Heroine(44)

“Mick,” Dad says, following my thoughts. “You’re good. It’s a cheap plate, probably something Devra picked up at a garage sale. Throw it away. Stop thinking about it.”

I do as he says, all but the last part. It’s not exactly something I can control. With no Oxy in my system and no dirt under my shoes, Dad’s house has me wanting to break for the exit.

“Sit,” Dad says, pulling a trivet from the wall and taking the last steaming pot to the table. “It’s my night to cook, so . . .”

“Spaghetti,” I say, a smile tugging on the corners of my mouth. Dad has no problem with being asked to cook; you just have to be cool with eating spaghetti. Often.

Dad hands me a plate and I scoop some noodles onto it, then sauce, then meatballs. I haven’t eaten since . . . weird. I actually don’t know. The first bite sends an almost painful jolt into my mouth, my taste buds waking up after being fed only Oxy for a while. Dad’s three forkfuls in before he even tries to make conversation. It doesn’t get far when I notice a drop of spaghetti sauce on his chin and point to my own, making a swiping gesture. He keeps missing it on purpose, dabbing his forehead or his cheek instead, then asking, “Did I get it?”

“You’re an idiot,” I say.

“I’m sorry I missed your first game,” Dad says, and the way he drops his eyes tells me he’s way more bothered by it than I was.

“It’s fine.” I shrug. “You’ve got . . .” I wave my hands around his new house, taking in the baby monitors and still unpacked boxes stacked in a corner. “Stuff.”

“I do have stuff,” he agrees. “But I told myself I could manage two families and I’ve already failed.”

My eyebrows come together, and I try not to rake my fork through the cooling mass of noodles on my plate. “You don’t have two families.”

Dad nods his head like he’s trying to think of a better way to phrase it, but I’ve already beaten him to it, thinking of Mom’s face drawn in a tight mask of forced pleasantry when she sees him with Devra.

“You left her, Dad. You left Mom. You can’t just think of her and me still waiting at home, like you can bounce back and forth between us all.”

“That’s not . . .” He’s got his hand out to stop my words. Just like Mom. Just like Coach Mattix. “Mickey, that’s not what I meant.”

I can’t answer. I don’t know how else to feel about what he said.

“Yes,” he says carefully. “I left your mother, okay? But I didn’t leave you.”

Another person might be able to come up with a quick rebuttal, a comeback to end the conversation. Me, I just sit, painfully aware of the rising tension in the room and the fact that he still has that stupid drip of spaghetti sauce on his chin.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I say, and push out from the table, my chair knocking to the floor behind me. I head for the hallway, where Devra is popping out of a side room, her finger raised to her lips in a warning as she pulls the door shut behind her.

“Bathroom,” I say, and she waves me down the hall. I find it, and am about to pull the door shut on everything and everyone when I hear Devra complaining to Dad about us not waiting for her to start eating.

Fuck. This. Place.

I should’ve stuffed an Oxy in my pocket, or just said to Mom that I was in some pain and taken one right in front her, making it natural. No, instead I tried to keep her happy by not popping a pill, and keep Dad happy by showing up here, somewhere I don’t belong. I am so tired of keeping other people happy. Of making sure I say just the right thing to Carolina about Aaron. Of not letting Coach know how shitty it feels that she’s got Nikki on the bench waiting for me to fail.

I don’t feel this way at Edith’s, and no one there expects anything out of me. I don’t have to make anybody happy because we are happy.

I’m going through drawers before I can question myself, shoving aside Devra’s makeup and nail files, hoping an ex-junkie keeps a little something back for the hard nights. I don’t find anything, but I turn on the water to cover the noise as I try another drawer, and another. I run my hands through the folds of the towels to see if she’s tucked something there, empty the toothbrush holder and turn it upside down, but nothing falls out. I turn off the water, thinking hard. I can hear an argument starting in the dining room, in low tones the way adults do, but an argument nonetheless.

Right now Devra looks like more of a junkie than I do. Or Josie. Or Luther. Or Derrick. There’s got to be something here. I cross the hall, catching the phrase “least have the decency to—” and duck into the master bedroom. There’s a bathroom here too, and I start in her tampon supply—somewhere Dad would never venture. I’m cross-legged on the floor, tampons strewn around me, peering up into an empty box when Devra walks in.

“Oh, Mickey—” She’s startled, not expecting to find me here. She swipes tears from her face, like just having them gone means she wasn’t crying.

“Do you . . .” Devra looks at the mess I’ve made. “Do you need something?”

“Yeah,” I say fast, jumping at the convenient excuse she just made for me. It doesn’t explain why I threw everything on the floor first, but whatever, I’ll take it. I grab one tampon and throw the rest in the box, shoving it back in the drawer awkwardly, the corner bending when I try to jam it shut.