Chapter 10 #2
They headed up the ramp out of Manhattan, where the skyline passed by one final time.
Avery tried to admire the twinkling buildings across the river, the warm yellow sparkles from the windows of high-rises brimming with life, but right now, though she knew it was irrational, she was angry with this city, with its seemingly limitless opportunities for her to get herself in trouble.
Would she behave this irresponsibly if she lived somewhere less stimulating?
That was a stupid thought. Yes she would.
Because no matter where she went, there she was—the same girl who’d put herself in the same situation in college and tried to act like she didn’t.
And her coping mechanisms were all short-lived balms that seemed to only make her feel worse.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Morgan. I’m glad you’re alive. What happened?
Avery put her phone in her lap, thankful that Morgan wasn’t icing her out like everyone else.
Her phone buzzed again. Did Blair say something to you??
Avery knew telling Morgan about her conversation with Blair would only exacerbate Morgan’s existing stress about having them both in the wedding party.
At the time, in her drunk one-track mind, running from Blair’s comment had been the only thing Avery could think to do to get away from it all—literally.
But Avery didn’t want to give Morgan more reasons to worry.
She would just need to forget about what happened with Blair and move forward, to suck it up until the wedding.
Then she could go back to her regular life.
no, she was fine, Avery said . my mom’s making me come home this weekend tho. hang when i get back?
Avery spent the next thirty minutes peeking at her phone for Morgan’s response, refreshing their text message window over and over. Until, finally: Sure.
That period was like a stab in the gut.
The public housing and warehouse buildings of upper Manhattan slowly morphed into the corn fields and rolling plains of grass of suburban New Jersey.
Avery’s heart swelled at the sight of her hometown.
New Jersey was so much more than the stretch of highway that smelled like farts you had to drive through to get to New York City .
Avery had a magical childhood here, filled with summers at the beach and late nights at the diner and long drives to nowhere.
Maybe she should’ve stayed here after high school instead of going away to Massachusetts for college.
She could’ve gone to Rutgers, worked for the Asbury Park Press , and dated a local guy, maybe a teacher.
They could’ve spent their days going to restaurants by the ocean, listening to live music at The Stone Pony, and saving up for a modest home with a yard.
She could’ve run in a different social circle, been someone different, gone to another party senior year.
She could’ve had the life she’d always envisioned for herself as a kid.
She should’ve taken a cue from her parents who rarely left the state.
There was nothing for her beyond the confines of their town in New Jersey.
Everything she needed to have a happy life was right here, along Route 22. Mike and Jackie Russo knew it best.
Avery’s dad pulled into the driveway, and the car wobbled over the bumps in the familiar way it always did as her white-paneled childhood home with navy shutters came closer into view.
She headed through the front door and snuck up the stairs to put her bag away in her old bedroom, where everything looked the same as it had when she first moved out, fossilized like artifacts in a history museum.
Her comforter had the same yellow swirls, the colors faded from the sun streaming in through the window above her bed.
Her bookshelf still overflowed with books, including a short story she wrote in elementary school called The Brownie Sale on Our Block , but there was a tiny layer of dust on all the spines.
Her walls were covered in academic awards, drama club awards, a first-place spelling bee ribbon.
She couldn’t believe this person had once existed, and that that person was somehow her.
Mom suddenly appeared in the doorframe. Without a word, she reached over to give Avery a hug. Avery, also wordlessly, returned the embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of Mom’s rosewater perfume and expensive hairspray.
“I’m glad you’re home,” Mom said softly.
She pulled away and tenderly stroked Avery’s cheek, making Avery feel like a kid again.
Avery wished her mom could hold her in her arms and make everything go away like when she used to scare the monsters out from under Avery’s bed.
The fight with Morgan, that night with Noah, the constant debilitating fear that Avery wouldn’t make it to August—all these new monsters, bigger and scarier than anything Avery had feared before.
Avery’s eyes became wet, burned with tears. “Me too.”
Avery followed her mom downstairs to the kitchen, where a pot of hot water was boiling on the stove and a “Bless This House” plaque was nailed to the wall above a set of French doors leading into the yard.
Dad was sitting at the table reading the paper, and Mom went over to rub his shoulders and give him a kiss, as though he’d had to journey through a treacherous jungle to pick her up and he’d made it out unharmed.
Avery rolled her eyes. It was just Manhattan, for Christ’s sake, despite their favorite Fox News pundits convincing them the city was twenty-four/seven mayhem.
Though if Avery were in a better mood, she would find their protectiveness of each other sweet.
Hunter was kicking the soccer ball around outside when he spotted Avery through the window and sprinted inside to greet her.
Avery hadn’t spoken to her little brother in a while, but he was only seventeen—young and naive enough to think she was busy being an adult, not that her life was falling apart.
“Hunter, no more soccer until your science project is done,” Dad reprimanded. “You need to get working on it.”
Hunter exhaled loudly. “I know .” He turned to Avery and told her about his indoor soccer game last weekend, when he outran the other team’s fastest defender.
“The goalie had no chance. He was cursing like crazy. I won’t repeat what he said because Mom will kill me, but it rhymes with puck and sit. ”
“Hunter!” Mom barked.
“I didn’t say the words! Just what they rhymed with!”
Mom poured Avery a cup of tea in her Woodford College mug.
Avery dunked the tea bag up and down and watched the brown liquid swirl around inside the hot water.
Avery had gotten this mug during freshman orientation week.
She remembered feeling a sense of belonging those first few weeks on campus as she walked among Woodford’s majestic gothic buildings and classic manicured lawns.
Cheering on Woodford’s top-tier football team, thumbing through pamphlets of extracurricular activities, and enrolling in enriching academic courses, Avery had felt part of something bigger than herself, something that would help her make her lasting mark on the world.
“Hunter’s trying to get into a summer program for science and engineering,” Mom said. “Soccer’s been taking up too much studying time.”
Hunter scoffed. “I’m gonna get in, Mom. I got into their space camp two years ago. That’ll give me a leg up.”
“I’m sure it will, honey.” Mom ruffled Hunter’s hair, beaming proudly at him. “You just wait, Avery. Hunter’s gonna give you a run for your money with his grades. He’ll graduate high school with an even higher rank than you.”
“He probably will.” Avery was less enthusiastic than she should’ve been, but Mom was right.
Hunter easily had a shot at being valedictorian when he graduated high school next year.
Avery, meanwhile, didn’t even walk in her commencement ceremony at Woodford, still reeling and alone from her breakup and the aftermath.
She’d spent all of graduation day in her dorm room drinking Rubinoff by herself, telling everyone she had the stomach flu.
Dad put down his newspaper and fixed his attention on Avery. “How’s work going? I’ve been meaning to tell you, my coworker’s daughter was a copy editor at a travel magazine, and she became a staff writer after working there only a year.”
“Oh wow, Mike, that’s great!” Mom said. “Did you hear that, Avery? You can leverage your social media job in the same way. You gotta show them your essays!”
Avery offered a tiny shrug. Her parents had always been supportive of her writing, which Avery used to share on all her social media pages.
Her mom was especially supportive on Facebook, where, in addition to writing unnecessarily long posts about relatively minor life events and commenting on everything in all caps, like “YOU LOOK GORGEOUS” or “WHO’S HE?
CUTE,” she used to like every single Golden article Avery posted. But Avery never posted anything now.
“I haven’t been able to write at all lately,” Avery said matter-of-factly. “Been going through way too much this past year.”
Avery’s parents exchanged a sad look.
“What do you mean?” Mom asked.
Avery froze. She’d slipped too easily into the cozy cocoon of her parents’ love and support. But she forgot that they didn’t know any details about the breakup. Nor did she want them finding anything out.
“I just—I just mean that, uh … work’s been busy,” she said. “I don’t have time to pitch anything if I wanted to.”