The Twelve Days of Dash & Lily(23)

“This is pointless,” I said.

“What?”

It frustrated me that I had to explain—didn’t he feel it, too? “Waiting here. Talking. Thinking. It all feels pointless. She’s going to do what she wants to do, and she’ll come home when she wants to come home, and ultimately she’ll be with me if she wants to be with me.”

“And you want to be with her?”

“Yes.”

“Does she know that?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

Oh, great, I thought. That is hardly reassuring. And then I felt stupid for wanting reassurance when I didn’t feel I deserved it.

Langston went on. “It’s the paradox, isn’t it? The people you know the most, the people you love the most—you’re also going to feel the parts of them you don’t know the most. I can tell you the cereal Benny eats, the pair of socks that’s his favorite, the part of a movie—any movie—that will make him cry. The way he knots a tie. The nicknames he has for each of his cousins. The third-worst heartbreak he ever had. And the seventh. And the tenth, which shouldn’t even count. But there are times when he will fall into this deep incomprehensibility, when he will like something or need something or not need something that I can’t believe he’d like or need or not need, and I will be frightened that I have gotten every single thing about him wrong, including us.”

“Then what do you do?” I asked. I really, really wanted to know. There wasn’t anyone else to tell me. None of my friends had reached that point. And my parents had reached that point, then fell from it hard.

“I wait,” Langston said. “I remind myself that I don’t need to know everything, that there will always be essential rooms within us that will be unknown. I loosen my idea of him, and he becomes recognizable again.”

“It’s not that Lily’s unrecognizable. It’s just that she’s…not there as much.”

Langston sighed. “Well, there’s been a lot going on.”

“I know that. Really, I do.”

“I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I actually said that to make you feel better.”

“I’m not sure you were successful at either.”

“Look, I’m worried, too. When Benny and I made our decision, the hardest part was imagining how it would leave Lily. I almost said no—I honestly wasn’t sure I could do it. But Benny—Benny asked me a really good question: Who exactly are you helping here? Which means: Lily’s going to need to find her own way, and she’s going to need to grow up beyond our apartment and our family. I’m not going to like it when she makes her own way, in the same way that I’m sure she’s not liking the fact that I’m making my own way. But if we don’t, we’ll stay in the same place our whole lives.”

I had enough distance from the conversation to know that the idea of Lily going her own way was not an indictment of the idea of her staying with me. I knew that Langston was talking about him and her, not me and anyone.

“I should go to school,” I said to Langston.

I wanted him to argue and I didn’t want him to argue.

“That’s probably a good idea,” he said. “This job doesn’t require four eyes. And when I find Lily, I will be sure to convey your efforts.”

This was the difference the day had made: Before, I would have thought this was sarcasm. Now I knew it was sincere.

How crazy would it be, to have won over Lily’s brother but to have lost Lily?

I tried to prevent myself from thinking about that.

I wasn’t very successful.

—

The next time we docked in Battery Park, I disembarked. As the ferry pulled away again, I spotted Langston on the deck.

I nodded to him.

He nodded back.

Then the ferry was gone, and all that was left was waves.

—

Another person might have skipped out on school. He might have taken the day off, gone back to bed. But I wanted the distraction of people talking about winter-break plans. I wanted the last round of classes, the last round of time killing.

Or at least that’s what I told myself I wanted. But once I got there, I couldn’t really get there. I kept checking my phone. Word of Lily’s disappearance had hit the news, and so many people were using me as an outlet for their concern. Friends asking if they could help. Friends asking if I wanted to talk. Friends wondering where she’d gone, as if I was keeping it a secret but would tell them, just them, nobody else but them.

My father called.

How strange for him to be concerned, I thought.

But when I picked up—fool, I!—I found that his call had nothing to do with Lily.

“Leeza just wanted me to confirm that you’ll be with us for Christmas,” he said. “She has to confirm the reservation, and has been on my case about the head count.”

This was the first time I’d heard of the reservation, or the plans.

“Dad, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I told him. “And can’t you just text me like everyone else’s parents do?”

“I’m sure I told you. Didn’t I?”

“Maybe you were going to before you ran away from Lily’s party?”