Bright Before Sunrise(58)

“He said I chose sides by not telling him—even though I had no clue. And that Mom and Paul were still a family, and a kid belonged with a family. He, on the other hand, was now a bachelor, and a teenager didn’t fit in his new lifestyle. I guess he doesn’t want me in the way while he bar hops. I doubt he’s out looking to find me a new mommy.”

I hug myself because I know if I touch him, he’ll stop.

“And then he sold the house without even telling me. Called me after he was in a hotel. I’m surprised he called at all. I guess I should be grateful. He coulda called from Florida and said, ‘By the way, I’ve moved.’”

“Why?” I gasp the word and cringe at the unfairness of it all. No wonder Jonah’s bitter.

“He and my mom agreed it’d be easier for me if I didn’t have to see the house packed up. They equated it to a body in a casket—it’s better I remember my home as a ‘happy place,’ not empty rooms full of boxes. Like I can forget their fights and only remember the good times.”

He stops pacing and looks at me. His face is all naked emotion. His eyes scream of need. My instincts demand I look away. Run away. I don’t want to be needed. Not like this. Not in a way that requires me to share more than space and conversation—a way that requires me to share me.

“Do you get this?” He swallows and drops eye contact, shoulders slumping. “Forget it. Your parents’ divorce was probably all ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and no hurt feelings.”

I’m too stunned by Jonah’s story to sugarcoat my own. “My parents didn’t divorce. My dad died. Heart attack.”

He freezes on the sidewalk and lifts a palm to cover his face. “Crap.”

“Don’t—” I know what I should say: “It’s fine. I’m okay. You didn’t know.” Some variation of “Don’t worry, you’re off the hook” followed by a subject change.

I tug on his sleeve until he lowers his hand and opens his eyes. He continues to look … tortured.

I bite my lip and swallow. “I do know what you mean. I wasn’t allowed to go to the wake—no one would let me see him … after. For years—years, I convinced myself it wasn’t true. He was in another room. Or still at work. He’d gotten some extra-needy client who took all his time. And soon, really soon, he’d be home. Sitting next to me at family dinner—his lefty elbow bumping against my righty—or leaving sticky notes with we’ve-got-a-golf-date reminders or saw-your-math-test-I’m-proud-of-you messages on my bathroom mirror or in my lunch bag.”

I feel naked, but there’s no way to cover up the parts I’ve just exposed, so I clench my fists instead. “I get your need for closure.”

“It’s not the same, Brighton. It’s not the same at all. I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

I’ve never seen pity on his face before. I don’t like it.

“I’m sure it’s hard, but it’ll get better. It takes time.”

Even the tone of his voice has changed.

I step away from the hug he’s offering, hold my hands up toward him. “Stop. Just stop. Please.”

Jonah’s arms drop to his sides and he’s a split second away from getting pissed. “I was just—”

“Not you too. I’ve spent five years in school with people who know and treat me like a tragic character because of it. ‘That’s Brighton Waterford, her dad died—handle with care.’” I take a step toward him, starting to bridge the chasm that’s grown since I refused his hug. “Except you. Maybe that’s part of why I wouldn’t leave you alone—even when it was painfully obvious you wanted me to.”

“Because I was an ass?”

“Because you treated me as badly as you treated everyone else. You haven’t coddled me. I’d rather you be an ass than act like I’m breakable.” I hold my breath as I watch him think this through. He’s quiet for longer than I’d like. Studying me more intensely than I’d like.

“Are ass and coddler my only options?” he asks.

I laugh. “Shut up.”

“When did he die?” It’s a question in his regular voice, and I realize the flip side of Jonah not being here when it happened. He might not baby me, but he also doesn’t know already.

The smile slips from my face, and I swallow a few times before answering. “Five years ago. Exactly five years. There’s a memorial service tomorrow. I should be fine by now, right? I should be able to talk about him. Mom and Evy talk about him all the time.”

“So, go ahead. Talk.”

I can’t. I turn away from him to catch my breath.

“So where are we headed?” I ask.

“We’re here. This is my old house.” Jonah pauses to study it for a moment before he leads the way up the driveway.

He sits on the steps of a back deck, and I join him. He’s staring at something invisible, something that has significance to him and not me. All I can see is this backyard bleeding into his neighbors’, blending with the one beyond that. Is he thinking about his old life or his new one? About me?

We’re sitting so close. My damp dress is cold in contrast to the heat that radiates off him. I’d like that hug now—if I could think of a way to ask for it without being lame. His face is unreadable. The faraway look of an in-class daydream. He looks unreachable, and sitting two inches away, I’m lonely.