I looked up. He was watching Ryan with a hard expression.

“What?”

“You’ll be okay to fend for yourself? At least for a few days?”

I laughed then.

I knew everything I needed to know.

No Robbie tomorrow.

No Mom tomorrow.

No Dad until who knew when.

I didn’t answer my dad. I turned, my hands brushing against Ryan’s as I did. It was as if I were watching us from outside my body. It was the three of us again.

I left.

Ryan went behind me.

And Willow brought up the rear.

COUNSELING SESSION FOUR

“You told me a bit about Willow last time. How about you today?”

Naomi’s smile was nice and bright, and I wanted to scratch it off her face. She folded her arms over her lap and gestured toward me, her smile trying to make me feel like we were friends.

“Your mother called. She said you’re seeing a boy. What’s his name?”

A heavy silence. I was becoming so used to them; they were my real friends in this room. I smiled and leaned forward. “We fucked.”

That nice smile-that-was-not-really-my-friend vanished. “What?”

Mallory Lockhart was thirty-seven. Her relationship was complicated, and she was an ads manager at West Coarse Technology. She had brown hair, a heart-shaped face, hazel eyes set a little too close together behind wire-rimmed glasses, perfectly trimmed and arched eyebrows, and a petite and compact body.

Her bachelor’s degree was from West Scottridge University.

She’d shared five puppy memes over the last day, three sarcastic quote memes over the last week, and she had more than two thousand social media friends.

She’d recently gotten a golden retriever named Bugsy, and she was “excited to have her new pup for a new chapter in her life.”

I leaned forward to see the timestamp on that last post. It was four days ago, posted at 7:03 in the evening. I scrolled through the comments.

“Love you!! So proud of you.”

“Big hugs, babe xoxo”

“Can’t wait to meet Bugsy!”

“Adorable! Yay!” (insert a gif of a puppy tearing up a pillow and then falling backward off of a couch.)

Heart emoticon heart emoticon heart emoticon heart emoticon

“Wonderful to hear. So happy for you.”

I stopped reading them. Apparently, all her friends were ecstatic for her. I wanted to piss on each one of them.

Fuck them. Fuck her. Fuck my dad. Fuck them all.

That “new chapter” wasn’t just about a dog. I bet they didn’t know that. Maybe I should educate each one.

“Are you still cyberstalking her?” Cora asked as she dropped into the seat next to me in our school library.

Still. I almost laughed at that, but rage had been a firm friend since last night.

I hadn’t slept after Ryan and I went back to my room. He had, but I couldn’t. I went right to the computer and got all the information on my dad’s mistress. I knew her mailing address and her birthday. I had figured out her family members. I knew where she had gone to high school and college. And Google had helped me guess at her annual income.

But none of that told me why.

Why my dad? Did she pursue him? Did he seek her out? How did they meet in the first place? A joint project? Did she work with him on projects? Had they started flirting at the water fountain? Coffee hut, maybe?

I hated her.

I didn’t know her, but I hated her.

I looked over at Cora. I’d given Ryan the task of questioning his parents about Mallory Homewrecker Lockhart, but I needed someone as crazy as I was with the stalking skills.

“I want to drive to her house and slice her tires,” I told her. “No, no, I want to drive to her house, ring the doorbell, and make her as uncomfortable as she’s made my family hell.” Which would be a lot.

I didn’t need Willow to call me out. I was projecting everything onto this mistress, and I knew it.

I didn’t care.

My dad was grieving. He was supposed to go to my mom for that.

Pot meet kettle.

Okay. I heard Willow there. Our family sucked all around at comforting each other, except that my mom had actually decided to be a mother. She went above and beyond. I got a text saying the visit to Robbie had been postponed and she knew I’d talked to my father. She promised to speak to me later because she knew I would have questions. And if all that wasn’t enough, she’d called Ryan’s mom.

I was supposed to stay at the Jensens’ for the rest of the week and weekend, but not in Ryan’s bed. I was to go home after school, pack a bag, and Ryan would drive me to his house.

I rolled my eyes when I read that last text. Such a silly (or delusional) mother, acting like I was in third grade and she’d arranged a weeklong sleepover. I’d go over to Ryan’s, but probably not in time for after-school snacks. I’d go when I wanted to go. Sometimes she forgot I’d actually turned eighteen.