The Moon and More(79)
Author: Sarah Dessen

I had been expecting something harsh. But this went deeper than just anger or lashing out, and just like that, I felt small again.

“How can you say that?” I asked her. “Nothing’s even changed yet.”

“Are you kidding?” She held up a finger, counting off. “You broke up with Luke. You’re out all hours. You don’t return my calls or texts. You’re going places you know much better than to be at any hour, much less late at night . . .”

“I’m eighteen,” I said. “In a few weeks I’m leaving for college.”

“But not yet,” she shot back, now pointing the same finger at me. “And while you’re here, you must follow our rules. I don’t care if you have a new boyfriend, we’re the same parents. And this is going to stop, right now.”

“This isn’t Theo’s fault,” I told her. “Just because you don’t like him—”

“I don’t know him!” she said. “You’ve never brought him home to meet us. We have no idea where he’s from—”

“Unlike Luke, who you knew preconception,” I finished for her.

“Stop it,” she said, shaking her head.

“Seriously. If I’m only allowed to date people whose parents you went to high school with, I need to know that. It narrows the pool a bit.”

“That is not what I’m saying.”

“I hope not, because it was you, if I remember correctly, who was so adamant that I not end up tied down so young with someone from here. I mean, make up your mind. Do you want me to be like you, or not?”

I regretted these words the minute I said them. It was like I’d launched a missile, only to look down at the red button, scrambling for a way to unpress it. Her hurt expression, instant, was worse than anything she could have said. But she spoke anyway.

“What I did,” she said, her voice strangely calm, even, “was give up everything for the wrong person. It was a mistake. I can’t undo it. The closest I get, every day, is making sure you don’t do the same thing.”

“Mom,” I said.

“But you’re right. You’re a big girl now. I can’t protect you anymore from everything. Especially yourself.” She looked away, then back at me, taking a step forward. “But know this, Emaline. The mistakes you make now count. Not for everything, and not forever. But they do matter, and they shape you. If you take nothing else from what I’ve been through, at least remember this: make your choices well. Because you’ll always be accountable for them. That’s what being an adult is all about.”

And with that, she grabbed the bag off the car hood, turned, and walked away. I stood there, in my pajamas, watching her as she got in her car and drove off, not looking at me once. When she was gone, I glanced at my watch. Sure enough, now I was late for work. I went over to the front door, slightly ajar, and stuck my head in, looking for my dad.

“Hello?” I called out.

No answer.

“Is it safe for me to run in superfast and get dressed?”

Nothing.

“Dad?”

I stepped in, listening. I could hear him moving around upstairs and waited another beat for a response. When none came, I took a last deep breath of fresh air, then ventured in, hoping for the best. Clearly, now, I was on my own.

*   *   *

Fifteen minutes later, feeling light-headed but now appropriately attired, I headed to work. When I approached the lot, however, the first thing I saw was my mom’s car, flanked by both Amber’s and Margo’s. Which meant they were already gathered at the conference table, eating biscuits and discussing me. No thanks. I kept driving.

And driving. Since it was early, the road to North Reddemane was clear, with most of the traffic going in the other direction. I wasn’t even sure where I was going until I saw Gert’s rising up in the distance. I put on my blinker and turned in.

Mr. Gertmann wasn’t behind the counter, although he was clearly not far. The TV was on, a newspaper open by the register, one of those packaged sticky honey buns, half-eaten, beside it. I went to the cooler and got a soda, grabbed some crackers more from habit than anything else, then walked over to the back door and looked out at the house just behind the store. Like always, Rachel was at the table by the window, head bent, working on her bracelets. It was like she hadn’t moved, or changed, since the night all those weeks ago I’d come here with Theo and found the milk crates. That made one of us.

I’d only been a kid when her accident had happened, but it was still an event that loomed large in my memory. I clearly recalled the bake sales and car washes that were held to raise money for her hospital expenses, as well as seeing her parents push her in a wheelchair into Da Vinci’s for pizza. Even after the hospital and rehab, Rachel had looked the same, for the most part, a pretty, normal girl. At least on the outside. Within her mind, though, she’d remained sixteen, even as her body, friends, and family grew older. How weird that must be, to stay the same as everyone else changes. Even if you weren’t able to understand, you had to notice.

For some reason, right then, I thought of my mom, seeing again her hurt face looking at me, once that missile was launched. She, too, had hit the pause button on her life, albeit in a different way, when she got pregnant with me. Left behind while everyone else grew up, moved away, moved on. Talk about accountability.

I sucked in a breath, putting my hand to my chest. I knew the sound could not have carried far, but across the backyard, Rachel suddenly looked up, seeing me. A half-finished Gert bracelet hung from one hand, a bead poised in the fingers of the other. After a moment, she looked away.

I turned, walking quickly to the front of the store. The TV was showing a clip of a guy holding up a huge marlin: RECORD BREAKER! the text below read. I pulled out a couple of bills, put them on the counter, and left.

Make your choices well, my mom had said. It was what she thought she hadn’t done, what she hoped above everything I’d do differently. On the flip side, though, there was Clyde, telling me that there were second chances, even—and especially—when you’ve given up all hope of them. But maybe, when a life and summer was going so fast, you couldn’t wait for fate to punch the time card. You had to do it yourself.

My father’s house was only a few blocks from Gert’s. When I turned in the driveway, the paper was still there, but the front door was open. Someone was already up.

Up on the porch, I peered through the screen, expecting to find Benji at the table with his laptop and other distractions. Instead, I saw only my father, a coffee mug in hand. He had his back to me and was sitting alone in the only chair remaining in the otherwise empty living room.