I Wish You All the Best(62)

“I was five, leave me alone.” I shove him. “Besides, you’ve seen half the things those marine biologists find down there. The ocean’s creepy as hell.”

Nathan does this thing between a scoff and a laugh. “Can’t argue with you.”

I lean against the railing alongside him. “I hate the beach too.”

“Why?”

“I hate sand. It’s coarse, and it gets everywhere.” I wonder if he’ll catch on.

Nathan groans so loud the people jogging at the other end of the park turn to look at us. “Please tell me you didn’t just quote the worst movie of the saga.”

“Thought you might like that.”

“I hate you,” he says with a smile.

We both laugh until we can’t anymore, until the night air is filled with nothing but the sounds of the water. It’s hard to know that just beyond those walls we walked past is an entire city of people. This place is too quiet for that.

“Tonight was fun,” I say.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks for inviting me. I know … I know I haven’t been the easiest person to get along with.”

“It’s okay.” He waits a beat. “Easy people are boring.”

Maybe now is my moment. The moment I tell him the truth, or the moment that I reach over and kiss him. Something. I feel like I owe him that much at least. I weigh it all in my head, but the answer is obvious.

“Hey, Ben.”

“Yeah?” I look up at him. And that makes the decision for me. I can’t tell him; I can’t ruin this. And I don’t even want to think about how he’ll think of me after. I don’t want a world where Nathan Allan hates me, even if the chances of that happening are so very, very slim. I just can’t.

“Tonight was the first time you’ve talked about your parents.” He waits. “Like really talked about them.”

“Huh.” I guess he’s right. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s cool, I just noticed.” He takes in a breath and lets it out slowly. “I can’t imagine what that feels like, to just be left behind like that. Especially by people who are supposed to love you.”

“I think they did love me,” I say. “And maybe they still do. I know a part of me still does. I just … I really thought it’d be okay.”

“This is the secret, isn’t it? The big one?”

I nod. Because I owe him that.

“Do you really think you’d ever speak to them again? After they did that.”

“Now who’s asking the heavy questions?”

“Oh.” Nathan’s eyes widen. “Sorry … I didn’t even …” he stammers. “Don’t answer that.”

“No, it’s … fine,” I say. Truthfully, that’s another question I don’t know the answer to. I’d like to be able to give Nathan a firm no. They left me, punished me for just trying to be myself. They don’t deserve to ever see me again. I’ve imagined a dozen scenarios. Going back to their house and telling them off. Sometimes I’m with Hannah, or Thomas. Other times I’m alone.

But they’re my parents, and I can’t imagine never seeing them again. I don’t really want to think how our last real conversation was them yelling and shouting for me to get out of their home. Our home.

“I don’t know,” I finally say.

“Hey.” He takes my hand. “They don’t deserve you. You’re ten times the person they are, combined, even.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“Whatever happens”—his grip tightens a little—“I wish you all the best, Benjamin De Backer.” He says it with a smile. “You deserve it.”



I get home later than I mean to. All the lights downstairs are off, and the garage is closed, so I have to go in through the back door. Nathan’s waiting for me to pop out the front door and let him know I’m safe inside. I climb the stairs, let Hannah and Thomas know that I’m home, and crawl under the sheets of my bed.

Except I can’t sleep.

For at least an hour and a half, I toss and turn, closing my eyes and trying to will my body to rest. The thing is, I don’t think this is my anxiety. This feels different, like my mind is too busy to shut down like it’s supposed to. Which maybe means this is anxiety, but it doesn’t feel like it normally does. It’s working overtime, and it’s thinking too much about what Nathan said.

About Mom and Dad.

I pull off my sheets and head back downstairs, careful not to be too loud. Not that there’s really anything wrong with what I’m doing.

If Thomas or Hannah wake up I’ll just say I was getting a glass of water, or trying to get in touch with Mariam, or something. I grab the laptop from its space on the coffee table, and log in to Facebook, something I haven’t done in months. I never even wanted the damn thing, but Mom wanted to be able to tag me in things, and all my classmates who hadn’t yet discovered Twitter or Tumblr talked about Facebook like it was the “new” thing. Seriously, we were always so behind in Goldsboro, even on social media.

The first thing I see is my own profile. A weirdly angled selfie I probably thought looked good a year ago when I took it. Then I see the little red icons in the corner. A few notifications, photos I’ve been tagged in for some reason. But my eyes go right to the message icon, the little red button hanging over it.