“I can’t let you stay with your father,” she starts, her voice calm but resolute.
“Mom—” I interject, but she stops me, holding up a hand.
“Let me finish. I can’t let you stay here. Your father is going to have to make some tough choices. But, if Savannah’s parents are okay with you staying for the summer, and you promise to check in with me weekly, we can talk about you staying.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to argue. I don’t need to compromise, and I definitely won’t be staying with Sav. But, if this is what helps her sleep at night, so be it.
“Fine.”
Ten minutes later, I’m in my bedroom, throwing off my graduation gown. I pluck the music box off my nightstand, the one from the movie Anastasia. It was my favorite as a kid, and my dad bought an exact replica. I watch Anastasia and her father, Nicholas, dance around in a circle to the tune of “Once Upon a December”. Once upon a December, a father loved his little girl so much, he bought her a beautiful music box from her favorite movie and set it under the tree for Christmas morning. Now, that father may as well be dead.
Once the arguing starts, I dig my headphones out of the drawer of my bedside table to drown out my parents’ fighting. Mom broke the news to my dad. She told him, in so many words, that he needed to check himself into rehab or we’d be leaving, and she’d cut him off completely. Of course, she knew what his answer would be. That’s why the tickets are already booked.
I stare up at the strand of lights I hung in my new, albeit much smaller, room as I listen to a playlist created specifically for times like these. I don’t get more than two songs in before I hear knocking at my door a second before it opens, revealing Savvy. Savannah is here. In my house. Standing in my doorway.
“Wow.” She laughs, taking in the room that’s a shoebox compared to the one at my old house. “I guess the rumors were true.”
“What are you doing here?” I try to keep my tone even, like it doesn’t faze me in the slightest to have her here, seeing how we’re living.
“Drew told us all that you moved out here, but I had to come see for myself. He told me about your dad’s new…hobby, too.”
I’m shocked into silence. Drew told her? Why would he do that? Hurt ripples through me.
“All this time, you’ve acted like you’re so much better than everyone, when in reality…” she trails off, taking in my downgraded bedroom. “My, how the mighty have fallen.”
“Fallen, huh?” I give a spiteful laugh. “That’s funny, because you’re still trying to compete with me with everything from boys to pom. It doesn’t matter how far I’ve fallen. You’ll always be second best.” I hate myself a little more for my petty words, but I know I hit my intended target when her spine straightens and her mouth pinches shut. I caught her and Ethan hooking up behind my back last year. The sad thing is, I didn’t even care about Ethan. It gave me an out. And to say I wasn’t surprised that Sav stooped that low would be an understatement.
“Not once everyone finds out,” she says, threatening me. I can’t help but laugh in her face.
“High school is over, Sav. Get a new plan.”
“Oh, I have a plan,” she says smugly, pointing at herself. “It’s called college, which is more than I can say for some people.”
That one rolls right off my back. I was livid when my mom first informed me that we couldn’t afford for me to take my spot at Berkeley. But the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of taking a year off. College is the last thing on my mind right now. Look at how well that worked out for my parents. As cliché as it sounds, I want to figure out who I am this summer. My parents were both powerful and hugely successful, but I don’t ever remember a time when I wanted that for myself. I played the game. I got good grades. I was the best at everything. The top of my class. Captain of the pom squad. Because that was what was expected of me. That was my role.
Then, my dad started his love affair with pills, and my perfect identity—the one I worked so hard to attain—didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Everything revolved around his addiction. My mother stopped caring about things like birthdays or dance concerts or holidays. I stopped being a good friend, and my friends weren’t exactly concerned or overly patient with me. Except Drew. I could always count on him. Until now.
“You have fun with that. Did you need something else?”
“Nope.” She smirks triumphantly. “I got what I came here for.” She takes one last look around with her nose turned up in the air before showing herself out.
I pick up my phone, debating on whether or not I want to confront Drew, but I toss it back onto my bed. I’m too drained to deal with any more drama. I mentally go through the short list of people I could potentially stay with this summer and come up with a grand total of zero. I guess this means I’m going to New York.
I walk over to my closet, slide open the door that houses my meager collection of clothes, shoes, and purses. I sold most of it to be able to maintain the lifestyle I was accustomed to, but there were some things I just couldn’t part with. Like the jacket I stole from Sebastian that night. I’ve kept it tucked in the back of my closet, never once considering throwing it away, like I claimed. Not even when I thought he was responsible for breaking into our hotel room. Pushing the hangers out of the way, I run my fingers down the cool leather sleeve and bring it to my nose. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of this smell. It’s funny how a scent can trigger such an emotional response. Leather will always remind me of carnivals and breaking and entering with boys on motorcycles and how it felt to be alive.
Dropping the sleeve, I reach onto the top shelf, feeling around for my old Jimmy Choo shoebox where I hide my cash and everything that means anything to me. This box is my ticket out of here this summer. I never dip into it unless I have an emergency. And right now, money for a cab ride qualifies as such. Just as I’m pulling it down, my bedroom door flies open. I drop the shoebox, the music box falling to the carpet with a thud, and I whirl around to see my dad standing in my doorway. The green and gold music box rolls on the carpet, coming to a stop between us.
“Oh,” he says, seeming taken aback, eyeing the music box. Does he remember the day he gave it to me? Does he remember when we danced to the music, me standing on top of his feet? “I thought you left with your friend.” His hair is greasy, like he can’t be bothered with basic self-care like showering, and his complexion is pallid. This man is a far cry from the one who raised me. This man is a stranger wearing my father’s face.
“Are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep the accusation out of my tone. If he thought I was gone, what is he doing in my room?
“Yeah,” he says with forced ease, waving me off. “Do you have a few bucks? I’ll pay you back when the bank opens.” He seems agitated. Desperate.
“No,” I lie, surreptitiously angling my body to hide the box behind me. At first, I had trouble denying him. How do you say no to your own father? And he made sure to lay the guilt trip on thick, blaming me for his injury, making it even harder. But, I learned my lesson. Unlike my mother, I’m not going to help him ruin his life. Pretty soon, there won’t be anything left to ruin. “What do you need it for?”
His face contorts with anger, making him almost unrecognizable. There was a time when I was my father’s whole world. Now, I’m just another person standing in the way of him and his one true love. Pills. Making him angry is an easy feat these days. It doesn’t take much to set him off. I try not to take it personally. “What are you, my mother?” he spits.
“No, but you are my father. Or have you forgotten?” Denying him is one thing, but seeing him like this? Sick, desperate, and dependent? I’ll never get used to it, no matter how detached I tell myself I am.