The Moon and More(80)
Author: Sarah Dessen

“Hello?” I called out.

He turned, squinting to make me out through the screen. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me,” I replied. Then, to clarify: “Emaline.”

“Oh.” I saw him check his watch. “Come in.”

I did, noting the loud creak of the screen door as I eased it open. I would have to tell Margo to grease that before she showed the house, although I was sure she’d already made a note of it, somewhere. “You’re up early,” I said.

“As are you,” he replied, as I came into the living room. He glanced around. “I’d offer you a seat, but . . .”

“It’s fine,” I said, sitting down on the bare floor. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were only keeping the minimum, were you?”

“I hadn’t expected to go quite this sparse,” he replied, looking around again. “Your sister, however, made a strong argument for having a ‘blank slate’ so possible buyers could ‘create their own vision.’”

I smiled. “That sounds like Margo. Not only a realtor, but a force of nature.”

“Not unlike another woman from the same family I know,” he said, taking a sip from his mug.

“Mom can be hard to deal with,” I agreed, pulling my legs up to my chest. “I can attest to that personally. Especially today.”

“Mom?” He looked confused. “I was talking about you, actually.”

“Me?” I said. He nodded. “Oh. Sorry. I—”

“Emily as a force of nature,” he said slowly, as if trying out not only the words but the very concept. “Can’t say that’s the first thing that comes to mind when I think of her.”

I had a feeling I knew what that first thing was. Sitting here in front of him, eighteen years later. I didn’t say this, though. I’d start really talking when I was ready.

“Of course, she was young when I knew her. We both were. Just about your age, I guess. Wow.” He sighed, was quiet for a moment. Then, suddenly, he smiled apologetically, as if just remembering I was there. “I’m sorry. You caught me in an entirely too introspective moment. All too common lately, I’m afraid.”

“It’s okay,” I told him. “Seems to be going around.”

He picked up his cup again. “Honestly, I thought I’d be thrilled to get an early offer on this place. But now that it might really happen, the thought of leaving it behind, for good . . . it’s more bittersweet than I expected.”

“You got an offer already?”

He looked at me, nodding. “Just yesterday. It’s only been on the market three weeks. So much for the bust, huh?”

“Are you going to take it?”

“We very well might.” He sat back, taking another sip. “It would really be ideal. We could get the paperwork going, then head back to the city. Benji would have time to get adjusted to me moving out before school starts . . .”

“He thinks he’s here for a while longer, though,” I said.

“I know. And he’ll be disappointed. But we have to leave eventually. A few weeks one way or the other won’t make that much of a difference.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. There may have only been a certain number of days before I left myself for school—not that I had counted them out to the one—but if they were suddenly taken, I knew I’d feel cheated. And maybe a little scared. “I’m really . . .” I said. I swallowed. “I’ll miss him.”

He looked at me. “I know. And he’ll miss you. You’ve been the one bright spot in what was otherwise a pretty hard summer for him. I appreciate all you’ve done.”

“Of course,” I said. “He’s my brother.”

At this, he smiled. Then, we just sat there for a moment, in silence. If they were really leaving, it was all the more reason to handle this one last piece of our unfinished business. Maybe this, right here, was fate giving me that in. Now I just had to be accountable for what I did with it.

“I’m really glad you guys came down here this summer,” I began. “Even if the reason wasn’t, you know, so ideal.”

He smiled wryly, taking a sip of his coffee. “That’s a kind understatement.”

I took a deep breath. Here goes, I thought. “Truthfully, until that day you called, I was thinking I might never hear from you again.”

Again, it was instant, how he reacted to this last sentence: his entire body tensed, from his face to his shoulders, directly into fight-or-flight mode. “I told you, we don’t need to talk about all that,” he said, his voice stiff. “It’s in the past.”

“Maybe,” I replied. “But it was still really . . . hurtful to me. And confusing. I didn’t understand why—”

“Because I was getting a divorce,” he finished for me, his voice sharp. “Because I thought I would have the money, and then I didn’t. That’s why.”

It took me a minute, but finally I spoke. “Money? You think that’s what this is about?”

“I think,” he said, “that it’s bad enough that you’re having to go to a state school after all the work we did to get you into Columbia. The only thing worse is that you continue to feel the need to berate me about it.”

“Berate you?” I said. “You won’t even talk about it.”

He threw up his hands. “What are we doing right now, then?”

“This,” I said, circling my own hands in the air between us, “is only because I came here and forced the conversation. If it was up to you, I’d just suck it up, all that hurt and confusion, all because you don’t like feeling uncomfortable.”

“What I don’t like,” he shot back, “is rehashing my failures. I tried to help you, I failed. There. Is that what you want? Happy now?”

For a moment, I was speechless. Finally I managed, “I got a full ride at a good school. That’s not failing.”

“It’s not Columbia.” He sighed, rubbing his face.

“Wait, so that’s just it?” I asked. He looked at me, his expression weary. “Just because things aren’t exactly what you wanted, they’re nothing?”

“I was disappointed,” he said.

“Disappointment,” I reminded him, “is part of life. Just like change. You told me Benji should already understand that. Why can’t you?”