Chapter 18
Maple
I feel giddy with a sense of freedom. It’s crazy – I’m in a dusty parking lot in Orem – but it feels like I’ve broken out of jail and the cops don’t know about it yet.
I walk fast, out onto the main road. Getting far away from that gross flirty guy, and those crying babies, and Mom’s constant demands. And with every step, I feel better.
I can go anywhere I want, and no one will know.
But the only place I really want to go is home, to be in my house without my mom following me around with a camera and a schedule, or the twins squealing, or Dad shuffling from room to room not noticing me.
I want to swim in my pool, lie on the couch with my sneakers on, eat a snack without having to record the moment.
I check the walking route, then set off down University Parkway.
The sun is warm but not hot, the air is dry, like always – no frizzy hair in Utah – and the UV is only three today, so my skin isn’t even aging.
It’s weird, because I have a lot of stuff going on right now, but I think this might be what contented feels like.
I can literally feel my shoulders dropping.
Yeah, Mom will be mad when she gets home. But what will she do? Confiscate my phone? Send me to my room? Right now, both those things feel like bliss.
Google Maps takes me off the highway and past a couple of fast-food places I recognize.
I think about grabbing some fries, mainly because Mom hates me eating fried food in case I get too fat to be photogenic.
But the only bank card I have on my phone is my mom’s, and she might get a notification when it’s used.
I don’t want to risk this feeling by getting caught, so I walk on instead.
The road is quieter now; I can even hear birdsong.
I look up at the mountains ahead of me and get a bit mesmerized because sunshine is reflecting off their peaks.
They’re such a permanent feature of my life that I rarely notice them.
But it’s nice to have some time to properly look.
To appreciate how majestic and special they are.
‘Maple!’
I close my eyes, like it might block out my dad’s voice. But I can hear the familiar groan of his truck too. Slowly, I turn toward him. ‘Hey, Dad. I thought you were at church?’
‘I was,’ he says, emphasizing the past tense. ‘Now get in.’ His arm is hanging outside the open window, and he knocks his hand against the metalwork twice, like a rider tapping a horse with his heels to make it run faster.
‘I was on my way home,’ I say, resisting, trying to make it sound legit. ‘And I’ve got stuff …’
‘Mom messaged me,’ he interrupts. ‘Told me to find you and get you back to the baby contest. I missed most of the sermon, so please don’t put up a fight.’
His expression is something between desperate and angry. I push out a long sigh, then climb, defeated, into the truck. Dad’s old Ford is the opposite of Mom’s Lexus – noisy, polluting, exposed metal edges – and I have to yank the seatbelt to get it to move.
‘So you ran out, huh?’ he says, his expression clearing now he knows he has me trapped.
‘I was going home,’ I correct. ‘And I’m fourteen. I’m allowed to make decisions about my own life.’
‘You also have responsibilities,’ he reminds me, unimpressed. ‘Like helping Mom out when she asks.’
‘But I’m busy,’ I counter. ‘I don’t have time to film babies.’
He nods, quiet for a while. ‘I saw some photos of Vegas,’ he eventually says. ‘The whole glass box thing, and that Cadillac, wow. It must have been an amazing experience.’
I smile, my mood lifting an inch. ‘Yeah, it was fun.’
‘And Mom said they adored you?’
My smile grows. I can’t help loving it when Dad takes an interest in what I’m doing.
For as long as I can remember, my family has been split by an invisible line: me and Mom on one side, Dad and the twins on the other.
Maybe it’s a legacy from our Mom she called me a natural,’ I say proudly. ‘And Jules, the account guy, was funny. And the Azione client said I was perfect for their brand.’
‘That’s honestly great, Maple. And you deserve it. All the hard work you’ve put in.’
My cheeks are actually aching now. ‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘The thing is, you’re not the only one who works hard, are you?’
My smile fades. I should have known it was too good to be true.
‘Think about it. I only saw those photos of you in Vegas because your mom spent the entire day taking them. Like she does every day, working on your schedule, filming content, editing footage, posting it at just the right time. Seven days a week.’
I stare out of the window, see Hillcrest Park community center loom closer. ‘I know.’
‘So when she asks for a few hours of your time, would it not be kind to oblige?’
I turn to look at him. I could tell him how Mom demands all my hours, never a few of them.
Or how she breaks my trust, railroads my privacy, always puts my stats before my happiness.
But he would never take my side over hers, so instead, I climb out of his truck and head back inside to the soundtrack of babies crying, knowing exactly how they feel.