As I drive down the quarter of a mile driveway, away from my house, I tell myself I don’t know where I’m going. I lie to myself the entire hour-long drive, and I continue to lie to myself even as I pull into the empty lot where the carnival was. Disappointment sinks like a weight in my stomach as I open my door, stepping out into the hot, night air.
There are no lights or sounds. Just the lingering sweet scent of the carnival. I don’t even know what I was going to say or do once I got here. I only know that for the second time in my life, I needed to get away and the carnival is where I ended up.
I slam the door shut and sit on the hood of my car, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes to keep the tears at bay. How did everything get so fucked up?
One year later
“CONGRATULATIONS.” MOM GIVES ME A tight smile, running a slender finger down the tassel that hangs from my cap. “I’m proud of you.”
“Where’s Dad?” I ask, looking over her shoulder. But I already know the answer. Mom gives a slight shake of her head, her eyes downcast. He hasn’t been around for the better part of two years, whether it be because he was in jail for getting busted for possession or driving with a suspended license or doing God knows what in his bedroom. Yes, his. My parents don’t even share a bedroom anymore.
That’s the thing about addicts. They’re lone creatures. They live in isolation so they can use in peace, without judgment or intervention from the people who love them, denying they have a problem all the while. Nothing outside their bubble is of importance. I don’t know why I thought my high school graduation would be any different. If I died today, he probably wouldn’t even attend my funeral, and that’s the sad truth.
“Want to go out to dinner or something? We can splurge for that fondue place you love,” she offers. I know she’s asking out of obligation. She doesn’t have the time, money, or energy for that.
“I have plans with Chloe and Sav,” I lie, giving her an out. I do have plans, but they have nothing to do with Chloe or Savannah. The Jessup Brothers Carnival is back in town, and once again, like a moth to a flame, I’m drawn to it. I’m too curious—too hard up for excitement to pass it up. “Can I use your car?” I had to give mine up six months ago when Dad said the bills got to be too much for my mom to handle, though I suspect he didn’t use the money to get us out of debt. Sharing a vehicle has been less than ideal. Luckily, our opposing schedules allow for it. Mostly.
“No can do. I’m working all night. Can’t Savannah pick you up?”
After resigning, she got a job doing home care—mostly elderly, bed-ridden people—making a fraction of what she made as treasurer. She won’t say it, but she’s miserable. And she’s not the only one. We moved into a shitty three-bedroom house on the other side of town, and I’ve somehow managed to keep this lifestyle change to myself. My friends are none the wiser. It’s not that I’m ashamed. I’d just rather not deal with the bullshit drama that would follow something so scandalous as a formerly rich bitch being, well, a broke bitch.
“I’m sure she will.”
Mom gives me an empty smile, and we walk out of the crowded stadium toward the parking lot. We’re both silent as we walk toward her car, but I can tell from the way she keeps casting glances my way that she’s about to drop a bomb on me. That must be why she wanted to take me out to dinner.
“What is it?” I ask once we’re inside the car, turning the air vent away from
me. I hate the cold, even in this weather. I take my cap off, tossing it into the back seat.
“I have something to say. And you’re not going to like it.”
“Never do,” I mumble under my breath.
“How do you feel about staying with your grandparents for the summer?”
Whatever I thought she was going to say, this wasn’t it. I wouldn’t have seen this coming in a million years.
“What?” I say, practically breaking my neck from snapping my head in her direction so quickly. “In New York?”
“Why not?”
“Why would I?” I spit back. “I don’t even know them.”
Her jaw tightens as she bites her tongue. After she takes a few seconds to compose herself, she responds. “Things are about to get…messy. At home.”
I scoff. “Welcome to the past two years.”
“Messier. And I don’t want you around for it. My parents have already purchased our flights. They don’t know what’s going on, so you will not tell them about your father. As far as they’re concerned, we’re just coming for a long-overdue visit. Understood?”
“You have got to be kidding me.” I let my head fall against the headrest.
“It’s not permanent, Evangeline. It won’t kill you to spend some time with them.”
“I’m not going. I’ll stay with a friend if you don’t want me around, but I’m not going to spend my summer with strangers.”
“I’m not asking.”
“And I’m eighteen.” My meaning is clear. I don’t need permission. I thank my lucky stars that I’ve been preparing for this moment, stashing away every penny I had since the day my mom told me she was resigning. I sold designer clothes, shoes, jewelry, only keeping the things I couldn’t bear to part with. I reach forward to turn on the radio, maxing out the volume. Mom turns it off. She doesn’t speak right away, choosing her words carefully, a learned skill from her time as a public official. When she pulls into the driveway of the much humbler three-bedroom house we now call home, she puts a hand on my arm, stopping me from immediately leaving.