I gaze around, trying to figure out where to start, and the enormity of the task overwhelms me instantly. Rather than admit it’s impossible—half our dishes are smashed, for crying out loud—I head for the refrigerator. There’s a quarter bottle of store-brand cola left, which I know is flat because I had a glass last night and there wasn’t a bubble in sight. I don’t care; I unscrew the top, tip it to my mouth, and drink the entire thing in under ten seconds. It tastes as bad as expected, but at least it soothes the dryness of my aching throat.
Maybe I’m getting strep, like Ivy said this morning. Wouldn’t that be ironic.
No. I’m not thinking about Ivy. I wipe my mouth, leave the empty bottle on the counter with the rest of the mess, and pull out my phone before sitting down at our kitchen table. There’s a new text from Autumn with a picture of a bus ticket: Bronx-bound.
Relief washes over me, but it’s a smaller wave than expected. Mostly, I just feel alone.
I scroll past dozens of notifications until I see a new text from my dad. It’s time-stamped for right around the time I was chasing Autumn’s murder van around greater Boston. It’s official: I’m starting at White & West on Oct 1. See you soon!
I huff out a humorless laugh. My father actually did it; left his roadie gig so he could take an assistant manager job at a music store nearby. So I can help out more, he’d said when he told me he was applying. I didn’t pay much attention at the time, because I figured it was just a bunch of empty talk, like always.
Guess not. Too bad he couldn’t have done it a month ago, before Autumn started her Oxy side hustle. I consider texting back Too little, too late, but penetrating my father’s bubble of cheerful cluelessness requires a level of energy I don’t have.
My mother’s last text is right after my dad’s. I study the picture she sent of my beaming great-aunt, her day made because Ma cared enough to show up for her party. Don’t forget to call Aunt Rose and wish her a happy birthday! There’s not much I can do to make today less of a disaster, but at least I can do that.
Aunt Rose only has a landline and I have no idea what the number is, so I scroll to Contacts and call my grandmother. I can’t deal with using Ma as a go-between right now.
Gram picks up on the first ring. “Mateo, mi amor. We’re missing you today.”
The words put a lump in my throat, and I have to swallow before I can reply. “Hey, Gram. Sorry I couldn’t be there, but I wanted to wish Aunt Rose a happy birthday.”
“Ah, well, she went upstairs for a nap about ten minutes ago. She might be done for the night, to be honest. All the excitement wore her out. Do you want to talk to your mother? Elena!” she calls before I can protest.
“Gram, no—” I start, but my grandmother is already back.
“She’s on the phone with Autumn,” she reports.
Good. Making plans to stay the night, I hope. “It’s fine. I need to go to work, but I’ll try to catch Aunt Rose later.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell her you called. You’re so busy.” A familiar note of exasperated concern enters my grandmother’s voice. “You work too hard. I told Elena that as soon as I saw her. Every time I speak to you, you sound so tired.”
“I’m not tired,” I say automatically, even though every cell in my body feels heavy with exhausted misery. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, Mateo. You’re not fine, but you’ll never admit it, will you?” She sighs, then adds the same thing she always does. “You’ll be the death of me.”
“I gotta go, Gram. Love you,” I say, then disconnect before she can kill me with more kindness.
I glance at the clock on our microwave. I’m supposed to be at Garrett’s in an hour, but obviously that’s not going to happen. I’ll need all night to clean up this mess, and besides, I can’t imagine showing up there like it’s a typical Tuesday. I try to picture myself busing the table where I sat with Cal this morning, or wiping down the booth where I put Ivy after she fainted, but—no. I’m not thinking about Ivy.
Except that I am. I kind of can’t stop. All of the things I said to her in Cal’s car keep running through my head in one long, poisonous loop. In that moment, I was so full of rage that all I wanted to do was hurt her. And I did a great job.
“She deserved it,” I say out loud, testing the words. They sound right. They are right. Ivy did a stupid, selfish thing that shut my mother’s business down, and then she didn’t even have the guts to come clean when it might’ve made a difference.