You Have a Match(55)

I don’t know what else to do except wave, which is what my stupid arm does, like this is a social call instead of them coming to drag me across the Puget Sound by my ear. There’s a beat after they park the car, and my mom says something to my dad, and my dad nods. He gets out of the car alone.

“Shit,” I mutter. I’ve never seen my mom hide from anything before.

Savvy unconsciously comes a little closer to me, or maybe I drift closer to her. Either way, we’re shoulder to shoulder when my dad approaches, very determinedly not looking at or acknowledging Savvy, staring at me with bloodshot, tired eyes.

“Jig’s up,” he says, like we can keep this whole thing lighthearted.

“Uh—yeah. You could say that,” I try weakly.

“We got a call from the school. Wondering why you hadn’t signed up for a summer session yet,” says my dad, continuing not to look at Savvy with such commitment that she might as well be a well-groomed, Instagrammable ghost. “Your mom and I are coming to take you home.”

“Look, I know I lied, but—well, first off, I’m learning a lot here. Latin roots and circumferences and all kinds of SAT gems. But also—”

“Sorry, Abby,” says my dad, taking a step back. “You can take some time to pack up and say goodbye to your friends, but—”

“I’m not saying goodbye to Savvy.”

His mouth shuts, and there is this flash of something in his eyes I’ve never seen before—like I’ve betrayed him. Pushed him into a corner, one he has avoided since long before I was there to push him into it. But it’s coupled with something else that twists the knife, making me doubt myself: surprise. He can’t believe I’m doing this to him.

For a moment, I can’t, either.

My dad finally looks at Savvy with practiced indifference, like he only meant to glance, but then his eyes snag on her and the recognition in them is unmistakable. The kind that has nothing to do with a face, and everything to do with your heart.

“I’m—I’m sure you and your friend can—”

“She’s not just my friend,” I blurt. I turn to Savvy, but she looks like she’s forgotten how to speak, the guilt wrenching my stomach every bit as visible on her face. “You know she’s my … you know.”

“I don’t…”

I pull out my keychain, the magpie charm catching the light. Wordlessly, Savvy pulls the chain off her neck, holding it next to mine with slow, hesitant hands.

The car door slams. There are tears streaming down my mom’s face, so thick that I can’t tell what kind of tears they are.

“Girls,” she says, addressing both of us. “This isn’t the best time to … I want to explain. I do. But Abby, can you just—get in the car, and—”

“Savvy!”

We turn, my mom crying, my dad looking like he hasn’t breathed in a full minute, our magpie charms limp in our hands, to find that the Prius has—in true Prius form—snuck up on us, and Savvy’s parents are out of their car.

Not only that, Savvy’s mom is pissed.

In her floral wraparound dress and wedge sandals, she does not look like a woman who is about to power walk over to us so fast that I nearly crack my neck following her progress, but in an instant she’s grabbing Savvy’s arm and glaring daggers at my mom.

“How dare you,” she says to my mom, squeezing Savvy’s arm so intensely that the skin is going red. “You are well aware of the rules.”

“I wasn’t—”

“We will settle this the same way we did last time. Don’t think we won’t,” she says, pulling Savvy back, as if someone is going to snatch her.

“Pietra,” says Savvy’s dad, who has only just caught up to Savvy’s mom. “Let’s hold on a—”

“We’re leaving. Now.”

I keep waiting for my parents to defend themselves. My mom takes a few steps back, but otherwise is frozen, staring at Pietra like an animal realizing it’s about to get decked by a truck.

“Mom, you can’t just put me in the car,” says Savvy, finally finding her voice. “I work here.”

“Like hell I can’t,” says Savvy’s mom, a far cry from the beaming, prim woman from the Tully family Christmas card.

My dad cuts in before Savvy’s mom just short of firefighter lifts her over her shoulders. “I think we all need to talk to our daughters,” he says, without looking at Savvy’s parents. “Abby, do you need to grab anything, or can you come with us now?”

“I … I have to…”

“I’ll let Victoria know where you are,” says Savvy. Then, before her mom can protest, “And where I’m going. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll come with you, okay?”

Savvy’s mom nods, not quite calm but definitely embarrassed. She turns to my dad and says, “Yes. I think that’s best. But to be clear, I never want to see either of you near my daughter, ever again.”

I’m expecting someone, anyone, to protest. But even though my mom’s face is still a wreck, her voice is clear: “Understood.”





twenty-two




My parents drive me to the small hotel on the island without saying a word, periodically looking at me in the rearview mirror. I try to hold their gazes—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—but every time I do, they look away.