Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
We stay silent when we should speak.
We speak when we should stay silent,
And we hold on when we should let go.
March 10, 2016:
Prom was something I had always dreamed of.
I knew it was uncharacteristic of me to fantasize about wearing a frilly tulle skirt.
But what can I say? I watched A Cinderella Story with Hilary Duff and Chad Michael Murray one too many times.
However, when Jamie's mom died, the idea of prom or any other adolescent rite of passage no longer felt important.
After the funeral, Jamie shut us all out, even me.
My mom offered to let him stay with us, but he declined.
I think there was a small part of him that couldn't be around my mom without thinking about his. I knew he didn’t want to burden anyone, but I couldn’t just leave him to drown in his grief.
Even when he told me not to come around, I did.
I snuck out night after night, curling up beside him, just being there.
He needed someone, and even though neither of us talked about what we were feeling, I believed we had a silent understanding.
But the kiss we shared at the supermarket?
We never mentioned it again. After everything with his mom, pushing for more felt wrong.
So, we just stayed like this—needing each other but afraid to cross that line.
That line turned into a ten-foot wall of iron and razors on the night of Lover’s Lake; the kind of night that stays with you like a scar etched on your skin.
It was officially that time of year when girls waited on bated breath for a boy to surprise them with a cheesy note asking them to the junior prom.
The who's going with whom conversation had spread through the halls like wildfire, consuming everything in its wake.
Lucas desperately wanted to ask Kayla, and Kayla was oblivious to Lucas's feelings.
I had a few guys hint at the idea of going to prom together, but I swatted them away like diseased flies.
There was only one person I wanted to go with, even if that meant going as just friends.
March 10th at 10:00 p.m. marked the junior bonfire, an extremely illegal high school tradition that often ended with hangovers and handcuffs.
Lovers Lake was our town's very own tragic love story landmark.
It earned its nickname after a young couple was forbidden to see each other due to family rivalry, which gave the whole tale a rather Romeo and Juliet twist that I found a bit too dramatic for my liking.
According to the story, the couple decided to run away together in the middle of the night.
They planned to row across the lake, which crossed the state border, and start a new life in a new city.
However, halfway through their journey, a storm flipped their boat, knocking the boy out.
Tragically, the girl didn’t know how to swim and drowned.
In an instant, their happily ever after was replaced by a tragic ending.
Now the lake was used as an excuse for teenagers to party and screw in the bed of pickup trucks. It was all very poetic, obviously.
It was 9:00 p.m., and the house was quiet. Too quiet.
I stopped at the top of the stairs, my rubber soles barely making a sound against the wooden steps. The glow from the kitchen light spilled into the hallway, casting long shadows over the living room where my mother paced back and forth.
“I can’t just let you walk back in, not after everything.”
My mom’s voice was low and sharp. A voice she rarely used, but when she did, I always knew who was on the other end of the phone.
My stomach twisted.
I moved down a step, slowly and carefully. The wood creaked beneath me, and I froze, heart hammering. But she didn’t hear. She was too caught up in the conversation.
“I’m glad you’re doing better,” she said, softer this time.
“I am. But you can’t expect to—” A pause.
A shaky breath. “All I want for you is to find whatever it is you’ve always been searching for.
” She steadied herself. “But you can’t expect to come back and pick up where we left off.
That’s not how this works. I can’t risk you shattering the home I’ve built from the rubble you caused. ”
The knot in my chest tightened.
I crept lower, just enough to see her face. She stood with one hand braced against the arm of the couch, shoulders tense, her fingers white knuckling the phone, her face stained by drying tears. The way she held herself wasn’t just with anger. It was something heavier. Something painful.
I heard my dad's voice crack on the other end. “Monica. Please. You know I’ll always love you.”
My mom looked at the ceiling and closed her eyes. “I know.” She whispered. “But that’s not enough.”
“Mon—”
She hung up.
I should have stayed silent, waited, listened, and given my mother some grace. I knew she loved my father. That was never what they were lacking. Trust, honesty, and loyalty were now the missing pieces. I blamed my mom for that when I should have directed my blame at the person who left.
Words shot out of me faster than my feet could carry me down the stairs.
“Why are you doing this?”
She flinched, whipping around to face me. Her expression flickered surprise first, then something harder, unreadable.
“Alex,” she said, already shaking her head. “Don’t. This isn’t the time—”
“Not the time? You just hung up on my father. Mine! And you didn’t even let me talk to him.” My voice came out sharp, my pulse roaring in my ears. “He called. After all this time, he finally called, and you’re—what? Shutting him out again?”
Her lips pressed together, but she didn’t answer.
I stepped forward, heat rising to my cheeks. “You never even gave him a chance.”
Her breath caught, the slightest hitch in her throat, so quiet I almost missed it. “I did,” she murmured. “More than one, you know that.”
I swallowed hard. “Then give him one more.”
Silence.
She took one long breath. Then, a second.
“No.”
One word. One simple word, built of two letters, sliced right through me.
“Because it won’t change anything,” she said. “He is who he is, Alex. How many times must he show you that for you to understand? How many times are you going to let him hurt you before you realize I’m not the bad guy here?” Her voice wavered between anger and tears.
Something burned at the back of my throat—words I should never have said out loud. “Are you worried about me getting hurt or yourself? Which one of us are you trying to protect? It’s my decision if he’s going to be in my life.”
More silence.
I heard footsteps approaching from the kitchen. Julian and Lucas moved as if they were spies disarming a bomb.
Julian spoke first. "Alex, this situation is more complicated than—”
“Julian. Don’t.” I snapped. “You're not my dad. This doesn’t include you.” He looked like I had slapped him. “
He took a step back and bowed his head like a boxer bowing out of a match.
I thought my mother would be the one to defend his honor but she wasn't. Lucas jumped in front of him.
“Jesus, what the hell, Alex! How about you show some respect for the man who raised you all these years?” He jabbed a finger at my chest. “The man who checked under your bed for monsters every night because you were scared to sleep. The man who came to your defense every time you got into trouble in school, which, news flash, has been a lot. The man who took you in as his daughter the second you walked through that door, without ever hearing a thank you from you.”
He was right. Julian was always there. But I wanted my dad to be the one who cared. Was that so wrong?
I could feel my eyes welling up with tears, but I refused to cry. My mother placed a hand on Lucas's shoulder, pulling him back. “Stop it. Both of you,” she said, looking sternly at me. “I hope that once you’ve cooled down from your little temper tantrum, you will apologize to both of us.”
I knew I was wrong. I hated myself for what I had said, but that didn't stop my lips from moving faster than my brain. “I'll apologize once you apologize for keeping my dad away from me.”
She just shook her head, clearly disappointed in my response.
“You are a junior in high school, and I can count the number of times your dad has bothered to see you.” Her expression never faltered.
“That man isn’t your dad; he’s just some guy with matching DNA.
I will not apologize for doing what was right for you. ”
She stopped.
“And for me,” she said, looking me up and down. “I threw away so many years trying to fix the man your father became, trying to turn him back into the little boy I grew up with—my best friend. But nothing I ever did worked. I thought, of all people, you would understand that.”
What was that supposed to mean? My whole body froze, as if I were an undercover detective caught in a lie.
“Jamie is nothing like him. And I am nothing like you.”
She inhaled sharply.
The air between us felt charged and heavy. Then, in the softest, most deliberate voice, she said, “You're right, you're not. I knew when it was time to move on.”
The words hung there, suspended in the quiet.
And then—movement.
A shadow near the front doorway shifted.
I turned, and there he was.
Jamie.
He stood just inside the house, with the open door behind him and Kayla inches away. The dim light caught the sharp angles of his face, and his expression was unreadable. However, I didn't need to see his face to know that he had heard everything.
Before I could speak, before I could try to mend the damage, Kayla pushed past Jamie, entering the house. Her eyes darted between me, my mom, and Jamie, her brows furrowing.
“Whoa.” She let out a low whistle, tossing her purse onto the couch. “What did we just walk into?”
Nobody answered.
So, I did the only thing I could do.