What Happens to Goodbye(88)

I ignored this as I moved on, through the door and down the hallway to the back entrance. I was just pushing the door open, my palm flat on the flimsy screen, when I heard Opal come out of my dad’s office, behind me.
“You should have told me,” she said over her shoulder. Her face was flushed, angry. “You let me just go along here like an idiot, thinking things were okay.”
“I didn’t know for sure,” my dad said.
“But you knew something!” She stopped, whirling around to face him. “And you knew how I felt about this place, and these people. You knew, and you said nothing.”
“Opal,” my dad said, but she was already turning, walking away, pushing open the door to the restaurant with a bang and going through it. My dad watched her go with a sigh, his shoulders sagging. Then he saw me. “Mclean. When—”
“So it’s official, then,” I said, cutting him off. “We’re leaving?”
“We need to talk about it,” he replied, coming closer. “There’s a lot to consider.”
“I want to go,” I said. “I’ll go whenever. I’ll go now.”
“Now?” He narrowed his eyes, concerned. “What are you talking about? What’s wrong?”
I shook my head, stepping out onto the ramp that led to the door. “I have to get back to the house. Mom’s . . . she’s waiting for me.”
“Hey, hold on a second,” he said. “Just talk to me.”
It was what everyone wanted. My mom, my dad, my friends upstairs, not to mention all the people in all the places I’d left behin. But talk was cheap and useless. Action was what mattered. And me, I was moving. Now, again, always.
Fourteen





“Sure you’re okay?” my mom asked, glancing over at me. “Not too hot? Too cold?”


I looked at the console in front of me, where there were buttons for seat heat, regular heat, fan, humidity control. Peter’s SUV, one of the biggest I’d ever seen, wasn’t a car as much as a living space with wheels. “I’m good.”
“Okay,” she said. “But if you want to adjust anything, feel free.”
So far, we’d been on the road for a little under an hour, and conversation had been limited to this topic, the weather, and the beach itself. The car was on cruise control, and I honestly felt like I was, as well—just going through the motions while the chaos of the afternoon receded, mile after mile, behind us.
I’d been right: when I got back to the house, my mom was waiting, busy distributing juice boxes to the twins, who were strapped into their adjoining car seats in the vast backseat. “Hello!” she’d called out, waving a plastic straw at me. “Ready for a road trip?”
“Yeah,” I’d replied. “Let me just get my stuff.”
Inside the house, I splashed water on my face and tried to calm down. All I could think of was everyone gathered around that laptop, with those versions of me up for scrutiny in front of them. The shame I felt was like a fever, hot and cold and clammy all at once, and no amount of buttons or adjusting would make a damn bit of difference.
“So what I’m thinking,” my mom said now, doing a quick check in the rearview mirror of the twins, who were asleep, “is we’ll go to the house and get unloaded, and then maybe take a quick trip to the boardwalk. There’s a really good diner there, and we can grab dinner and then go look for a swimsuit for you. Sound good?”
“Sure.”
She smiled, reaching across to squeeze my knee. “I’m so, so glad you’re here, Mclean. Thank you for coming.”
I nodded, not saying anything as my phone buzzed in my pocket. I’d finally turned off the ringer after logging calls from my dad, Riley, and Deb in the first twenty minutes we’d been on the road. It was either ironic, hilarious, or both to be dodging other people’s calls in favor of talking to my mother. But nothing made sense anymore.

As we kept driving, the highway gave way to two-lane roads, the trees going from big oaks to scrubby coastal pines. I kept thinking of those old road trips we’d taken together, in Super Shitty, when it was newer and her car. She did the driving while I ran the radio and kept tabs on our drinks, making sure we had ample coffee or Diet Coke as needed. Sometimes we splurged on magazines, which I’d then read aloud, educating us on makeup and diet tips when the radio stations got fewer and farther between. Now, in Peter’s huge car/truck/ space station, we had a built-in cooler packed with refreshments and satellite radio with over three hundred stations to choose from and not a single gap in signal. Not to mention company, in the form of two toddlers. The landscape was about the only thing that hadn’t changed.
I’d been dreading the trip for any number of reasons, but especially due to the fact that I’d be stuck with my mom for four straight hours of driving with no escape from conversation. She surprised me, though, by being as content as I was with long periods of silence. I started to get self-conscious about it, after a while.
“I’m sorry I’m not talking much,” I told her when we were about an hour and a half away. “I think I’m just really tired.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” she said. “To be honest, I’m exhausted myself. And with these two, I don’t get a lot of quiet. This is . . .” She glanced over at me. “It’s nice.”
“Yeah,” I said as my phone buzzed again. I pulled it out, ignoring the screen, and turned it fully off before sliding it back into my pocket. “It is.”