The Moon and More(60)
Author: Sarah Dessen

“I lost track of the time,” I said. “Sorry.”

She said nothing to this as she pushed the door open, revealing Amber, her now-blonde head buried under the covers. We walked over to the bed, where my mom nudged her aside, making a narrow space for us to share. She pulled up the comforter over our legs, handed me my coffee, and we settled in.

“I don’t understand,” I said, after a couple of sips, “why he can’t just let it be.”

“Who?”

“Dad. And the house. Why is this”—I swirled my hand in the general direction of the door—“always going on?”

She shrugged. “Don Quixote had windmills. The Wright brothers had the sky. Your dad has home improvement.”

“But it was fine like it was before the last project. And the one before that, actually.”

“Well, fine is a relative term. And your dad has always wanted better than that for us.” She twisted her cup in her hands. “You see a perfectly good dining room and kitchen. He sees the potential for a great one.”

“Right now I just see furniture in the hallway and us in Amber’s bed.”

“Which,” my sister’s voice came, muffled by the pillow, “I bet is looking pretty good to you right now, huh, Miss Get-Out-of-My-Room-or-Else?”

I kicked her, albeit gently, with my foot. “You owe me.”

“Says you.” She grunted, turning over. “And for the record, I was actually sleeping before you two decided to pig-pile in here. Some of us have to work today, you know.”

Amber, as part of her cosmetology school training, spent one morning a week shampooing and sweeping up hair at a local salon. From the way she talked about it, you would have thought it was the chain gang. I kicked her again. This time, she kicked me back.

“Girls,” my mom said, in the same tired voice I’d heard her utter this word at least a million times before.

For a moment, we just sat there not talking, the only sound the sputtering of some kind of machine starting up down in the living room. Finally my mom said, “The floor issue aside, Emaline, you really haven’t been around here much lately. I miss you.”

“You see me at work every day.”

“True,” she agreed. “But it’s not the same. And with you leaving at the end of the summer . . .”

“It’s still June,” I pointed out now. “I leave in August. We’ve got weeks.”

“And you have a new boyfriend,” she replied, taking a sip of her coffee.

I looked at her. “This isn’t about Theo.”

“No, it’s about Mom being codependent,” Amber said from underneath the comforter, her voice muffled. “God, you’d think she was going to be left on a desert island alone or something. Hello, the rest of us will still be here. Only Emaline is going anyplace.”

My mom sniffed. “But she is going.”

“You did fine when Margo left,” I told her.

“I gained fifteen pounds!”

Whoops. I’d forgotten about the onset of her sudden, and serious, Twix bar habit. “It’s not fair to make me feel bad for going to school. You would have killed me if I hadn’t gone.”

“Says the Smart One and the Favorite,” Amber added.

“I have no favorites,” my mom said, another of her mantras. To me she added, “I just thought you’d be home more this summer. And then you and Luke broke up, and . . .”

“So this is about Theo,” I said.

“Yep,” Amber replied.

“Not exactly,” my mom protested. “He seems perfectly nice. And I do want you to be happy. But it’s just . . . different. And so suddenly so.”

I felt tired just hearing this. Mostly because, even though I was perfectly happy with my life and love life as it was, I seemed to be the only one. Luke had his faults, too, but at least he’d been familiar. Theo was Not From Here, didn’t drive, wore girl jeans, and was monopolizing my time, all of which were apparently punishable offenses. The thing was, he wasn’t getting penalized. Just me.

“Luke cheated on me,” I reminded my mother, again. “With a girl he met at Tallyho.”

“Plus,” Amber added, “he’s already got a new girlfriend anyway.”

I turned, looking down at her. “What?”

“You didn’t know?” she asked. I shook my head. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Who is she?”

“This friend of Brooke’s, Jacqueline Best. She was my year. You know her, red hair, really pretty. Drives that black convertible.”

None of these were ringing bells, for which I was actually kind of grateful. In some cases, and especially small towns, it’s better when it’s the devil—or girl—you don’t know.

“My yearbook’s over on that shelf,” Amber offered. “If you want, you can look her up, critique her outfit, black out her eyes.”

Which is just what she would have done—half the girls’ pictures in her class had already been defaced in this way. Amber was known for having a long, ever-changing list of enemies. “No, thanks,” I said. “I’ve moved on, too, remember?”

She shrugged. “Up to you.”

I pushed myself off the bed, taking my mug with me. Immediately, Amber took up the space I’d vacated, burying her head again. I said to my mom, “You know, I thought you’d be glad I’m not dragging around all summer, crying about my broken heart.”

“Of course I am,” she replied. “It’s just . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head. The half-finished sentences were the worst, as if she expected me to somehow fill in the blanks for her.

I forced myself to take a breath before saying, “Just what?”

I was standing in the half-open door now, with her still on the bed, her legs pulled up to her chest. I watched as she closed her eyes, then looked up at the ceiling for a long moment. Finally, she said, “You’re my baby. And I’m just really going to miss you, honey. That’s all.”

I bit my lip. “I’m going to miss you, too. But I’m not gone yet. Okay?”

She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. Oh, for God’s sake, I thought, but just like that, I was gone, too, my vision blurring. I could handle just about anything but seeing my mother cry. It struck at something deep and primal in me, flipping a switch I couldn’t reach no matter how I contorted myself. I put my mug down, then walked over to the bed and slid in beside her, looping my arms around her waist.