Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
HATTIE
“Hattie, why don’t you tell the group what you’re hoping to get out of Summit House?” Gwen asks. She isn’t exactly smiling, but her eyes are friendly.
At least she remembered that I prefer Hattie.
We met Wednesday when I toured. She greeted me as Harriet. I’d growled at her that my name was Hattie. I was beyond angry at the time. Hell, I’m still angry, but now that Mom and Dad aren’t here anymore, acting in anger seems kinda pointless.
They’re the ones I’m angry with.
Gwen is just a counselor. It’s not her fault my parents are manipulative buttholes.
And she’s waiting for me to answer. So are the five other residents in my group.
I can’t remember all of their names. Two guys.
The short one with glasses is named Charlie.
He keeps pushing his glasses up his nose, even though I don’t notice them slipping.
The other guy is big. Really big. And very still.
I don’t think he’s moved since we sat down. Maybe his name starts with a J?
One of the three girls is named Olympia. I was too nervous to pay attention when Gwen introduced us, so I have no idea which one.
I think the other girls are younger than me. But J-whatever his name is? He’s got to be four or five years older. Summit House only takes residents between the ages of eighteen and twenty-eight, so he’s gotta be pushing it.
I mentally cut J-Dawg some slack. I’m glad he’s here. At least I’m not the oldest. I already feel pathetic enough.
“If you’re not ready to share yet, Hattie, you can just say pass,” Gwen offers.
But I shake my head. “I’m ready to answer. I just don’t know if I can be honest.”
Gwen’s chin lifts. The others may not be looking directly at me, but I feel their attention sharpen.
“Please be honest. As long as you treat everyone in the group with respect, you can say whatever you want.” Gwen’s voice is gentle but clear.
One of the girls leans forward in her seat like she doesn’t want to miss what I have to say.
She’s the only one watching me straight on.
She has pale blue eyes and a blond ponytail and looks like the type of tennis-playing girl Margaret would be friends with.
The perfect kind of normie that makes life and achievement look like a breeze.
I wonder what the hell Blue Eyes is doing here.
Was she honest when Gwen asked her what she wanted to get out of Summit House?
“Freedom,” I answer finally.
Gwen blinks. “Can you tell us more? What kind of freedom are you hoping for?”
As I have nearly every waking moment for the last five days, I think about Beck. And when I do, I feel this gastric tug of war. One side is Team Longing. The other is Team Guilt.
But, at the heart of it, he’s the reason I’m here.
Am I going to share that with a group of strangers?
Hell, no.
“I… made a deal with my parents.”
Now Charlie and one of the other girls are looking straight at me. Only J-Dawg and Maybe Olympia stare at their laps.
“What kind of deal?” Blue Eyes asks.
My pulse picks up. I’ve never been in a setting like this. A group of strangers focused solely on me. In high school, I got really good at becoming invisible—unless I blurted an impulsive thought or tried to ask another student a question in a non-whisper.
Our six chairs are arranged in a circle. The room is comfortable, lots of natural light from the picture windows. This side of the house backs up against Balboa Park. I can see palm trees.
But the soothing surroundings don’t do much to put me at ease. There’s nowhere to hide. Shouldn’t I get some of their back stories before I share mine? I’m the newbie, after all.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Blue Eyes. “What’s your name again?”
“Sadie.” She says it firmly and doesn’t take her eyes off me when she points to the other girls on either side of her. “That’s Olympia.” She points to Maybe Olympia, and I congratulate myself on getting it right. “And that’s Maddie.”
I was wrong about her. Sadie wouldn’t fit in with Margaret’s crowd. She doesn’t smile enough. And she’s a blurter.
For the moment, I conveniently ignore the fact that I’m a blurter too.
Stalling, I point to the two guys in turn. “You’re Charlie. And your name is… J—”
“Jordan.” It comes out just above a whisper. Jordan looks like he wishes I hadn’t addressed him. I like him already. J-Dawg and I are gonna get along just fine.
But Sadie?
“So, what kind of deal?” she prods.
I flick my gaze to Gwen to see if Sadie’s impertinence breaks any unspoken group therapy rule. Her tame smile tells me it hasn’t.
Well, fart.
I sigh. I don’t have to tell them everything. But it looks like I do have to tell them something. I won’t be sharing about Beck. He’s mine.
At least, I hope he is.
Team Guilt executes a dramatic charge.
I bounce my heel off the ground. “If I agreed to complete the program, my parents would get me a townhouse.”
There’s more to it than that. A lot more. But this is enough of an opener.
Gwen is the only one who shows no reaction. Even Jordan blinks in surprise.
“Posh,” Sadie mutters.
Maddie nods.
And they’re all looking at me now.
I’m not about to tell them that my parents—at least, my dad—had already floated the townhouse with no apparent strings attached, but when they discovered that I’d slept with my boyfriend of four weeks the night of my sister’s wedding, they were, to quote them, “forced to reconsider.”
“We just don’t think you’re ready for this,” Mom had insisted. And she didn’t mean that I wasn’t ready for a place of my own. She meant that I’m not ready for “an adult relationship.”
Which even I know means sex.
When I told them it was a little late for that, Dad suddenly got hyper-focused on his fingernails and Mom muttered an acidic “We’ll see about that.”
And that was when they gave me the choice. Summit House and get my own place after completing the twenty-eight-day program, or legal guardianship for a minimum period of three years while I lived in the townhouse held in trust.
Then they’d reconsider.
I exploded like a supernova and then crashed in a heap of sweat and tears for the next ten hours.
This was Sunday night. Late. After Margaret and Merrick left for Hawaii. And I’ve never felt so fucking alone.
Now, sixteen hundred miles away, I push through the rawness in my throat and share only what I’m willing to share.
“They said if I finished the program, it would make them feel more confident about me living on my own.”
Several heads nod.
I also don’t share what I suspect is Mom’s ulterior motive. I think she’s banking on the fact that thirty days away from Beck will cool things off—if not kill what we have altogether.
She’s wrong.
At least, she’s half wrong.
No way this will change what I feel for Beck. What I want with him.
I just hope it doesn’t wreck the way he feels about me.
Team Guilt gains more ground.
But if we can survive this, I will have done what’s in my power to lessen my parents’ grip on me. The townhouse? Agreeing to enroll in Summit House means it’ll be in my name, and my name only. No shared title. No trust. No guardian. No supported power of attorney bullshit.
Mine.
I don’t care if they cut me off after that and I have to live off saltine crackers and canned tuna. This is the last time Mom and Dad get to pull this manipulative shit. I’ll have a home and I’ll have my freedom.
Whether or not I’ll have anything else—including Beck—is what I can’t know right now.
“So, coming to Summit House was their idea, is that right?” Gwen asks.
I snort. “Yeah, it was their idea.”
The vibe in the room changes. It’s subtle, but I feel it. Sadie is the only one wearing a smile now, but it’s almost like the others are smiling… I don’t know… inwardly.
Gwen turns to her. “Sadie, was it your idea to come to Summit House?”
“As if.”
Now, I want to smile. But I don’t.
When my parents tried to hug me goodbye last night—gestures I soundly rejected—Mom told me to make friends.
In a snit, I said I wouldn’t.
I’m not here to make friends.
Besides, Beck is my only real friend.
Team Longing makes an impressive comeback.
“What about you, Charlie? Was coming to Summit House your idea?”
Charlie shakes his head. “My dad said it was Summit House or the Army.”
I can’t help it. My jaw drops.
I’ve only known Charlie for about ten minutes, but I’m sure this twitchy, bespeckled little guy would absolutely perish in the military.
“Failure to Launch,” Sadie says, grinning. “It’s why all of us are here. Even you.”
“Sadie, we’ve talked about this.” Again Gwen speaks gently, but there’s no mistaking that her tone is firm. “Failure to Launch is not a term we embrace at Summit House.”
“It’s better than Peter Pan Syndrome, adultolescence, or nest-dwelling,” Sadie mutters. And I’d bet good money she did not mean to share that bit out loud.
“We prefer the term delayed independence,” Gwen enunciates clearly, and as she does, she shifts her focus from Sadie back to me.
I swallow. It suddenly feels like the only thing I can do.
Failure to Launch.
Peter Pan Syndrome.
Adultolescence.
Nest-dwelling.
I am a nest-dweller.
But knowing that I haven’t left the nest and hearing that there’s a name—hell, half a dozen names—for it hits me like a sledgehammer.
Heat climbs my face.
Growing up, I got used to labels. The clinical ones: Autistic. ASD. On the spectrum. Neurodivergent. High-functioning. The slang ones: Neurospicy. Autie. Aspie. Autastic. The cruel ones: Autarded. Rainman.
But this is a whole new deluge of labels to absorb. A rogue wave of shame.
It nearly knocks me off my chair.
God, I don’t want to cry in front of these people.
Gwen studies me. “Hattie, do you want to share what you’re thinking?”
My mouth works soundlessly for a second. “P-pass.”
The tiny word works like a magic spell. Gwen immediately shifts the group’s attention to Olympia. She asks the girl how her first full week has been.
I don’t really hear her response over the roaring in my ears, but one thought does penetrate.