Every Other Weekend(115)

FOURTEENTH WEEKEND

March 26–28

Jolene

Adam was wearing a sleeping bag the next time I saw him, like, literally wearing it. Winter had finally started to admit defeat, but it was still more than cold outside.

“That’s a good look,” I told him as we stood on our respective balconies. It had been the longest two weeks I could ever remember.

“How are you?” he asked.

I wished he hadn’t. I didn’t want to talk about it and had been racked with regret ever since I told him. Knowing that Adam knew made everything with Guy feel more real.

“I’m fine. Do you have any idea how boring these last two weeks have been?”

“I missed you, too,” Adam said. Sometimes Adam’s bald statements made me uncomfortable. I could never come right out and tell him I missed him like that.

“Are you still persona non grata with your family?”

“Ah, no, not exactly. Jeremy and I are actually good. Better than we’ve been since my parents split. I think he may have said something to my dad, too, because he and my mom decided I’m only going to be grounded for the month. Next time I’m here, we won’t have to freeze to death to talk.”

“Really? Your brother went to bat for you?”

“And he said I can get a onetime use of his phone, so if something important comes up, we can talk. He’ll text you from his phone so you have the number.”

“It’s disgusting how much people like you. When I last saw Jeremy, he was practically making the sign of the cross at me. How do you do it, and can you teach me?” I had to lean farther out to catch Adam’s smile. His expression shifted into something else, like when you see the sunrise.

“Something else happened, or is happening. My mom came to support group with us. Twice. She and my dad are talking about meeting with someone together, too. I’m really proud of her. She’s not, you know, instantly better or anything, and she hasn’t talked at any of the meetings yet, but she was better than me the first time I went. She sat in a chair and everything. I mean, that’s good, right?”

My stomach sank and I had to look down so he wouldn’t see my face crumble. “Yeah.”

“And my dad’s been coming to dinner nearly every night. I don’t know if they’re specifically working toward reconciling, or if they’re just trying to see how they feel around each other again. But today, when my mom watched Jeremy and me drive away, it was the first time she didn’t cry. This is what I wanted from her, from both of them—to try.” He shrugged and looked at me.

I tried to return his smile but it wobbled.

“That isn’t what I wanted us to talk about. Or not the only thing.”

Warning lights started flashing in my head and I let Adam see a chill shake through my body. “I didn’t think to wear my sleeping bag. I’m going to have to head in and thaw out. Plus you have family dinner soon, so, later?”

Adam was clearly reluctant to let me go, but I couldn’t say another word. I kept my smile on till I slid the door and curtain closed behind me, then I let myself sink to the floor.

Whole-body sobs shook me. They were so loud that they echoed around my room. And they fed each subsequent sob, growing louder and almost violent until I forced my hands to my mouth. I tried to muffle the sound, stem the tears and gasps for air, but I couldn’t.

How horrible was I that my stomach sank when Adam told me about his parents? I should have been happy for him, for them, especially his mom. If there was a chance his family could be put back together, I should be happy.

But I wasn’t.

The moment he’d said the word reconciling, daggers had seemed to pierce my chest, sliding deep and cutting bone. I’d never have that. Adam’s broken family was more than mine had ever been whole. They were mending. Soon his dad would move back home, and I’d be more alone than before Adam came. The thought was so unbearable that I gagged on it.

I heard nothing but the audible sound of my own misery. Not the door opening nor the soft footsteps drawing near. When a hand settled on my shoulder, I didn’t look up before curling into the offered arm and burying my face into a shoulder.

Her soft lilac perfume penetrated my senses before my eyes or ears recognized Shelly. Even when I realized who was crouched down and stroking my hair, I couldn’t let go. I was too wretched to reject comfort of any kind when I was so seldom offered it.

A thought punctured my misery. Shelly was starved almost as much as I was. She had no family, no steady job, nothing but Dad and the scraps of affection he gave her.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, my sobs ebbed. Weariness began to replace despair. Little things began to register, like the jade pendant of Shelly’s necklace digging into my cheek, the uncomfortable angle of my leg folded beneath me, the muscles in my hands, still clenched in her shirt, beginning to cramp. Other random things. Any one by itself might not have been enough, but the culmination made me pull back and reveal the damage my tears had done. The wet fabric and smeared black mascara, I’d expected; the tears streaming down Shelly’s face, I hadn’t.

“Why are you crying?”

Her hand lifted to her cheek, like she needed to test the truth of my words. When her fingers came away wet, she pushed to her feet and hurried into my bathroom. I saw her lean over the sink and splash water on her face, then dry it with a hand towel. When she returned and held out the towel, I took it.