about it.
I can’t go.
But if I don’t…
I’ll be letting Declan down. Again.
Agh, this sucks.
“Ava, honey?” Mom’s voice pulls me from the dredges of self-pity. “You okay?”
I shrug, pretending to drink some OJ. “As fine as anyone can be knowing Archer Aimes is rolling into their town.” I make a show of gagging.
Mom shudders. “The stuff of nightmares.”
I manage a weak smile while I take my glass to the sink. “He’s a regular Freddy Krueger.” I press a kiss to the top of her head as I pass behind her. “Don’t let him ruin your day. I’m off.”
Mom’s goodbye follows me to the door, and I take heart at the fact that she already sounds better than she did before. Which is good, because I have enough to worry about as it is.
What am I going to do about the workshop?
Someone has to be there with Declan. I drum my fingers along the straps of my backpack, feet scuffing the asphalt while I stand at the end of the driveway, waiting for Stasia.
I could ask Stasia to cover for me, but she doesn’t know the first thing about prop-making.
Maybe she could fake it, but if the convention committee discovered Declan brought an unqualified newb as his assistant, I doubt that’d go over too well.
No, it needs to be someone with experience.
That’s why Hiro enlisted me to replace him in the first place.
Actually, hold up. That’s not entirely true, is it?
It was part of a scheme to bring me and Declan back together. Hiro’s little party was a lie.
Which means…
I fling myself into Stasia’s car the moment she rolls up, breathing fast. “I need you to give me Hiro’s number.”
She raises a brow, looking properly confused. “Good morning to you too.” She pulls out her cell and rattles off the ten digits, which I type into my phone. “Any particular reason why?”
“Oh, nothing much, just found out my dad is going to be in town this weekend.” I glance at her and grimace. “I’ll give you one guess as to why.”
“No. I thought he stopped going to cons out here?”
“Apparently his wife’s pregnancy is making him nostalgic or something. He even asked my mom if he could come over for prom photos.”
“Seriously? Dude.”
I roll my eyes. “I know. The sad thing is he probably thought we’d be thrilled.” My fingers fly over the keypad, typing out a text to Hiro.
Me: This is Ava. Something came up, and I can’t help Declan on Saturday after all. I know the whole grandparent anniversary party thing was a scam, so if you can just ’fess up and help him out, that’d be amazing. I know how important it is to him that this workshop goes smoothly.
Regret curdles in my gut the moment I hit send.
Do I really want to do this? Yes, the idea of seeing Dad at OA Con makes me want to projectile-vomit, and the added risk of betraying Mom doesn’t exactly feel good either.
But I was looking forward to this. If anyone should back out of the convention, it’s Dad. Not me.
Am I really going to spend my entire life running from his memory?
My chest tightens, and I suck in a ragged breath. Mom’s drinking, Dad’s baby announcement and return to OA Con, the splashes of color Declan’s added to my life these past few weeks—they all swirl around me in a dizzying blur. Vying for priority.
My cell pings with Hiro’s response, the words floating off the screen as if in a dream.
Hiro: Declan told me about your dad’s surprise guest appearance. That sucks, and I totally get not wanting to be there. Will definitely step up and help Dec out. Don’t even worry about it.
He knew?
I blink, but the message remains the same. “Declan told me.”
He told Hiro, but not me? Don’t jump to conclusions. He may have just found out this morning.
I take a deep breath, willing my hands to stop shaking.
Me: Thanks for covering, Hiro. You’re a real HERO (> <). I didn’t realize Declan knew about my dad coming. I only just learned myself. When did he tell you?
I melt into the seat, staring at the screen while the little dots appear, then disappear. More air squeezes from my lungs with each passing moment.
Stasia slides out of the car. “You coming? I’ve gotta lock up.”
I manage to stumble outside, one eye still on the screen. Waiting. Then finally,
Hiro: Did I say Declan told me? Brain fart. I meant Stasia.
That can’t be right, can it? My hands tremble as I hold my phone out for Stasia to read, and she growls.
“Oh, no, he did not.” She takes off like a bat out of hell, streaking across the parking lot.
I try to follow, but my legs are too sluggish.
The noisy chatter of passing students buzzes like static in my ears, and I squeeze my eyes shut, searching for a lifeline.
There’s nothing.
I can’t breathe. I can’t…
Declan’s voice whispers through the chaos. Name five things you can see.
I blink my eyes open, staring blearily around the parking lot.
I see cars. And people.
Nausea churns my gut, and I swallow.
I see a… a blue Jeep.
Said Jeep slows to a stop in front of me, and there’s Tyler, rolling his window down with a look of concern etching his features. “Aimes. You okay? You look like you’re about to pass out.”
I shake my head, my tongue too thick to form words.
Tyler’s out of the car in a flash. “Are you sick?” His hand presses against my forehead when I fail to answer.
I feel a warm palm.
Gravel under my feet.
A phone in my hand.
The weight of my backpack.
I take a breath in, and this time the oxygen reaches its destination. “I’m okay, I’m just… feeling a little overwhelmed.” Another deep breath, and I tilt my head up to meet his worried gaze. “Sorry to freak you out like that.”
“Hey, no worries. Stress can be brutal. I get it.” His lips tilt into a crooked smile. “What you need is to blow off some steam. And as your newly affirmed friend, I feel duty-bound to help.” He nods toward the Jeep. “Hop in.”
I must still be feeling the aftereffects of my panic attack, because nothing he’s saying makes any sense. “What? Why?”
“Because.” He leads me around the side of the Jeep and opens the passenger door with a flourish. “You and I are going to play hooky.”
“But what about school?” I glance over at the red-brick building with its wide swathes of floor-to-ceiling windows.
A crowd of students lingers outside the entrance, waiting until the last possible moment to go inside.
I search for Declan’s face among the throng, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
I know I should probably seek him out and get to the bottom of things, but I can’t seem to make my feet move.
What I need is a pause button.
A moment away from it all to simply process and reboot.
Blowing off steam it is.
I climb into the Jeep and pull on my seat belt as Tyler slides behind the wheel. He shoots me a wicked grin. “You ready to get a little crazy, Aimes?”
I think of the list of people I need to face, the mountain of baggage I need to sort through once and for all. Just as soon as I can breathe again. I square my shoulders and nod. “Punch it, Chewie.”
We careen out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires, and I force myself not to look back.