So Much Closer (20 page)

Here’s one for the Of Course file. While I’m in the bathroom, the doorbell rings. I have no idea who it is. Whoever it is only rings once.

I’m sure it was Scott. He was walking by and realized he doesn’t want to lose me. He’s desperate to get me back. And I missed sharing this revelation because I was in the freaking bathroom.

Eff.

Okay, think. If it was Scott, where would he be going? There’s a possibility he came over to see if I was home and then went back to his place. But if he wasn’t being spontaneous about ringing my bell, wouldn’t he have called first?

The sandwich shop is closer to my place than his. I bet he’s on his way there. Maybe I’ll just swing by to see if Scott’s there. If he’s there and he looks happy to see me, then I’ll know for sure it was him.

Skulking by the sandwich shop, I casually glance in.

Scott is at his usual table.

With Leslie.

Dad just got home, which is shocking. He never gets home before seven. I used to believe him when he said he’d be home for dinner. I believed him when he said we’d go running along the river every Sunday, or that we’d do something touristy some weekend. It didn’t take long to realize that Dad’s never home for dinner. We only went running like three times and then he totally forgot about it. We don’t spend time together at all. The few times Dad has eaten dinner with me, he was talking on the phone or watching the news. He’s never going to change his habits, no matter how many times he promises that tomorrow will be different. Because when tomorrow comes, he’ll still be the same person he was the day before. Just another guy who’s let me down.

I am extraneous. I am nonessential. I’m just someone taking up space in the guest room.

I should have never come here. Did I really think that everything would turn out the way I hoped it would? Life doesn’t work that way.

People always let you down. Even the ones you trust.

Especially
the ones you trust.

“Brooke?” Dad yells from the kitchen. “You here? I got Chinese.”

The air fills with his coming-home sounds. Keys clanking against the table. Take-out bags landing on the counter. The TV turning on. All the same sounds that he would make even if no one else was here to listen.

My father’s daughter moved in with him and he hasn’t changed his life at all.

I go out to the living room. Dad’s on the couch, already clicking away on his laptop.

“Hey there, kiddo,” he says. “Dinner’s in the kitchen.”

“Since when?”

Dad looks up from his laptop. “Since ... I brought home Chinese?”

“How could you do that to us?”

“I thought you liked Chinese.”

“How could you walk out on your family? What kind of father leaves his kid like that?”

It’s obvious that Dad wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t expecting to say these things, either, but there you go. The past doesn’t just disappear after it’s happened. The rage I’ve been trying to ignore can’t be ignored any longer.

“I wanted to stay in your life,” Dad says. “You know that.”

“You’re not even with that other woman anymore. Was it more important to be with some random woman for like two seconds than to stay with your family?”

“It might have looked that way, but I can assure you that wasn’t the case. Staying with your mother would have been the worst decision for all of us.”

“At least Mom was easier to get along with when you were there. Do you know how hard it is to talk to her now? All she ever does is tear me apart for not doing better in school. All these years of fighting with her are your fault.”

“Brooke.” Dad looks at the wall, as if what he should say next will be written there. “Your mother became impossible to live with. Would you rather I stayed so you could see us fighting all the time? That would have been worse for you.”

“There were other ways to stay in my life.”

“Which you didn’t want any part of!” Dad yells. “You never returned my calls. You didn’t visit when I invited you. Can you blame me for eventually giving up?”

“You didn’t want me!” I yell back. “You were just doing those things so you could feel better about yourself for leaving.”

“That’s not—”

“What would we have done if I called you back? Talk on the phone every few weeks? Maybe I’d visit you once a year? What kind of family is that?”

“I didn’t know you were still angry about this.”

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be? And that thing with Justine? What
was
that?”

Dad’s eyes get huge. “What thing?”

“I saw you, okay? I know you guys were ...” There’s no way I can say that I saw them kissing. It’s just too disgusting.

“I don’t know what you think you saw, but nothing happened with Justine.”

“Why are you lying? I said I
know
.” I feel all shaky and gross. I hate this.

Dad rubs his hands over his face. He knows he can’t deny it.

“Why am I even here?” I say.

“You asked if you could stay with me.”

“That’s the only reason? Because I asked?”

“Of course not. You know I invited you several times. You’re always welcome here.”

“What’s the point? You’re never home.”

Dad starts to say something else, but I’m not interested. I go to my room and collapse on my bed, exactly where I collapsed after I got back from the Scott and Leslie sandwich shop debacle.

I have a new wish for my wish box. Just once, I wish I could know what it feels like to trust someone completely and not have them disappoint you.

After the fight
with my dad, I had to get out of there. I quickly threw a change of clothes and some essentials in my bag. There was no way I’d go back tonight or before school tomorrow. Then I called Sadie. When her mom told me she wasn’t home, I decided to walk around until she got back. Dad didn’t even try to stop me when I left.

I want to run away into the night and never come back. Take a train to anywhere. Find a better life.

My rage burns. I could totally walk all the way back to New Jersey. I could walk around all night. I hardly even feel how cold it is with this fire blazing inside me. I stomp from sidewalk to sidewalk, not looking around the way I usually do. I don’t look up. Looking up is for people who still have hope.

When I’m walking at night, I’m usually all about the city lights and buzzing energy and excitement over everything around me, the repeated realization that I’m part of it all. But tonight, staring down at the sidewalks, I’m noticing how dirty they are. And how everyone’s garbage bags are piled up on the curbs instead of in garbage cans. A huge rat is rummaging through one of the garbage piles like he owns the place. It’s not like I didn’t know that scuzzy parts of the city existed. I’ve just never really noticed them before.

I pass a homeless guy digging through a garbage can on the corner. Suddenly, being here isn’t so exciting anymore. This place is depressing. People sleep on the streets because they have nowhere to go. It’s like we’re living in some inhumane world where no one cares about anyone else. People break into apartments or mug people right on the street. Girls get raped, or even killed. Anything could happen to me out here.

The homeless guy is watching me. We’re the only ones around. This is one of the gorgeous, quiet streets I love. But tonight things are different. There’s nothing to love about being eyeballed by some sketchy dude rooting through the trash.

It’s time to go.

I call Sadie on her cell, but it goes straight to voice mail. Her mom said she’s at a random-acts-of-kindness event and might not get home until late. I can’t wait that long. So I make a snap decision about where to go. It might be the worst decision I’ve ever made, but I know it’s somewhere safe.

The High Line looks spectacular at night. The trees are all illuminated. Everything always seems so peaceful here, like no matter how horrible life gets you can always count on this.

John’s mom answers the door. I met her one time when we were out here for tutoring. A crazy downpour suddenly started and we made a run for John’s place. It was so comforting inside. John’s sister Hailey immediately asked me a million questions even though we’d just met. We all ate warm chocolate chip cookies and watched the rain.

“Hi, Mrs. Dalton,” I say. “Is John here?”

“He should be back in a minute. I sent him to the store for milk.” Mrs. Dalton steps aside. “Come in, come in, get out of the cold.”

“Thanks.” I’m relieved to be in their warm living room. That comforting sensation from the last time I was here is right here again.

Hailey comes out of her room to see who it is.

“Hey, Brooke!” she squeals. “I haven’t seen you in forever. What did you get for Christmas? I got this awesome bracelet I wanted and two Cranium games—Wow and Hullabaloo—and this art set that real artists use. Look at our tree! Want to see the ornaments I made?”

“Okay, why don’t we let Brooke take her coat off?” Mrs. Dalton says. “Would you like a hot chocolate?”

“That would be perfect,” I tell her.

“Hailey, please put out another mug for Brooke.”

Hailey runs off to the kitchen.

“Sorry she’s a bit hyper. Hailey’s dad sent her a huge tin of maple sugar. I was rationing it out, but she found my hiding place earlier.”

“That’s okay. I get hyper, too, sometimes.”

Mrs. Dalton laughs. “I’ll hang up your coat—want to put your scarf with it?”

“Thanks.”

“As soon as John gets back with the milk, I’ll put the hot chocolate on. Hailey should be okay about not having any. I’ve already explained to her that she’s reached her sugar limit for the week.” Mrs. Dalton takes my coat. Then she says, “I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for John. It’s really made a difference. He seems to be understanding things in a new way that’s working for him.”

“That’s awesome. I’m glad I can help.”

“You definitely are. Whatever you’re doing, please keep up the good work.”

Mrs. Dalton is one of those super informed moms. John told me all about her. She’s a child psychologist who has all these connections within the school system. In a way, John’s lucky. Because his mom has money and knows the right people, he gets the services he needs. Like how he has a private tutor on top of the help he gets at school. If Mrs. Dalton wasn’t so dedicated to John’s success, he probably wouldn’t be so amazing.

Hailey races back out to the living room. Actually, I think it’s called a great room. It’s just one big space with enormous windows along the wall, looking out over the High Line.

“Come see my ornaments!” Hailey yells, pulling on my arm.

The first ornament that catches my eye is a delicate, clear dove with white feathers and glitter.

“I love this one,” I say.

“I didn’t make that one. I made this one.” Hailey shows me a star. “And this one.” An angel. “And ... wait, where did it go? Oh, here it is—this one.”

“They’re pretty.”

“So are you. Did you know that John likes you?”

“What?”

“I’m back!” John yells, closing the door behind him. His coat is half off and he’s unwrapping his scarf when he sees us by the tree.

“Sorry I didn’t call or anything,” I say. “I really needed to come over.”

John unwraps the rest of his scarf. He takes his coat off. He’s wearing a thermal with a T-shirt over it. His shirt has the outline of a water tower and says LOOK UP.

“Is it okay that I’m here?” I ask.

“Yeah. Just let me give this to my mom.”

We watch John take the deli bag to the kitchen. Then I whisper to Hailey, “He likes me?”

“He
totally
likes you,” she whispers fiercely. “You’re like all he talks about.”

“Since when?”

“Since you met.”

“Why didn’t—”

“So what’s up?” John says.

It takes me a second to get my thoughts together. Is Hailey right? Does John like me? I never saw our relationship that way at all. I was just happy that I could actually be friends with a boy who didn’t have some ulterior motive. It was easy to tell if boys liked me back home. Some of them ran game, but they were always transparent.

“Can I talk to you?” I say.

“Let’s go to my room.”

Hailey is struck by a fit of snorting laughter.

“Don’t snort out a tonsil or anything,” John advises.

“Ew! Why do you have to be so gross?”

“I’m a boy. We’re all gross.”

Last time I was here, I didn’t really see John’s room. He has one of those rooms where you know exactly who it belongs to. Flyers from trivia nights at The Situation Room are taped over his dresser, where two Rubik’s Cubes are sitting. His closet door is flung open. Clothes are scattered everywhere. I recognize a bunch of his hoodies, some hanging up, some on the floor. There’s a black poster of a burnt, red stapler with smoke coming out of it. Along the bottom in yellow it says, I BELIEVE YOU HAVE MY STAPLER.