Saint Anything(74)

He said nothing to this as I put the plates on the counter. Upstairs, I heard another door shut.

“I asked them about the studio, and they were great about it, and you were coming over . . .” I swallowed, opening the napkin drawer. “I’m just so tired of this. Of him being everything.”

Mac just watched me as I moved to the silverware. As I counted out three forks, I felt like I was going to cry. And then, just like that, I was.

Not just tears pricking my eyes, or that slow throb in your throat that gives you enough warning to breathe and, maybe, get under control. Instead, instantly, I just found myself sobbing: chest heaving, nose running, making noises that sounded almost primal. I gripped the edge of the countertop, dropping my head, and tried to suck in some air and calm down. It was just occurring to me that I should be embarrassed when I felt Mac’s hands on my shoulders.

“Hey,” he said. His palms were warm. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Sydney.”

But it wasn’t. Nothing had been okay, not for a long time. And every moment that I thought I was getting close, like the one I’d had earlier, seemed to remind the universe that I didn’t deserve that, not yet.

What was due me, then? Only tiny seconds where things felt right, just fleeting enough to make me crave more? Was that it? I was beginning to think so, that I just couldn’t get what I wanted, that maybe I didn’t even have any idea what that was. But as Mac turned me to face him and I looked up into his eyes, I realized I was wrong. So I took a single step—one foot, then the other—and then his arms wrapped around me, pulling me in the rest of the way.





CHAPTER

16





PEYTON DIDN’T want me at his graduation. Actually, he didn’t want any of us there. But my mom was only willing to compromise so much.

“It’s not that he doesn’t want to see you, or that he doesn’t miss you,” she’d explained the next morning. “He’d just prefer that you not interact with him in that setting yet. I thought that might have changed by now . . . but it hasn’t. It’s actually a very common sentiment among the incarcerated when it comes to family, children in particular.”

She was speaking slowly, carefully picking her words. What a difference twelve hours made. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been disappearing upstairs in tears; this morning, she was at the coffeepot calm, rested, and capable. She was also clearly concerned about how I’d take this news, somehow having forgotten that I’d never wanted to go in the first place.

“I understand,” I said. “It’s fine.”

She was still watching me as I took a bite of my breakfast. Suddenly, my welfare was very important, which would have been nice had I not known the real reason she was suddenly so invested. By focusing on Peyton’s not wanting me to go, she could skirt the wider truth of how he really felt about having her there. My mom had always been good at narrowing an issue.

“As I told you,” she continued, “Peyton’s time at Lincoln will be marked by a series of transitions. It’s very possible that his emotional need for us will at some point manifest itself in his feeling like he has to pull away. So the key is that we allow him to do what he thinks is necessary, while at the same time making clear that we are here and not going anywhere.”

My dad, who was getting a rare late start to the office, walked into the kitchen, adjusting his tie. He’d already eaten, but still stopped by the eggs on the stove, picking out a bite with his fingers.

“So you’re all still going?” I asked. “To the graduation?”

“Your father and I will go. We’ll ask Ames and Marla to stay here with you. That’s probably the best plan.”

“I don’t need anyone here with me, though,” I said quickly. “I mean, it’s only one night.”

“It’s already arranged,” she told me, glancing at my dad. “Right?”

“I mentioned it to him last night.” He wiped his hand on a dish towel. “Apparently things with Marla have . . . cooled. But he’s happy to do it.”

“Really?” My mom looked at him. “I had no idea! He hasn’t said a thing to me about their breaking up.”

Considering how much he and my mom talked, this was kind of surprising. But I had learned not to put much past Ames.

“He didn’t sound too upset about it,” my dad said now, eating another piece of egg. “Anyway, he’s got to work that night, but he’s going to try to get off early.”

“He shouldn’t do that,” I said, apparently too adamantly, as they both looked at me, surprised. “I’ll be fine.”

“Sydney, we’ve had this conversation before. I don’t want you here alone,” my mom said. “Ames stayed with you last time, and it worked out well, didn’t it?”

“I’ll stay at Layla’s,” I said, instead of answering her.

“On a school night? No.” She sat back. “Frankly, with all the time you’ve been over there and at their pizza place, I worry we’ve overimposed as it is.”

“Let me invite her here, then.” I thought for a second. “Actually, we could use the studio that evening. That way, you guys wouldn’t even be bothered with it.”

She blinked at me. “The studio? Peyton’s studio?”