Again, But Better(54)
My lips curl into a mortified jumble.
“I see him in all your pictures—” She shuts the notebook and holds it out. I lunge around the broken glass and yank it from her hand. I press it against my stomach. Stare at her. I don’t know what happens now. She read my … she knows my—Fresh tears cloud my vision. I feel—violated. What do I do? How long has she been in here with it? Finally Amy’s eyes slide away from mine. She stands, sidesteps me, and walks to the door.
She turns back with her hand on the knob. “I knew it,” she whispers. “I knew this was happening. Keep your distance.”
I watch her slip out of the room.
I must have left Horcrux Nine on the couch in all the chaos earlier.
Is she going to tell him? What have I gotten myself into? Why did I come here? This was such a stupid idea. My parents don’t even want me to call them anymore. I don’t want to like someone else’s boyfriend! I don’t want to make anyone upset!
I fall to my knees on the kitchen floor with my head in my hands.
* * *
I skip class and stay in bed Friday, doing nothing. I don’t feel like writing or reading or watching. I feel like nothing. I send an email to my parents apologizing and wait for them to respond. Snapshots of their disappointment plaster the inner walls of my skull, the backs of my eyelids. They’ve never looked at me like that before—like they put all their eggs in my basket, and I crushed them. How do I uncrush the eggs?
I avoid Babe and Sahra’s attempts to talk all weekend. I don’t have to worry about running into Amy because she and Pilot are in Paris.
It’s been over twenty-four hours, and no response has come from my apology email. I think I made a mistake begging to finish out the semester. Why did I make such a scene? I should have just shut up. I’m never going to get up to speed with the science classes I’ve missed if I’m spending all my time at the internship.
If this train’s going to run out of track, why should I wait till the last minute to jump off?
* * *
Sunday night, I’m in the kitchen, eating and doing nothing, when Atticus comes in and sits at the table across from me.
“Hey,” he greets me. I nod in acknowledgment.
“How long are you going to keep to yourself about this?” he says gently. “We should talk about it.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
He smiles. “Well, I think we have to. I think you need to so we can move past it.” I push the ravioli around in my bowl.
“We all have family drama, Shane. You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. We’re your friends. We’ve all got our crap … My dad didn’t magically accept me when I came out, things were weird for a good long while. He still doesn’t ever ask about my dating life. Families aren’t perfect. You didn’t have to lie to us about your major. You can talk to us about that stuff.”
“How old were you when you came out to your parents?”
“Thirteen.”
“Wow, brave thirteen-year-old.”
He nods proudly. “Gryffindor.”
The corner of my lip turns up. “So, I’m premed.”
“Yeah, so I’ve heard.” He cracks a smile. “It’s okay to want to also study other things.”
I shoot Atticus a small smile. “My parents have been bragging to literally everyone and anyone about how I was going to be a doctor since I was eleven. I think the local grocery store clerks are aware of my impending doctor-hood.” I smash a ravioli with my fork.
Atticus rests his head in his hand. “What do you want to do?”
I shake my head. “I don’t—know anymore. I don’t want to be a disappointment. I wanted to be premed for my mom … I mean, I want to. I’m the reason she didn’t get to finish med school. She got pregnant and spent her life taking care of me.… She’s been there helping with all my math and science homework for as long as I remember.
“Like, for all of forever, whenever I didn’t understand something, she explained it in a super-fun way and sat with me until it clicked. And it means so much to my dad that I have opportunities like this because he didn’t.
“I know he came off pretty horrible the other day.… He’s not always like that.” I gnaw at my lip.
Atticus stays quiet.
“Growing up, whenever I hurt myself, he’d stop everything and make me a chocolate milkshake with a slice of watermelon on the glass because it’s my favorite. And then as I got older, he started making them whenever I was feeling sad. It sounds silly, but it always makes me feel a little better. He makes them now when I come home on the weekends from YU.” Because I always come home sad. I swipe at a fresh tear dribbling down my cheek. “Sorry.”
Atticus presses his lips together and catches my eyes. “Don’t be sorry. It’s complicated. I get it.” He pauses, studying me. “Try not to be too hard on yourself. College is to, like, get a job and everything, but it’s also about finding yourself—and all that jazz. Out here, doing your own thing, you learn stuff. It’s good to shake things up. Haven’t you had the time of your life the last couple months? I know I have.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I whisper. “But my parents aren’t even responding to my emails.”