26 Kisses (22 page)

The screen door slams as Mel goes outside, making me jump. I hurry after.

“What the hell, Mel?” I don’t bother keeping my voice down. “Why would you tell him about the kissing thing?”

She stows her guitar in the trunk and leans against the Buick, inspecting her fingernails. “Sorry. It just slipped out.”

“Bullshit.” I put my hands on my hips.

She sighs and tips her head back. “Why is it such a big deal?”

“It’s just . . .” I don’t know what I can say without having to admit to her there’s this giant thing I haven’t told her about Seth and me. “I didn’t want him to know.”

“Look,” she says, reaching up and pulling the elastic band out of her hair with one sharp tug. “It was just . . . We were really making progress on the album, and then you came over and threw everything off.” Her eyes widen, and she claps her hands over her mouth. “Oh God. Vee, I’m so sorry. I did not mean it to come out like that.”

I shrug, clenching my fists and digging my fingernails into my palms to have something to concentrate on other than the pain of hearing my worst fears validated—Mel and Seth really don’t want me around anymore. They’ve got each other now.

“It’s fine,” I say, using every ounce of willpower I have to keep my voice from breaking. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” I walk across the street, barely able to see where I’m going, and Mel doesn’t call me back.

The first time Seth told me he loved me, I laughed at him. It was about a month after my parents broke the news about the divorce to Jeffrey and me, and I had started spending a lot of time over at Seth’s house because watching them tiptoe around each other as my dad prepared to move out was more than I could handle. Seth’s brother had been dead for a year, and his family was still riding the shock waves of grief that resonated long after the grass had grown over Luke’s grave at the Butterfield cemetery. Basically, Seth was my island . . . and I think I was his.

We were sitting on his front step, sharing a can of lukewarm root beer, and he looked down at his blue Doc Martens and said, “I love you, you know.” And I was twelve years old and stupid, and after the laugh slipped out, I clapped my hand over my mouth.

I don’t remember exactly what happened after. I’m sure he made some excuse and disappeared inside his house. But I kept going over. I couldn’t stay away from Seth. Everything about him fascinated me—his broodiness, the way he’d sit in his dark basement and play piano for hours, the way he seemed captivated by me. And he kept telling me he loved me nearly every day, whispering it into my hair, tracing the words on my back. It became part of my landscape. The grass was green, the sky was blue, and Seth loved me. But I never said it back. Watching my parents struggle their way through a divorce had taught me something about love: that it didn’t last.

We went back to school in the fall, started hanging out with Mel when she moved to town, and I kind of forgot the intensity of whatever it was Seth and I had had that summer. We never kissed, didn’t even hold hands. Middle school turned into high school, I started dating Mark, and I never told Mel about that summer, or about Seth and me.

I guess he finally got over me, though. Maybe while I was missing his piano recitals to watch Mark run a cross-country meet or hanging out at a bonfire while Seth and Mel wrote songs together in his basement, Seth decided he didn’t want to wait around for me anymore. Or maybe it happened gradually, the love leaching away a little bit at a time, until one day he woke up and realized he was over me. I should be happy for Seth—for him
and
Mel. And if I were still with Mark, I know I would be. But my head’s all over the place, bouncing between Killian and Mark and Seth, as well as the alphabet
A
through
I
. I’ve never been closer to more people in my life, and I’ve never felt so alone.

dinner tmrw @ six, k’s bday. don’t be late.

I never thought my hyperarticulate, OCD, grammar Nazi father would ever stoop low enough to send a shorthand text message, but I guess he finally got tired of spelling out every word and battling autocorrect on his phone.

i know,
I text back. Does he really think I’d be able to forget just a couple of days after seeing him at the gas station?

I already have Kaylee’s present wrapped and ready to go. I can’t wait for her to open it and laugh the way she does whenever she gets too excited to talk. Too bad celebrating Kaylee’s third birthday also means spending an evening with Dad and Lila.

I pound on the wall next to my bed. “Do you have a birthday present for Kaylee?” I shout to Jeffrey.

A pause. “No!” he yells back.

I sigh. “Okay, I guess you can share mine. But you have to at least get her a card.”

A minute later Jeffrey stomps into my room. “She’s three, Vee. She’s not going to care if I get her a birthday card.” His voice is sharp.

“Whoa, chill out,” I say. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to.”

“Do you want to be a good big brother or not?” I cross my arms and look at him.

He rolls his eyes and stares at the floor. “I bet you didn’t get me a birthday card when I was three.”

“That’s because I was only eight. You’re twelve years old and perfectly capable of buying your baby sister a card. Step it up, Jeffrey.”

He sighs and drags himself back down the hallway. “
Okay.
I’ll get her a stupid card. Just shut up and stop talking to me.”

Mom calls down the hallway, “Jeffrey, I can help you make a card if you want!”

“No, it’s fine!” he yells back, slamming his door shut. “Don’t worry about it.”

I smile, not completely blaming him for deflecting that one. Mom’s card-making skills fall somewhere below her T-shirt–painting abilities. She comes down the hallway and sticks her head into my room. “What are you doing after Kaylee’s party tomorrow night?”

“Um, Mel and I are going to a thing,” I say. At least, I think we’re still going. I haven’t heard from Mel, and I’m sure as hell not going to be the one to text her first.

“A ‘thing’?” Mom curls her fingers in air quotation marks. “Is that a work ‘thing’ or a social ‘thing’?”

“A social thing.” I open up Google and type in
George Bernard Shaw
, just to look busy. The less my mom knows about the beach party (which isn’t technically legal and has a 100 percent chance of involving underage drinking), the better.

“I’m kind of in the mood to marathon something on Netflix,” she says, leaning against the doorway. “Jeffrey, do you want to overdose on bad TV with me tomorrow after the party?”

“Sure,” he says, his voice muffled. I’m willing to bet he’s staring at his phone or DS and doesn’t even know what he has just agreed to.

Mom claps her hands in delight and grins at me. “Got him,” she says, lowering her voice. “I think I’ve finally figured out the art of getting middle-school boys to agree to things: ask them when they’re distracted and lock them in early. Then lay on the guilt if they try to back out of it later.”

I smile. “Well, don’t keep him up too late. We have the family reunion the next day.”

Mom shakes her head. “Biggest upside of getting divorced: not having to go to those things anymore.”

“Lucky you,” I say. “Can I divorce Dad?”

She snorts and shakes her head. “Someday you’ll be glad you still have a relationship with him,” she says, one hand on her hip. “It might just take a while.”

“Yeah, like, twenty or thirty years.”

“Vee, come on.” She gives me a disapproving look, and I flop over onto my stomach. I don’t know why she cares that Jeffrey and I even see Dad anymore. I sure wouldn’t if I were her.

The next night, Mom drives Jeffrey and me over to Dad’s house and comes inside with us for a moment, opening her arms wide to give Kaylee a hug. “There’s the birthday girl!” she says, tickling Kaylee and making her scream with delight. “How old are you, sweetie?”

“Three!” Kaylee squeals, hopping up and down in the most adorable way possible.

“I got her a little something,” Mom says to Lila, handing her a gift-wrapped package. “But I’ll let you all get to celebrating and see myself out.”

“Thanks so much, Pamela,” Lila says, her eyes widening with surprise. I don’t know why my mom is so nice to her. If Mark had left me for some other girl, you can bet I wouldn’t be showing up at her house with presents for the child they had together.

“Hi, guys!” As soon as the door closes behind my mom, Lila’s shoulders relax and her smile broadens. “Dinner’s almost ready. Hungry?”

“Starving,” Jeffrey says, making a beeline for the kitchen.

Kaylee tugs on my hand, and I kneel down so she can climb onto my back and ride into the dining room.

“Love you,” she says happily, pulling on my ponytail.

“Love you too, Miss Kaylee.” She wiggles off my back, and I turn around to lift her up into her high chair. The table is set for five with Lila’s fancy china, pristine white linen napkins, and gleaming silverware as meticulously placed as if we were in the middle of a magazine photo shoot. Dad, Lila, and Kaylee look like the perfect little family. I’m sure Dad wishes he didn’t have to include his two sullen teenagers in the equation.

Lila serves up homemade macaroni and cheese, broccoli, and applesauce—all of Kaylee’s favorites. I pick at my food, grumpy with myself about how good it feels to actually eat a regular meal cooked by someone else rather than scrounging for my dinner in the fridge. Jeffrey must feel the same way, because he eats three bowls of macaroni before crawling off to the living room to lie down on the couch in a food coma.

“I guess we’ll wait a bit for cake,” Lila says, the corner of her mouth twitching as Jeffrey groans loudly from the other room. Kaylee’s still absorbed in her dinner, carefully stacking macaroni noodles into a tower that threatens to topple onto the white tablecloth.

“So let’s talk about the reunion,” Dad says. “Remember we’re leaving pretty early in the morning.”

I set my fork down and stare at him. “We’ll be ready. Don’t worry.”

“I’m staying here tonight,” Jeffrey calls from the living room.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, sliding my chair away from the table and striding into the living room. “Jeffrey, what do you mean you’re staying here?”

He slides his phone into his pocket and shrugs, splayed across the couch like he owns the place. “I’m tired. I’ve got clothes and stuff. I’ll just sleep here, and we can pick you up in the morning.”

“What about Mom? I thought you said you were going to hang out with her tonight.”

Jeffrey sighs. “Why do I have to go? You’re going out with your friends. I just want to stay here and watch TV or whatever.”

I collapse onto the couch and lean in, catching a whiff of that god-awful body spray he uses. “Yeah, because I have legitimate plans. Do you know how hurt Mom is going to be if you decide to stay here with
them
rather than hanging out with her when you already told her you would? And you’d just be watching TV with her anyway—go home and do it.”

He shrugs, and the couch vibrates slightly as his phone goes off in his pocket. “It’s stupid to go home and then have Dad pick us up again in the morning. Mom won’t care.”

“God!” I stand up. “What is with you, Jeffrey? You’ve been acting like a total tool all summer.”

“Look.” He’s on his feet too, and I realize with a jolt he’s exactly as tall as I am now. “Seriously, just leave me alone, Vee. You’re such a hypocrite.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He pulls his phone out and looks at it again.

“Will you put your stupid phone away?” I lean forward and give him a little shove. “What do you mean, I’m a hypocrite?”

Jeffrey tosses the phone onto the couch and shoves me back. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know. Everyone is talking about you and your new boyfriends.”

I gasp. “What are you—”

“All right, that’s enough.” Dad looms in the doorway, arms crossed, his face turning red. He glances back toward the dining room and lowers his voice. “What the hell is going on in here?”

Jeffrey and I look at each other. “Nothing,” I say finally, staring at Jeffrey as his gaze drops down to his feet.