I nod dismissively, the rumors at the bottom of my concern list.
“Rae,” she repeats my name, her eyes falling with defeat and sadness. “Talk to me. Please. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“It doesn’t feel real,” I tell her. “I don’t know what I’m thinking.” Tears blur my vision as my nostrils flare. “I can’t believe he had an affair. It hurts even to consider it, to think we meant so little to him—that my mom meant so little to him. And, I can’t believe he hit Paxton.” My lungs compress, and it feels like I can’t breathe as I choke on a sob. “And then to have my mom leave…” Poppy reaches for me, her arms a tight circle around my shoulders, holding me in place as though to force me to face my new reality.
“It was an impulse decision. I’m sure of it. She’ll probably be back soon, but I know this must hurt a lot. I’m sure you’re feeling betrayed and abandoned.”
I shake my head, though I’m feeling each emotion she’s listing off. “Don’t shrink me.”
Her grip tightens as I try to pull free, her cheek pressed to mine. “Want to go get something to eat?”
I shake my head again, though I haven’t eaten all day, and the sun is starting to fall into the ocean.
“What would you like to do?”
“Hide.”
Poppy presses her lips together, her eyes filled with sympathy that makes my chest feel tight.
“I don’t know what to do. I have a class in an hour.”
Poppy shakes her head. “Skip it.”
“You have one, too.”
“I’ll skip with you.”
I want to. I want to sign up for endless Saturday nights and hide from every responsibility and everyone who might know me, but right now, my thoughts are so consumed with guilt for having known my father was having an affair and not telling my mom. And for relying on Lincoln to make this pain go away, which has only made me feel worse because it just muddies the water between us.
“We should go. If I skip classes, it will just lead to those who do know to talk more.”
“Screw them.”
I shake my head. “It’s better for me, too. If I stay here, I’m just going to obsess over everything and feel like I’m hiding from the truth, and it will make it even harder to face everyone.” I expel a deep breath. “It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid.”
My phone buzzes with a text.
Derek: Hey. How are you holding up? If you need anything, please, let me know.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Derek: Hey. How are you holding up? If you need anything, please, let me know.
“What’s wrong?” Poppy asks.
I turn my phone for her to read the message. “People are finding out.”
Poppy sighs. “But, he knows you.”
“Do I reply?”
“That’s up to you.” Poppy places her thumbnail between her teeth, chewing. It’s a bad habit she broke when we were twelve by snapping a rubber band she wore around her wrist every time she went to bite, and only occurs now when she’s nervous. “Do you think your dad went to school today?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly as I slip my phone into my purse. The last thing I can think about right now is Derek. “I don’t feel like I know him at all right now.”
She nods. “I’ll keep my phone where I can see it. If you need anything, just text me or call me—whatever. We’ll get out of there.”
I nod. It’s the best I can do right now.
From the parking lot to the green space, we hear no less than a dozen jokes about my dad, none of them forgiving, all of them vulgar. Poppy looks reluctant to part ways as I pivot in the direction I need to go.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell her. I think of telling her that the shock wave hit me a few weeks ago, that I knew, and that guilt is what’s currently hitting the hardest.
“Drunken noodles tonight?” she asks.
“I have to work at the aquarium after this, but I’ll call you.”
She nods, hugging me again, likely realizing my need for the contact more than I do at this point.
I take a seat near the back of my physics class, realizing that if anyone might recognize my association with Dad, it will likely be my professors. I get my things out, my pulse too fast as I wait for a joke or question to be slung my way, but they don’t come. Around me, people chat about their weekends, class notes, jobs—all of it familiar in my foreign headspace.
I lean back in my seat, the scar between my thumb and forefinger fading, just like my memories of that day when Lincoln and I shared a conversation that felt momentous at the time. I think of Mom’s reaction, how Dad was absent, how he’s been absent a lot in the past year. Slowly, my thoughts drift to that night from a few weeks ago, trying to recall what the girl my dad had brought home looked like for the hundredth time. I’ve been avoiding my dad and he’s been avoiding me, though I still want to talk to him. I want to hear a valid excuse. I want to hear reason. Without those things, it leads me to question if I would ever be interested in someone my dad’s age? Would I consider the ramifications? Am I considering them with Lincoln? How a relationship between us could impact more than his friendship with Paxton but their comradery on the field.
The ground is as sodden as the sky, which is currently a shade of gray that matches my emotions. Bare branches, an inky contrast like my memories, move across the horizon as I park downtown Seattle, ready to make a run for the aquarium. The wind pulls at the falling torrents of rain splashing across my windshield and the hood of my car, creating an ominous warning. Once the rain begins, it seems to last for months—an entire season. I zip my coat and pull up my hood. I wish I’d brought gloves, the only thing worse than dating a mouth breather is having cold hands.
Laughter pulls my eyes forward, catching a couple with their hands entwined, laughing as they race through the parking lot in clothes that do nothing to shield them from the rain. They stop at a small, white VW bug, and he reaches into his pocket, his expressions exaggerated like he’s telling a story or joke. He drops the keys as he attempts to retrieve them, and they land with a splash into a puddle. The stranger leans his head back with exasperation, and the woman he’s with moves closer, wrapping her arms around his middle and leaning up to kiss him.
I swallow. I breathe. I strive to ignore the niggling of thoughts that want to think about Lincoln—consider if he would ever be caught with me in a rainstorm and laugh. If he’d ever look at me like I was his axis like this man looks at the woman in front of him.
Doubtful. Guys like Lincoln Beckett want sex. Lots of sex. The dirtier, the better, which is why he didn’t hesitate to peel off my panties and breathe me in like a drug.
The music dies, reminding me I’ve been sitting in my car too long, my mind breeding excuses. I toss my keys into my purse and zip it closed with one rough pull. The wind greets me as I push open my door. It sounds like cruel laughter as it howls, splashing my face with wet raindrops so fat they dampen my cheeks and run down my neck.
I grip my purse tighter, making a quick beeline for the crosswalk that leads me to the warmth and safety of the aquarium.
“Hey!” Cara, our aquarium’s veterinarian, calls as I unlock the door on the side of the building that leads to our small and cramped break room.