Twelve Steps to Normal(6)

I leave my suitcases in the middle of my room and flop face-first into my bed. It smells like home—like my coconut lotion and clean linens and a little bit like the warm, dewy evening. I think of Grams’s room being invaded by strangers and try not to cry.

I hear my phone buzzing excessively in my purse. I completely forgot about the group message I’d sent Lin, Whitney, and Raegan. Aside from my room, they’re the next closest comfort to me right now. I dive into my bag and retrieve it.

LIN: ARE YOU REALLY BACK IN CEDARVILLE?

WHITNEY: i had no idea you were coming home

RAEGAN: so happy, love!!!! xoxo

LIN: SUPER happy! Omg. It’s been forever. Can I see you?

WHITNEY: are you coming back to school

LIN: Well duh, Whit. It’s not like she’s dropped out.

RAEGAN: i could use more help with Leadership Council stuff!

LIN: BFF REUNION. LET’S GET MILKSHAKES.

WHITNEY: nothing is open now!

RAEGAN: love ya, K. so excited to see you tomorrow!!

LIN: I’m coming over now then!

Frantic, I type a quick reply to all three. I tell Lin not to come over, that I’m exhausted and I’ll see her at school tomorrow. She sends back a frowny emoji, but disappointing Lin is the least of my worries. Because a small town like Cedarville loves gossip. And my life feels like it’s spiraled enough to make headlines.

My cell phone rings.

I expect to see Lin’s name appear across the screen, but it’s not her. Instead, I read: MARGARET—SOCIAL WORKER. I freeze, debating whether I should answer, but quickly decide it would probably be a good idea.

“Hi, Margaret.”

“Kira, hello!” Her voice is chipper. “I’m so sorry to call so late, but I figured you must be home by now.”

“No, it’s okay. And you’re right. I’m home.” I glance around my room, feeling the comfort of being in a space that’s so purely mine.

“Listen,” she says, adopting a more serious tone. “I just wanted to check in and say that if you sense that there’s anything unusual about your father’s behavior, don’t hesitate to call me, all right?”

She continues talking, but my brain zeros in on those words: unusual behavior. I wouldn’t call my homecoming usual, exactly, what with three alcoholic strangers staying here for the foreseeable future. But that’s not what she means.

Is it?

“—we’d rather your dad continue getting help and have you with your Aunt June if things escalate again.”

I try and stop the uncertain thoughts spinning through me. “I understand.”

“Excellent. If you need anything, I’m just a phone call away.”

“Thanks, really,” I say more confidently than I feel.

Once we hang up, I stare down at my phone. Calling Aunt June to tell her everything seemed like a good idea before, but now I’m not sure. If June tells Margaret about this living situation, or worse, if Margaret decides to schedule a check-in and finds out, there’s no question about it. Because my mom is out of the picture, I have no other choice. I’d have to go back to Portland. And that’s not what I want. Now that I’ve texted my friends, I realize just how much I’m looking forward to seeing them. If I want to stay in Cedarville—if I want my old life with my dad again—then the answer is easy. I can’t let anyone find out these people are staying here.

If I’m lucky, they’ll be here a few weeks. A month, tops. How long does it take to get your life together, anyway? I thought that’s what Sober Living was for. Why would they need to invade our house to get it together?

There’s a knock at my door.

I’m hit with a sudden burst of déjà vu. Most nights before I went to bed, Grams would come in and chat with me for a bit, usually as I was picking out my clothes for school the next day. It was nice talking to her about things, like what I should wear to homecoming and if I could see a dermatologist because my pimples were getting out of control—things that were awkward to talk about with my dad.

Once she’d come in as I was getting ready to perform with the Wavettes at a Saturday game. I was frustrated because I couldn’t get my eyeliner to match perfectly with both eyes, and I really wanted it to look even.

“Here,” she’d said, her hand gesturing for my bottle of liquid liner.

“I’m running late,” I’d replied, somewhat annoyed. Grams didn’t ever wear eyeliner, and letting her attempt to apply it would only hold me up.

“Trust me.” She took the bottle from me anyway, so I gave up and closed my eyes. I felt the cool tip glide onto both eyelids. “Now, look.”

I did. It wasn’t perfect, but it was way more even than my prior attempts.

“Wow,” I said, surprised. “Thank you.”

“See?” She was smiling, and her tone was only somewhat smug. “Sometimes you have to take a step back. Let someone else help out.”

I blink away the memory, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling her absence all over again.

It would be polite to answer whoever is on the other side of my door, but I don’t feel like putting on a smile and entertaining someone named after a piece of fruit. I just want to be left alone.

I hear descending footsteps. Whoever it was gave up.

Exhausted, I set my phone alarm and crawl into bed. I’m about to turn off my lamp when the collage of pictures taped on the wall catches my eye.