What Happened to Goodbye(43)
Author: Sarah Dessen

“Well, in that case,” Dave said, “my goal is to graduate without any further misdemeanors.”

“Aim high,” I said.

“You know it.”

He smiled, and I smiled back, feeling my mother watching me. I must have seemed like such a stranger to her, I realized, when she saw me like this. In a town she didn’t know, with people she’d never met, and both of us wading through this limbo world between what we’d been and what we might be. Like seeing her from a distance earlier, this thought made me unexpectedly sad. But when I turned to her, she’d already looked away and was saying something to one of the sitters.

“That was a tough game,” I told Peter instead. “You guys played hard.”

“Not hard enough,” he said. Then, lowering his voice, he added, “Thanks for coming. It’s really made her happy.”

“What’s that?” my mom said, turning back to us.

“I was just telling Mclean about how happy we are to have the beach house finally done,” he replied smoothly. “And that she needs to come visit sometime. Colby is great this time of year.”

“I don’t know Colby that well,” I said. “We always went to North Reddemane.”

“Oh, there’s nothing decent in North Reddemane anymore,” Peter told me. “Just a few businesses on their last legs and a bunch of teardowns.”

I thought of the Poseidon, with its mildew scent and faded bedspreads, and looked at my mom, wondering if she even remembered it. But she was just smiling at him, oblivious. “It used to be nice,” I said.

“Things change,” Peter said, opening his menu with his free hand. He leaned in closer, peering down at it. “Good God,” he said. “I can’t even see this. Why aren’t there any lights on in here?”

None of us replied, instead just studying our own menus in the tiny bit of brightness thrown by the candle in the center of the table. If someone had been walking by and glanced in, I wondered what they’d think of us. How they might consider this group of people, possibly related but probably not, fumbling together through the darkness.

“Wow,” Dave said. “That was loud.”

I turned to look at him as the taillights of Peter’s SUV moved away from us. “What was?”

“That sigh you just let out,” he said. “Seriously. It was almost deafening.”

“Oh,” I said. The lights were going over the slight bump now, disappearing down to the main road. The turn signal was already on. In a few minutes, they’d be on the highway. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “I just noticed. You all right?”

I’d been overthinking my actions and carefully crafting my responses for hours now. Honestly, I had no more energy for it. So instead of answering, I just sat down right where we were, on the curb between our two houses, and pulled my knees to my chest. Dave plopped down beside me, and we just sat there for a minute, listening to the music thumping behind my neighbors’ closed front door.

“I don’t get along with my mom,” I told him after a moment. “At all. I think . . . I think I even hate her sometimes.”

He considered this. Then he said, “Well, that explains the tension.”

“You felt that?”

“Hard to miss,” he replied. He reached down, picking at his shoe, then looked up at me. “Whatever it’s about, she’s trying really hard. Like, really hard.”

“Too hard.”

“Maybe.”

“Too hard,” I said again, and this time, he was silent. I took a breath, cold, then added, “She cheated on my dad. With Peter. Left him, got pregnant, got married. It was a mess.”

A car drove by, slowed, then kept going. Dave said, “That’s pretty harsh.”

“Yeah.” I pulled my knees tighter against me. “But, see, that’s the thing. You can acknowledge that, that easily. But she can’t. She never has.”

“Surprising,” he replied. “It’s kind of obvious.”

“Don’t you think?” I turned, facing him. “I mean, if you can understand that what she did was wrong, why can’t she?”

“But,” he replied, “those aren’t the same, though.”

I just looked at him as another car passed. “What?”

“First you said she wouldn’t acknowledge what she’d done,” he replied. “Right? Then you asked why she didn’t understand it. Those are two different things entirely.”

“They are?”

“Yeah. I mean, acknowledging is easy. Something happened or it didn’t. But understanding . . . that’s where things get sticky.”

“That’s us,” I said. “Seriously sticky. For years now.”

“I can relate,” he said.

We sat there for a moment. He was picking at the grass, the blades squeaking between his fingers, while I just stared straight ahead. Finally, I said, “So your parents really freaked when you got arrested, huh?”

“ ‘ Freaked’ is putting it mildly,” he said. “It was basically a family DEFCON 5. Total breakdown.”

“Seems kind of extreme.”

“They thought I was out of control,” he said.

“Wasn’t it just one beer, at one party?”

“It was,” he agreed. “But I’d never done anything like that before. Not even close. I hadn’t even been to a high school party until a few weeks earlier.”

“Big changes,” I said.

“Exactly.” He sat back, leaning on his palms. “In their minds, it’s all the fault of Frazier Bakery. When I started working there, my downward spiral began.”

I studied him for a second. “You aren’t exactly a criminal.”

“Maybe not. But you have to understand my parents,” he said. “To them, an after-school job is something you only take if it enhances your educational future. You don’t waste your time making Blueberry Banana Brain Freezes for minimum wage when you can be reading up on applied physics. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Blueberry Banana Brain Freezes?”

“It’s a breakfast smoothie,” he explained. “You should try one, they’re seriously good. Just drink it slow. It’s called that for a reason.”

I smiled. “So why did you take the job?”

“It just looked like fun,” he said. “I mean, I’ been assisting at my mom’s lab since I was ten, doing research, writing up experiment notes. It was interesting, but it’s not like I had much in common with the professors there. One day I was at FrayBake, getting my usual, and they had a help wanted sign up. I applied and they hired me. Simple as that.”