“Diane’s super cool,” I say. “Her job sounds awesome, too.”
“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Luke says, and I glance back at him from my regular spot in the front seat. Mom’s old spot. “You can just be normal. Nonperfect.”
I wince as if I’ve actually been stung. It’s true I’m not chill and I’ve probably never had a casual afterthought. It’s true I want to be perfect and that I wish that was my normal. With Dad and Luke and Diane—and Quinn, I realize. Before Mom was gone, Dad and Luke felt as safe as James still does to me. But we’ve lost too much; I can’t let them down.
“Guys, come on,” Dad says, and the rest of the ride home is quiet. Luke slinks off to his room once we’re back at the house, but I hang around the shared spaces like Dad will suddenly be the kind of guy who has the right thing to say to me.
“Hey, kid?”
I look over to Dad, my heart pounding. My hands clasp my chest, just in case.
“You good on cash for lunch and whatever?”
I nod. And remember something I’ve forgotten.
“What was Mom’s drink?” I ask. “Did she have, like, a regular drink?”
He looks off in the distance like she’s only actually that far away. “Vodka and soda, and she wasn’t picky about what kind of vodka. Said it all tasted the same to her.”
We laugh together at that.
“Kid . . .” Dad sort of sighs. “Thanks for coming tonight.”
“Did I have a choice?” I mean it as a joke, but I don’t think it comes out like one.
“You should get some sleep,” he says. “Or do your homework, if you’ve still got homework.”
“Good night, Dad.” I want to hug him, but then maybe everything would seem too big and serious, so I just kind of wave before heading off to my bedroom.
I take the tiny gift box out of my dresser drawer and examine the KRE monogram necklace. The letters feel so unfamiliar compared to the loops of JLA, which maybe is silly. After all, these letters are mine.
I take off Mom’s necklace, slide the new charm off its chain, and add it to Mom’s. It’s slightly heavier when I refasten it around my neck, but the weight actually feels comforting.
My phone buzzes, and I scoop it up when I see Quinn’s name.
Are we?
I start typing about my evening, but think better of it, delete it, and pull up a new text to James.
Just for freaking once I wish James would use more words than the bare minimum. Because even though everyone in my general circle of friends knows that my mom died, it’s not a continuing conversation with any of them, besides James.
I see dots that she’s typing for quite a while, but then there’s no dots, and nothing from her. Is the news that bad?
And am I so horrible to talk to?
I look at the message for a while before hitting send.
Logan responds almost right away.
My phone buzzes again, but it’s not more from Logan, and it’s definitely not more from James. I feel like I only get conversations with James these days when I pick the right topics, and no one gave me a guide to what those topics even are.
Good night, K, Quinn texts. I send all the appropriate emoji (hearts, girls holding hands, girls kissing) in return. And then it’s easy to put my phone away and not let Quinn think I’m a tortured sad girl when, after all, with her, I’m not that girl. I’m light and easy and I’ll do nothing to make her not apply for Oberlin at all.
Quinn’s in front of the house when I walk outside the next morning. She’s holding coffee cups, and I can see how this is her extended apology or explanation or whatever she thinks it is that I need.
“This is the most dramatic thing I’ve ever done for a girl,” she says, which makes me laugh.
“Maybe don’t admit that to anyone,” I say. “Not anyone who’s used to big, sweeping gestures at least.”
She kisses me, tasting like hot cocoa and her chai lip balm. I love whenever the brim of her baseball cap knocks lightly against my forehead. It’s our prelude to kissing.
“I had to get up at six A.M. That’s pretty huge for me.”
I can feel how much she cares about me, but I can’t stop thinking about her lying. It was lying, wasn’t it? Did I make her feel like she had to lie? Were Luke’s words accurate?
I realize that maybe more than a tiny part of me thought that being with a girl would be so much easier than being with a boy. Now that seems so stupid! Quinn felt easy to me, but I guess the truth is that none of us are.
I get in to Oberlin, which I know would feel better if not for only a million factors. It’s just the latest in probably a never-ending list of things I can’t share with Mom. I’m not sure when I should tell Quinn, and how I should do it. And maybe it’s not fair and maybe I don’t actually have any proof, but a gross feeling in my stomach tells me James isn’t overly interested in any of this anyway.
So I text Luke and Logan. When both responses contain multiple exclamation points, it starts to hit me that this is real and actually happening. The school whose campus I sat on last year will be my school.
So I text James anyway. Whether or not she cares, it’s a big deal.
I smile at how much James sounds just like she used to. Responsive, full sentences, no detected boredom!
She doesn’t respond.
It might have come out wrong, but it’s like it didn’t even matter that I tried to make it right. College was this thing we’ve been working toward for so long, and I’m not sure James even cares that much about my dreams coming true.
I decide to text Quinn, even though I seriously have no idea how she might react. And . . . she doesn’t. There’s no response at all, even though as far as I know she doesn’t have plans tonight.
I hear the front door open, and I try not to rush Dad as he walks inside.
“What’s up?” he asks. I see the little furrow of worry between his eyebrows. I wonder if I’m always so transparent with every little concern in my head and heart. Is it all right there on my face, no matter how hard I’ve been trying to keep that stuff to myself?
“I got in.” I try to say it calmly, but it comes out fast and bright. It’s my first time saying it aloud, I realize.
“Oberlin?” Dad asks, and I nod. “Kid, that’s great. Really proud of you. OK if your old dad takes you out to celebrate?”
“You’re not that old,” I say, which makes him laugh. I’m pretty sure when Mom was still around that his laugh came easier.
Didn’t everything, though?
The doorbell rings, and I make Dad get it because we’re not expecting anyone and so an adult should deal with whoever stops by. Except suddenly Dad’s letting Quinn inside, and she’s holding out a plant.
“I wanted to get you flowers,” she says, “but Handy Market was out. So this is your congratulatory basil.”
“Oh my god, Quinn.” I throw my arms around her. “Like, I totally cannot handle how freaking cute you are.”
“I’m gonna . . .” Dad gestures toward the doorway, but I shake my head.
“We’ll go outside,” I say. “It’s super nice today. I mean, it’s totally global warming and actually really depressing, but it’s beautiful right now.”