Always Never Yours(25)

Take him and cut him out in little stars,


    And he will make the face of heaven so fine


   That all the world will be in love with night


    And pay no worship to the garish sun.


III.ii.23–7


EVER SINCE MY DAD TOLD ME ABOUT the move, just being home puts me in a bad mood. I’ve spent afternoons this week doing homework in the drama room or, when Jody goes home for the night, in the corner booth in Verona eating half-baked pizza and watching Anthony watch Eric. But on Friday night, I’m home early to talk to Mom.

I head downstairs to hydrate before the party. I’m in luck—Dad’s at a school board meeting, and the house is quiet. In the kitchen I walk past Erin in her high chair contemplating the universe over a tiny bowl of applesauce. When I grab a bottle of water and close the fridge, something splatters on the wall next to me. I spin to find Erin regarding me, pink plastic spoon in hand and a big grin on her face. She lets out a giggle, and I notice there’s applesauce in her ear.

I sigh. “Rose?” I call. There’s no answer. Seeing no other choice, I turn back to Erin. “You can’t go around looking like that,” I chide. Gingerly, I scoop her out of her high chair, careful to avoid the applesauce sliding down her cheek. She shrieks in delight.

I leave the water running while I wet a paper towel and wipe down Erin’s face. Clearly thinking this is the best thing in the world, Erin flings her hand through the stream, splashing water on the halter dress I’ve chosen to catch Will’s eye. I put my hand on my hip and adopt an indignant tone. “You did not just do that.” I flick a drop of water at her in return, and she explodes into giggles.

“Megan?” I hear Rose from the hall before she steps into the kitchen, her eyes jumping from me to Erin. “Sorry, I walked away for a second to pee for the twentieth time today.” She smiles. “You two look like you’re having fun.”

I was. But when Rose lays a hand on her swollen stomach, I’m reminded of why my dad’s moving across the country. “You left her with applesauce. I had to clean her up,” I tell Rose, working to keep my voice unemotional.

“Thanks, Megan,” she says gently as she walks forward to pick up Erin. “Erin would thank you, too, if only she could pronounce your name,” Rose adds, smiling. “The hard G, you know?”

I only shrug before I head upstairs.



* * *





When I get on FaceTime with Mom five minutes late—as usual—I must still look out of sorts, because she immediately studies me, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you know Dad and Rose are planning to move to New York?” I blurt out.

Mom looks taken aback, but she quickly recovers. “They . . . haven’t told me about that, no.”

“Well, they’re looking at houses,” I charge on. “I only found out because they left a real-estate catalog in the kitchen.”

I watch her fuss with the mug of tea she’s holding, one I realize I don’t recognize. It wasn’t one of the things she packed into cardboard boxes before she left Oregon, and her marriage, to find a new home in Texas. I’ve never known how that felt to her, but now I’m beginning to understand. I’m beginning to know the disconnection from home she must’ve felt, even though I’m staying put in Oregon for college—hopefully—and she moved halfway across the country.

I blamed her the night they told me she was moving. I didn’t understand why she’d decided to leave. When I caught her hours later forlornly staring at the family photos in the hall, I realized she hadn’t. Not really.

“Megan, I’m sure they were going to tell you,” Mom says softly. “You know your father. He never lets anyone into his plans until he’s figured the details out himself.”

“Yeah. I guess,” I mutter.

“If this bothers you, you should talk to your dad.” Her voice is still sympathetic, but there’s a patented Mom firmness to it. “He’d want to know you’re upset.”

“Why bother? It’s not like they’d listen to my opinion.”

Mom says nothing for a second, her eyes flitting downward. I know we’re both remembering some of the worst fights of her and Dad’s final months together. Shouting matches about Dad’s tendency to make decisions for the whole family without listening to her, or even talking to her. There’s a motorcycle in the garage to prove it.

“You know, New York might not be the worst,” she says with a hesitant smile. “You could go to shows in the city when you’re home from school.”

She’s trying, like she must’ve when she unpacked in her new home. She must’ve searched for what was exciting and worth looking forward to where she’d be living. Not wanting to worry her, I nod.

“You could come to Texas,” she adds in a quietly hopeful voice.

“Maybe,” I say. I don’t tell her moving to Texas wouldn’t fix the real problems. It wouldn’t keep my dad and Rose from building a new life without me. It wouldn’t keep them from erasing the only home I’ve ever known, consigning my childhood memories to the past.

“How’s the play going?” Mom asks, and I know she’s trying to distract me.