I said shut up.

This is tough love. I get that you’re falling apart because of me, but don’t mess up the one thing you’ve gotten right. Give him some space.

She was right, but I didn’t want to be lectured anymore. Surging to my feet, I changed back into my clothes and grabbed my bag. I had no clue where Kirk’s house was, but I figured I was safe. Everyone was talking or laughing when I slipped out of the pool shed. Some were in the pool, but I didn’t see Ryan anywhere. Guessing he was inside, I moved around the backyard and left through the same gate everyone else had come in through.

I’m not running away, I told myself firmly. But I was lying.

I was totally running away.

Not wanting to be a clinger, as Willow claimed I was becoming, I sent Ryan a text.

Me: I’m heading home. I forgot I was supposed to go see Robbie with my folks. I’ll give you a call when I get back.

My phone vibrated almost right away.

Ryan: Are you sure? How are you getting home?

I was walking, but I pulled up the car service app. After ordering one to pick me up, I relayed that to Ryan.

It took a moment before my phone buzzed back.

Ryan: Okay. Call me later then.

I thumbed back, right as the car pulled up next to me.

Me: Totally. Have fun!

Then I climbed in, and the car took me away.

I expected the house to be empty when I got home.

It wasn’t.

I walked inside, dropped my bag onto the counter, and looked up to see my mom at the kitchen table, her laptop in front of her. A coffee mug sat to her right and there was a bowl of fruit to her left. She wore her headphones, and she bit her lip before she looked up.

Seeing me, her eyes widened, and we stared at each other.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

She took off her headphones. “What are you doing here?”

I frowned. “It’s after school.”

“Yeah, but you never come home anymore.”

I pointed to her computer. “You’re working?”

She turned to look down at her laptop as if she’d forgotten it was there. “Oh. Oh yes. I decided to take a day at home.” She stood, her chair sliding back, and she paused there. It was as if she wasn’t sure why she’d stood. “Do you want something to eat? An after-school snack?”

I didn’t want to, but I felt myself grinning. It was like I was in third grade again. “What? You’re going to cut up apples for me?”

“No. I would . . .” She stopped and continued to frown at me.

I heard her in the mornings, moving around, getting ready for work. My parents used to check in every night, and I stayed in my room until that was done, but they’d stopped last week. I stared at my mother, trying to remember the last time I’d seen her, the last time I had really talked to her.

I couldn’t remember.

But I did see how she flinched when she met my eyes, how she looked back down, how her hands gripped the table, and how she swayed in place as if she were about to collapse.

A silent storm built inside me. I felt a scream in the back of my throat, and as I stared at her—not moving, not looking away—I could feel that scream ripping at my insides.

I was wailing. I was crying. I was pleading for her to look at me again—because what mother doesn’t want to see her child’s face? But no sound came out.

I stood there for another minute. She didn’t look up. It was a reverse staring contest. I was demanding her attention in a passive and peaceful way, and she wasn’t budging.

“I’m still your fucking child.”

Her head snapped back. She was already pale, but her lips seemed to turn blue, and she swallowed.

“I know.” It came out as a whisper.

I moved forward a step and then stopped. She wasn’t saying anything else.

She should’ve been saying something else.

I waited, my heart pounding, and I heard her sniffle.

Her hand brushed over her cheek, and I saw her tears. She was crying so soundlessly, I wouldn’t have known it if she hadn’t moved.

She looked away before she began to speak. “I lost a child, and I have continued to fuck up being the right parent ever since. I work too hard every day to keep my mind straight. I don’t sleep at night because I know you aren’t in bed, but I’m so scared to make demands of you. I know you can make demands on me in return. Your father and I barely talk, except when we go see Robbie, and we haven’t once told you about those visits.” She heaved a deep and shuddering breath. “You don’t sleep at home, but then some nights you are here, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to feel about anything anymore.”