Twenty-One

twenty-one

What commences after that I can only describe as a stakeout. We plant ourselves by the parking lot and wait. By four o’clock that afternoon, we’re all doing rounds: me after breakfast, Savvy before lunch, Mickey right after, and Finn hopping in and out whenever he pleases, like we’re a livestream of some puppies and he’s coming back to see if they’re awake yet.

“Okay, how about this. If things start to go to shit, I’ll leap out before they can leave and be like, ‘It’s ME, your secret son!’ And once we either cut the tension or unintentionally reveal another deep dark family secret, everyone will have a good—”

“Finn, Finn, clam up,” I say, my voice rocketing up by about an octave. “Go get Savvy.”

Finn whines, spotting the minivan coming down the hill. “But it’s finally about to get—”

“Go.”

The road is lengthy and winding, so the minivan disappears in and out as it weaves. But we’ve only got about a minute before they hit the parking lot. Savvy and I discussed what we were going to say, but the closer they get, the more my mind goes blank.

Footsteps are crunching the gravel behind me, but when I whip around it’s not Savvy, but Leo. It is a true testament to my current state of panic that I barely feel the wrench in my stomach reminding me my talk with Leo is still very much overdue.

“Hey,” he says, glancing where I was just staring.

Shit. He doesn’t know what’s happening. In the chaos of this morning I not only forgot about all the drama with Leo, I forgot about—well—Leo.

“Hi,” I manage. “Um—so I’m—”

“Do you want to—could we talk over dinner tonight? I mean after like, regular dining hall dinner?”

“Oh.” Savvy is jogging up from behind Leo, back to her usual put-together self, the sleek ponytail back in place and a strategic layer of foundation hiding her stuffed-up nose. “Uh…”

“I’ll make lasagna balls.”

I nod, only half aware of what I’m agreeing to. “Sure—yes, yeah, okay,” I say as Savvy reaches us.

“Cool,” says Leo. I finally look at his face, at the anxious, tense line that might be an attempt at a smile. I attempt my own, and we make for a gruesome pair, no doubt both bracing ourselves to say things that the other won’t want to hear. “See you later.”

“See you.”

He turns away as I hear the crunch of wheels on gravel and the distinctive lug of the old minivan pulling in. Savvy and I squint at my parents through the windshield, and I immediately regret it. My dad’s mouth is stunned open and my mom’s eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen them, darting between me and Savvy like she’s waiting for us to merge back into one kid instead of two.

I don’t know what else to do except wave, which is what my stupid arm does, like this is a social call instead of them coming to drag me across the Puget Sound by my ear. There’s a beat after they park the car, and my mom says something to my dad, and my dad nods. He gets out of the car alone.

“Shit,” I mutter. I’ve never seen my mom hide from anything before.

Savvy unconsciously comes a little closer to me, or maybe I drift closer to her. Either way, we’re shoulder to shoulder when my dad approaches, very determinedly not looking at or acknowledging Savvy, staring at me with bloodshot, tired eyes.

“Jig’s up,” he says, like we can keep this whole thing lighthearted.

“Uh—yeah. You could say that,” I try weakly.

“We got a call from the school. Wondering why you hadn’t signed up for a summer session yet,” says my dad, continuing not to look at Savvy with such commitment that she might as well be a well-groomed, Instagrammable ghost. “Your mom and I are coming to take you home.”

“Look, I know I lied, but—well, first off, I’m learning a lot here. Latin roots and circumferences and all kinds of SAT gems. But also—”

“Sorry, Abby,” says my dad, taking a step back. “You can take some time to pack up and say goodbye to your friends, but—”

“I’m not saying goodbye to Savvy.”

His mouth shuts, and there is this flash of something in his eyes I’ve never seen before—like I’ve betrayed him. Pushed him into a corner, one he has avoided since long before I was there to push him into it. But it’s coupled with something else that twists the knife, making me doubt myself: surprise. He can’t believe I’m doing this to him.

For a moment, I can’t, either.

My dad finally looks at Savvy with practiced indifference, like he only meant to glance, but then his eyes snag on her and the recognition in them is unmistakable. The kind that has nothing to do with a face, and everything to do with your heart.

“I’m—I’m sure you and your friend can—”

“She’s not just my friend,” I blurt. I turn to Savvy, but she looks like she’s forgotten how to speak, the guilt wrenching my stomach every bit as visible on her face. “You know she’s my … you know.”

“I don’t…”

I pull out my keychain, the magpie charm catching the light. Wordlessly, Savvy pulls the chain off her neck, holding it next to mine with slow, hesitant hands.

The car door slams. There are tears streaming down my mom’s face, so thick that I can’t tell what kind of tears they are.

“Girls,” she says, addressing both of us. “This isn’t the best time to … I want to explain. I do. But Abby, can you just—get in the car, and—”

“Savvy!”

We turn, my mom crying, my dad looking like he hasn’t breathed in a full minute, our magpie charms limp in our hands, to find that the Prius has—in true Prius form—snuck up on us, and Savvy’s parents are out of their car.

Not only that, Savvy’s mom is pissed.

In her floral wraparound dress and wedge sandals, she does not look like a woman who is about to power walk over to us so fast that I nearly crack my neck following her progress, but in an instant she’s grabbing Savvy’s arm and glaring daggers at my mom.

“How dare you,” she says to my mom, squeezing Savvy’s arm so intensely that the skin is going red. “You are well aware of the rules.”

“I wasn’t—”

“We will settle this the same way we did last time. Don’t think we won’t,” she says, pulling Savvy back, as if someone is going to snatch her.

“Pietra,” says Savvy’s dad, who has only just caught up to Savvy’s mom. “Let’s hold on a—”

“We’re leaving. Now.”

I keep waiting for my parents to defend themselves. My mom takes a few steps back, but otherwise is frozen, staring at Pietra like an animal realizing it’s about to get decked by a truck.

“Mom, you can’t just put me in the car,” says Savvy, finally finding her voice. “I work here.”

“Like hell I can’t,” says Savvy’s mom, a far cry from the beaming, prim woman from the Tully family Christmas card.

My dad cuts in before Savvy’s mom just short of firefighter lifts her over her shoulders. “I think we all need to talk to our daughters,” he says, without looking at Savvy’s parents. “Abby, do you need to grab anything, or can you come with us now?”

“I … I have to…”

“I’ll let Victoria know where you are,” says Savvy. Then, before her mom can protest, “And where I’m going. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll come with you, okay?”

Savvy’s mom nods, not quite calm but definitely embarrassed. She turns to my dad and says, “Yes. I think that’s best. But to be clear, I never want to see either of you near my daughter, ever again.”

I’m expecting someone, anyone, to protest. But even though my mom’s face is still a wreck, her voice is clear: “Understood.”