Ghost Time (27 page)

I pushed my plate away, refusing to touch the food he’d ordered for me. God, I was so angry, I almost started bawling, thinking,
This is love? This is your idea of love?
Then he said it again, he goes, I’m still your father, and I just rolled my eyes to keep from crying. Thea. Look at me, he said, and I looked at him, glaring, so I wouldn’t cry. He had no right to see me cry. Then he said it again: I am still your father, Thea, and I love you, and I waited until I knew my voice wouldn’t crack. I swallowed and said, Lucky me. Did you hear me? he said. I love you, he said, moving like he was going to take my hands, and I go, Oh, and you know what love means, right?

The waitress walked over to ask if we needed anything else, and my dad said no, we were fine. Seeing I wasn’t talking, he
took a couple bites of his burger, before he set it down, wiping his fingers, individually, with the silly paper napkins. Are you ready to go? he asked, getting out of the booth, pulling out his wallet. Let’s go, he said, dropping a few dollars tip on the table; talk over. Looking outside, at the black sky, I knew that nothing would ever be the same between us again. While in the window, I watched the reflection of children playing, not a care in the world.

And that was it. Talk over. The funny part is, next day, my parents made me see a shrink.
Me
. I had to see a shrink. Okay, I went a little bonkers in my bedroom, I get that, but come on, you’re telling me I’m the one who doesn’t know how to communicate? My dad cheats on my mom, leaves her for some twenty-three-year-old, then he takes me to Chuck E. Cheese’s to have the Talk, and I’m the one who needs help?

A week later, the van was there when I got home from school. My dad was staying at a hotel by then, and my mom was handling all the packing alone. The plan was: I go home after school, the last day before winter break, and as soon as the movers were done, we’d follow them to the storage unit Mom had rented. She’d been offered a job as a paralegal in some town, upstate, so she drove up one day to meet with them. Of course I was praying she’d hate it there, so we could stay in Poughkeepsie, but no such luck. When she came home that night, she tried selling me on it, moving to some place called Fort Marshall, and I said, Indiana? We’re moving to
Indiana
? Mom laughed and goes: No, that’s Fort Wayne, baby, but I didn’t even care. I was just like, Ohmygod, last time I wanted to live in a place called Fort anything, I was five. Honestly, I didn’t like the sound of it from the
first moment, and I didn’t try to hide the fact, but Mom smiled and said it was just a couple hours northwest of Poughkeepsie. When she said that, I was like, Just a couple
hours
? Canada’s just a couple hours northwest, too, so why don’t we move there? She ignored me, going on about how beautiful and safe and clean it was, this town I’d never ever heard of in my entire life, and when clean is a selling point, you know it’s bad, really bad. I couldn’t even look at her, listening to her going on about how we’d stay in a motel or whatever until we got settled, and that we’d go apartment hunting together, like how fun, right? It’ll be a whole new life, she said, and I said, Can we not talk about this right now? We were eating pizza at our kitchen table, the night before we moved out, and she looked hurt. But I didn’t care: I loved my old life, and just because she didn’t, I’m sorry.

We’ll give it a year and see what happens, she said, returning to the table with a beer, and for a moment, I don’t know why, but out of nowhere, I just wanted to hurt her. I got up to carry my paper plate to the trash, which at that point was a black Hefty bag on the floor, in front of the back door, and the rest of the kitchen was packed. There were boxes stacked everywhere, all very clearly marked in my mom’s perfect handwriting, and it looked so sad. I didn’t understand our things, boxed like that, but then again, I didn’t understand anything.

I looked at her, and I was just like, What? I go, What, Mom? And she goes, Come here, and I stood on the staircase, wanting to say no. Thea, come here, she said; I was so annoyed, I wanted to scream. I don’t know why, really, but I was annoyed with her all the time by then. So I rolled my eyes, turning around
and walking back into the dining room.
What!
I said, not asking her, telling her, making sure she knew how irritated I was. Good night, she said, looking like herself again for a second, with that look in her eyes, telling me I knew better, because we always said good night, especially the last night in our own home. Good night, I said, turning around.

I think that was the last time I saw my mom. I mean the woman I remember her being. It didn’t hit me until I grabbed the rail, and then, walking upstairs, I felt like I was going to cry all of a sudden. I made it to my room, and closed the door, and I wanted to—I even sat down on the side of my bed, ready for it, but nothing came. Guess my tears got packed, too.

The next day, when I got home from school, the movers only had a few boxes left to load into the truck. It took about five minutes for them to finish up, while Mom and I stood in the living room, looking at it, nothing to say. So when we heard them open their doors, we locked up for the last time and we got in Mom’s car, ready to follow the moving van to the storage unit. I’d been thinking about that moment for a couple weeks, and to be honest, I was glad they’d taken the boxes away, because it was too painful. But once I got in the car and put on my seat belt, looking at our house one last time, I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t ready to go.

Wait, I said, and I told my mom I had to pee. I held my breath while she reached for her purse and took out some Kleenex and handed them to me with her set of house keys, because I didn’t even have my own keys anymore. I don’t know if she knew or not, but I didn’t have to pee; I wanted to be in our house, alone, for a few minutes. I wanted to say good-bye in my own way.

The thing is, when I walked in, it didn’t feel like our house anymore. I’d never seen it like that, so empty and naked and…
lonely
. Our house had never been lonely before; it always had us there. It was too much, so I went upstairs, heading toward my room, but before I got to the end of the hall, I stopped in my parent’s bedroom, their old bedroom, whatever, facing the driveway. The curtains were still there, because Mom was just too burned out by the very end to pull them down, and she didn’t want things from that room anymore, anyway, she said. So I walked over, and I stood, looking out the window. My mom had gotten out of the car, and she’d turned her back to the house, leaning against her car door.

She was smoking. She’d started smoking again. We’d gotten into it a few times, and then she gave me, Who’s the mom here, you or I? I said, If you have to ask, that’s a problem, don’t you think? She knew, at the very least, she couldn’t smoke in the car, because I get carsick, but still. It was gross, and it was needy, and to me, it seemed like she was turning into this sad, old divorced woman, overnight, and it made me so angry. Everything was making me so angry, and then, catching her, sneaking in another smoke, I wanted to knock on the window, yell down at her, but I didn’t. I just stood there watching her leaning against the car, smoking, and I was just like,
Who is this woman, and what have you done to my mother?

You know they must do something, real estate agents, to get the old juju or mojo or whatever you want to call it out of house—us, how to get
us
out. I mean, you don’t just walk into an empty house where people have lived twelve years and not feel
their presence. It’s not the same as ghosts, but it’s haunted in a way, because if you ask me, the living can be as haunted as the dead. And looking around their bedroom, I thought,
How do I say good-bye to my own life?
You want to know? I’ll tell you how: in as few words as possible.

You know, to this day, after everything that’s happened—the divorce, moving to this town, my breakdown, the hospital, all of it, my mom still tries talking to me about it sometimes. Like when my dad calls and I won’t return his calls, she’s always telling me that I’m the one being eaten up by my anger. She always says I’m the one who pays the price, and she might be right, but I’m just like, Well, the thing is, I can afford to pay right now. I mean, I’m fifteen, I’m
allowed
to hate my dad, you know? And the truth is, I can’t forgive him for what he did to us, not yet. And honestly, I know it makes me sound like a terrible person, but I’m not sure if I ever will forgive him. It’s like, I know forgiveness is divine, but maybe I don’t need to be divine, maybe I just need to be a girl.

(SIX WEEKS LATER)

5:42 PM

It was nice out, so when I got to their house, Knox helped Mel out of her chair, and I spread out a blanket, even though Melody never liked lying on the blanket. So we lay on the blanket until Knox went inside, because he didn’t like her on the grass and he wouldn’t listen. Anyhow, after he went in, I slipped the blanket out, beneath her, so she could feel the grass.

You want to hear a new scene I’m working on for
La Marxiste
?
she said, knowing the answer was yes. That’s what we decided to call our film,
La Marxiste
, the story of Violaine, the beautiful runaway time-traveling teenage girl. So I’d bring Mel playlists, and she’s tell me about a new scene she’d come up with. We had at least twenty
La Marxiste
soundtracks, and some days we spent the whole time listening to a new playlist and talking about what actress could play Violaine in the movie. I was thinking Taylor Momsen or Emma Watson, maybe, if she can do an
American accent, but she’s so big, we talked about finding a complete unknown.
This is a role that’s going to make her a star, whoever she is
, Mel said, and I laughed, and she was like,
What?
I mean, I totally agreed, but it was just funny. These days, Mel’s the only person who can make me laugh, and seeing her is the only thing keeping me sane. Or as close I get, at least.

The one thing that’s really hard with her is that all I wanted to do after school was to forget about school, and when we’re together, all Mel wants to hear about is my day and what high school’s like. Mel’s completely obsessed with high school, just like I was, until I became a freshman. She wants details so badly, too. If it were up to Melody, I would’ve been wired up with a video camera, filming my every move—which I feel like I am, actually, but I never tell her about that. Me and Knox, we have an agreement that we don’t talk about that with her, because… because I don’t want her involved, that’s why. Anyhow.

Mel loves watching reality shows on MTV.
Teen Mom, My Super Sweet 16.
Anything with teenagers, and then she’ll ask me if it’s true.
Is it really like this? God, I’d love to sit in a desk, just once
, she said.
Walk down the halls, carrying my books, have people bump into me, not noticing me because I’m a freshman. Buying new school supplies, getting a new locker
, and I go, I know what you mean, but believe me, the excitement wears thin before you even learn your combination.

She goes,
It’s not just school, it’s everything, Thea. I want to know how it feels to skin your knee, to climb trees, to cry yourself to sleep over some guy who was a total dick to you—.
I go, Yep, you’re really missing out And she goes,
I am! I am missing
out!
We’d reached that point where she could be joking, half joking, or she could be angry. I didn’t know where we’d fall, or what to say. Not because I was afraid of her being angry, really, I just didn’t always know how to deal with it. I mean, I barely knew how to deal with my own anger, you know? So I didn’t say anything, and she got quiet.

I could tell she’d been wanting to ask me something, and then she finally did. She goes,
You aren’t popular, are you, Thea?
I go, Whatever gave you that impression? And she goes,
Because if you were, why would you be here, with me?
I cocked my head at her, like, Stop.
You know you could be, if you wanted to
, she said, and I go, Mel, I don’t care about being popular, I really don’t. I used to, but not anymore. Mel said,
Wouldn’t school be so much easier if you had friends?
I shook my head no and said, Mel, I had friends, and believe me, it wasn’t easier. She goes,
Why don’t you try, at least?
I said, Because I’m not like you.
Social
, I said, clarifying.
Yeah, I’m so social
, she said,
look at me.
I go, You are, Mel, you’re much more outgoing than I am, even if I’m the only person who knows that.
Tell me why
, she said.
Seriously, Thea, why don’t you have any friends?

I knew she wasn’t going to drop it, so I decided to get it over with, tell her what happened. I go, I don’t try anymore because I had friends, or people I thought were my friends, but turned out, they weren’t. Those girls weren’t my friends at all, and so it’s just easier to hang on my own, instead of pretending. I mean, everything changed after I met Cam, but I don’t know… some people are good at school or sports or singing, and some people are good at people, and I’m not good at any of those things, I said. And
I’m okay with that. Really, I’ve made my peace. She goes,
What happened? Tell me, Thee
, she said, and I knew she wouldn’t drop it, ever, so I finally told her.

I said, It’s hard to explain, but last year, freshman year, I got the flu and I missed a slumber party, and I guess some things were said about me. I don’t know what, really, but by Monday morning, my friends didn’t like me anymore. She goes,
Wait, because you missed a party, your friends didn’t like you?
I said, It doesn’t really make sense, but wait. Let me just tell you what happened, and then you can ask, all right?
All right
, she said. I go, Because that’s how it happens with girls sometimes. One night, someone smells blood, and they all get in on it. And the thing is, these girls, this group of girls, I told them lots of things about myself. So they knew where I was coming from, and they did it anyway, they kicked me out of the circle. I thought if I pretended nothing had happened, that I didn’t notice anything different, they’d forget about not liking me, and things would go back to normal. Then, about a month later, we all went to a party, and I thought we were all friends again, and I was so happy, and then someone spiked my drink. I honestly don’t remember anything that happened after that, but I found out I was hanging all over the guys, taking my shirt off, dancing on a table. My friends, the girls I thought were my friends, knew who did it, but they never told. Because they were already in so much trouble for what went down at the party, I said.