The Love That Split the World(78)

As I follow Mom and Dad around the bed, I think about Beau’s credenza, the singular bright spot in a room I know I’d find depressing if not for the person who lives in it. Unlike Mom, I’ve never happy-cried over pretty furniture, but seeing something Beau made with his hands—that wouldn’t exist without him—turned me into goop. I think right then he could’ve told me he was the one who spread out the stars and I would have been neither surprised nor any more impressed than I already was. Thinking about that night makes my insides feel warm and mushy and a little achy all over again. It’s not why this conversation’s so important, but it is helping me go through with it. I want those three extra weeks. I want them so badly.

Mom perches on the edge of the bed and pats the blankets beside her. I sit down, and Dad eases into one of the chairs across from me.

“I’ve been seeing a counselor,” I say.

“You have?” Mom says. “Dr. Langdon?”

“No, not Dr. Langdon. She works at NKU. I found her online, and she specializes in . . . my issues, I guess.”

“How are you paying for it?” Dad says.

“It’s free. I mean, it’s helping Al—Dr. Chan with her research, so it’s sort of a trade.”

“Oh.” Mom nods encouragingly. “That’s great, honey. Isn’t that great, Patrick?”

“It’s great,” Dad confirms, but his eyes are discerning, and I know he senses there’s more to it than what I’ve said.

“We’ve been making real progress,” I go on, “but we’re not finished, and . . .” I gather my courage and push forward. “And I want to keep seeing her for as long as I can.”

“Would she be open to that?” Mom says. “Long-distance sessions? Maybe video chat or something?”

“No,” I say.

“Maybe she could recommend someone near Providence then.”

I sigh and crack my knuckles. “Actually, I had another idea.”

When I’ve spit it all out, at least the parts that leave out eerie warnings and alternate realities, Mom and Dad just stare blankly at me. To my surprise, Dad speaks first. “Well, sugar, sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”

Mom looks up at him, her face frozen in something that resembles terror. She swallows audibly and tries to compose herself. “Honey, I thought you loved this trip.”

“I do,” I hurry to say before Mom’s spirit can wilt. “And I’ll be really, really sad to miss it. But this is really, really important to me. If I’m going to go to Brown, I feel like I need it.”

“If?” Mom’s voice cracks. “What do you mean, if ?”

Dad clears his throat again. “You’re going to Brown, Natalie. It’s settled. We didn’t take out a small fortune of loans for nothing.”

“That’s not what I meant. I just . . . There are things I need to resolve before I go. Please just trust me.”

“Honey, we do trust you,” Mom says, running her fingers frantically through her hair. “We let you go to parties, you don’t have a curfew, we do our best not to pry even though it kills us not knowing where you are every second of the day because we know you’re a good kid and you’re smart and if you make mistakes, you’ll come to us. This isn’t about trusting you. It’s about our family, and this trip’s important to us.”

“I know,” I say. “It’s important for me too, and I hope I’ll never have to miss another one. But I’m going through some things right now—”

“You can talk to us,” Mom says, shaking her head.

“I can’t,” I say, and Mom looks utterly crestfallen. Her eyes gloss over at the same instant they dart toward Dad’s. He’s just staring at me, reading me like I’m a horse, as he probably has been all summer. “It’s not you guys. It’s me. I’m not ready to talk to you about some things, and I need that to be okay.”

Mom wipes her eyes with the heel of her hand, and Dad comes to sit beside her, pulling her against his side. “That part is okay, sugar,” he says. “Just give us some time to think about it.” Mom nods along, and I lean against her side.

“I do love the trip.”

“Except the board games,” Dad says. “You hate those.”

“I never said that,” I argue.

“You didn’t have to. You’re our kid. We’ve got your number.”



Mom and Dad give me the okay at dinner on Monday, four days before the trip.

“Under one condition,” Mom says.

“Anything.”

“You have to stay with someone,” Dad says. “Adults. We don’t want you here all alone while we’re across the country.”

“We talked to Megan’s parents,” Mom adds. “The Phillipses are happy to have you.”

“Megan’s not even home,” I remind them.

“Not the point,” Dad says. “You need some semblance of supervision.”

I don’t point out that Megan’s parents are the definition of “hands-off.” Megan’s been joking that they probably haven’t even noticed she’s gone yet. “Okay,” I quickly agree. “I’ll stay with the Phillipses. That’s perfect.”