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“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Stop saying that. Don’t just be sorry,” she said. “Sorry doesn’t change the future. Next time, think about me. And Jess, too. We need you, B. And just remember that we’re here for you, and we care about you… for some ungodly reason.”

I cracked a little smile. “I’ll remember.”

“Just don’t abandon me again, okay?” The words came out in a weak murmur. “Even with Jess, I was really lonely without you… and I didn’t have anyone cool to drive me around. Do you know how much it sucks to have Vikki as your chauffer? She almost hit some poor old dude on a bike the other day. Did I tell you that story?”

We drove around Hamilton for a while, just wasting gas and catching up on what we’d missed. Casey had a crush on a basketball player. I was acing English. Nothing too personal. Casey knew my secret now-or part of it-and she wasn’t mad at me anymore… well, not that mad at me. She assured me I had a lot of groveling to do before we were totally good again.

We drove around until her mom called at ten, demanding to know where her truck was, and Casey had to take me home.

“Are you going to tell Jessica about this?” she asked quietly as she turned onto my street. “About Wesley?”

“I don’t know.” I took a deep breath, deciding that keeping secrets wasn’t the best idea. It had only fucked things up so far. “Look, you can tell her. Tell her everything if you want. But I don’t want to talk about it. I just kind of want to forget about this if I can.”

“I understand,” Casey said. “I think she should know. I mean, she is our best friend… but I’ll tell her you’re moving on. Because that’s what you’re doing, right?”

“Right,” I murmured.

I couldn’t help feeling anxious when she pulled into my driveway. I stared at the oak front door, at the shuttered windows that looked in on my living room, and at our simple, clean, picket-fenced yard. I’d never realized what a mask my family lived behind.

Then I thought of Dad.

“I’ll see you Monday,” I said, looking away so she couldn’t see the worry on my face.

Then I slid out of the truck and started walking toward my house.

20

I was standing on the porch before I realized I didn’t have my keys. Wesley had pulled me from the house so quickly the night before that I hadn’t been able to grab my purse. So I found myself knocking on my own front door, hoping Dad was awake to let me in.

Fearing, dreading, remembering.

I took a step back as the knob turned and the door swung open. There stood Dad, his eyes red and deeply circled behind his glasses. He looked really pale, like he’d been sick, and I could see his hand shaking on the doorknob. “Bianca.”

He didn’t smell like whiskey.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Hi, Dad. I, um, left my keys inside last night, so…”

He moved slowly forward, like he was afraid I might run away. Then he wrapped his arms around me, pulled me into his chest, and buried his face in my hair. We stood there together for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, I could tell the words came through sobs. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know,” I murmured into his shirt.

And I was crying, too.

Dad and I talked more that day than we had in seventeen years. Not that we weren’t close before. It’s just that neither of us is very expressive. We didn’t share our thoughts or feelings or do any of that stuff they tell you is important on those public service announcements you see on Nickelodeon. When we ate dinner together, we were always in front of the TV, and there was no way either of us would interrupt the program with lame small talk. That’s just how we were.

But that day we talked.

We talked about his work.

We talked about my grades.

We talked about Mom.

“She’s really not coming back, is she?” Dad took off his glasses and rubbed his face with both hands. We were sitting on the couch. For once, the television was off. Ours were the only voices that filled the room. It was a good kind of semi-silence, yet scary at the same time.

“No, Daddy,” I said, bravely reaching out to squeeze his hand. “She’s not. This just isn’t the right place for her anymore.”

He nodded. “I know. I’ve known for a long time that she wasn’t happy… maybe even before she knew. I just hoped-”

“That she’d change her mind?” I offered. “I think she wanted to. That’s why she kept leaving and coming back, you know? She didn’t want to face the truth. She didn’t want to admit that she wanted a”-I paused at the next word-“divorce.”

Divorce was just so final. More than a fight. More than a separation or a long speaking tour. It meant their marriage-their life together-was really and truly finished.

“Well,” he sighed, squeezing my hand back. “I guess we were both running away in different ways.”

“What do you mean?”

Dad shook his head. “Your mother took a Mustang. I took a whiskey bottle.” He reached up and readjusted his glasses, an unconscious habit-he always did it when he was making a point. “I was so devastated by what your mother did to me that I forgot how horrible drinking is. I forgot to look on the bright side.”

“Dad,” I said, “I don’t think there is a bright side to divorce. It’s a pretty sucky thing all around.”

He nodded. “Maybe that’s true, but there are a lot of bright sides to my life. I have a job I like, a nice house in a good neighborhood, and a wonderful daughter.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh God,” I muttered. “Don’t go all Lifetime movie on me. Seriously.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, smiling. “But I mean it. A lot of people would kill for my life, but I didn’t even consider that. I took it-and you-for granted. I’m so, so sorry for that, Bumblebee.”

I wanted to look away when I saw the tears glistening at the corners of his eyes, but I forced myself to focus only on him. I’d been turning away from the truth for too long.

He apologized multiple times for everything that had happened over the past few weeks. He promised me he’d start going to weekly Alcoholics Anonymous meetings again, to go back on the wagon, to call his sponsor again. And then we poured every single bottle of whiskey and beer down the drain together, both of us eager for a clean slate.

“Is your head all right?” he asked me about a million times that day.

“It’s fine,” I kept telling him.

He always shook his head and murmured more apologies for slapping me. For saying what he had. Then he’d hug me.

Seriously, a million times that day.

Around midnight, I joined him in his nightly ritual of turning out the lights. “Bumblebee,” he said as the kitchen went dark. “I want you to thank your friend next time you see him.”

“My friend?”

“Yeah. The boy who was with you last night. What’s his name?”

“Wesley,” I muttered.

“Right,” Dad said. “Well, I deserved it. He was brave to do what he did. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I’m glad you have a friend who’s willing to stand up for you. So please tell him I said thanks.”

“Sure.” I turned and walked up the stairs to my bedroom, praying that wouldn’t be anytime soon.

“But Bianca?” He winced and rubbed his jaw. “Next time tell him he should feel free to write a strongly worded letter first. Hell of an arm on that kid.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “There won’t be a next time,” I told him, taking the last few steps and heading to my bedroom.

Both my parents were facing reality, giving up their distractions. Now it was my turn, and that meant quitting Wesley. Unfortunately, there were no weekly meetings, no sponsors, or twelve-step programs for what I was addicted to.

21

I was pretty sure Wesley wouldn’t approach me at school. Why would he? It wasn’t like he’d miss me… even if I really, really wanted him to. He wasn’t losing anything. He had plenty of replacement girls ready and willing to fill any gaps I might have left in his schedule. So there was no need for an avoidance plan on Monday morning.