excruciating now that we’re sharing it. If anyone was supposed to be looking out for them, it was us.
Henry sets his hand on my wrist again. This time, he’s slower to remove it. I allow myself only a second to think about what it’d be like to reach out and grab his hand, but his hand is gone in a flash, folded in front of him on his desk. “Maybe we were being selfish,” he says. “But we were also entirely clueless. We’re just not as ignorant anymore.”
It wasn’t the rebuttal I was hoping for, because there is no other way to see it. Selfish—yes. Clueless—entirely. Ignorance was bliss, it really was.
“Maybe no one is,” he continues. “Even if now they have to be sad.”
There’s a hitch in his voice, and he looks down at the desk.
Mr. Scott stands in front of the class and asks for our attention so he can go over review items for our quiz next week. Perfect timing, for once.
T EXTING WITH D AWN, T HURSDAY, 6:34 P . M .
Standard Dad is at a loss over dinner.
Isn’t he always?
He wants Jonathan to get a job and go back to school. Not necessarily in that order.
Mumsy thinks it’s all happening too fast.
“Stop pressuring him!”—Mumsy. Because the only kind of pressure Mumsy approves of is the kind that happens when her Pilates class breaks out the resistance tubes.
Your parents crack me up.
It’s all very tense, actually. Jonathan just described his parole officer as “trite and unfitting.”
Ah, so he’s got his grown-up voice on. Such a manipulator. ☺ Is it working? Wait—are you texting at the table?
Haha, it’s working. It always does. But Mumsy is still glaring at Standard Dad. It’s fine, no one notices what I do, remember? J
Then you should take off and come visit me for a week.
I’ll get right on that.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
CHAPTER
TWENTY
A fter dinner, Jonathan, my father, and I clean up and load the dishwasher while Mumsy goes upstairs to lie down.
“I’m going for a jog,” Jonathan announces when we’re done.
“At this hour?” Standard Dad glances at his watch.
It’s barely eight o’clock, though it’s been dark for hours.
“Or I could just drive you to Starbucks,” I say, eyeing Jonathan so he’ll know I’m onto him. “Coffee, at this hour ?” My dad shakes his head. How crazy are my kids?
“If you don’t mind,” Jonathan says to me. He’s already walked to the front door.
I do mind. I have a calculus quiz to study for, but I’m curious about why Jonathan wants to see this Wren girl again and whatthey could possibly have to say to each other.
“So you know Wren’s schedule now, huh?” I ask the second we’re in the car.
“It’s been over twelve hours without someone complimenting me on my eyes. I have to get my fix.”
“Your eyes are breathtaking.”
He doesn’t really smile at my joke, and neither do I.
“Do you like her or something?”
He leans forward, so I can’t see his face.
I try to picture if Wren is someone Jonathan would have been interested in before the accident. The answer is yes. And since he’s not with Sutton, why not?
Still, I ask, “Have you talked to Sutton?”
“My phone is out of commission, remember? Mumsy is taking me to get a new one tomorrow, with a new number. But no, I will not be getting in touch with her.”
“Why not?”
He’s quiet until the next stop sign. “Sutton doesn’t want to talk to me. Even if she thinks she does.”
“What if she needs closure?”
“It won’t bring her closure. Nothing will.”
I don’t know what to say to this, so I let the silence fill up the car until we arrive at Starbucks.
Sitting here with Jonathan and Wren is undeniably uncomfortable. We’re in the mock living room part of Starbucks. Jonathan and Wren are across from each other in plush greenchairs; I’m tacked on to their little scene, perched on a stool.
“Nice to see you
Henry sets his hand on my wrist again. This time, he’s slower to remove it. I allow myself only a second to think about what it’d be like to reach out and grab his hand, but his hand is gone in a flash, folded in front of him on his desk. “Maybe we were being selfish,” he says. “But we were also entirely clueless. We’re just not as ignorant anymore.”
It wasn’t the rebuttal I was hoping for, because there is no other way to see it. Selfish—yes. Clueless—entirely. Ignorance was bliss, it really was.
“Maybe no one is,” he continues. “Even if now they have to be sad.”
There’s a hitch in his voice, and he looks down at the desk.
Mr. Scott stands in front of the class and asks for our attention so he can go over review items for our quiz next week. Perfect timing, for once.
T EXTING WITH D AWN, T HURSDAY, 6:34 P . M .
Standard Dad is at a loss over dinner.
Isn’t he always?
He wants Jonathan to get a job and go back to school. Not necessarily in that order.
Mumsy thinks it’s all happening too fast.
“Stop pressuring him!”—Mumsy. Because the only kind of pressure Mumsy approves of is the kind that happens when her Pilates class breaks out the resistance tubes.
Your parents crack me up.
It’s all very tense, actually. Jonathan just described his parole officer as “trite and unfitting.”
Ah, so he’s got his grown-up voice on. Such a manipulator. ☺ Is it working? Wait—are you texting at the table?
Haha, it’s working. It always does. But Mumsy is still glaring at Standard Dad. It’s fine, no one notices what I do, remember? J
Then you should take off and come visit me for a week.
I’ll get right on that.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
CHAPTER
TWENTY
A fter dinner, Jonathan, my father, and I clean up and load the dishwasher while Mumsy goes upstairs to lie down.
“I’m going for a jog,” Jonathan announces when we’re done.
“At this hour?” Standard Dad glances at his watch.
It’s barely eight o’clock, though it’s been dark for hours.
“Or I could just drive you to Starbucks,” I say, eyeing Jonathan so he’ll know I’m onto him. “Coffee, at this hour ?” My dad shakes his head. How crazy are my kids?
“If you don’t mind,” Jonathan says to me. He’s already walked to the front door.
I do mind. I have a calculus quiz to study for, but I’m curious about why Jonathan wants to see this Wren girl again and whatthey could possibly have to say to each other.
“So you know Wren’s schedule now, huh?” I ask the second we’re in the car.
“It’s been over twelve hours without someone complimenting me on my eyes. I have to get my fix.”
“Your eyes are breathtaking.”
He doesn’t really smile at my joke, and neither do I.
“Do you like her or something?”
He leans forward, so I can’t see his face.
I try to picture if Wren is someone Jonathan would have been interested in before the accident. The answer is yes. And since he’s not with Sutton, why not?
Still, I ask, “Have you talked to Sutton?”
“My phone is out of commission, remember? Mumsy is taking me to get a new one tomorrow, with a new number. But no, I will not be getting in touch with her.”
“Why not?”
He’s quiet until the next stop sign. “Sutton doesn’t want to talk to me. Even if she thinks she does.”
“What if she needs closure?”
“It won’t bring her closure. Nothing will.”
I don’t know what to say to this, so I let the silence fill up the car until we arrive at Starbucks.
Sitting here with Jonathan and Wren is undeniably uncomfortable. We’re in the mock living room part of Starbucks. Jonathan and Wren are across from each other in plush greenchairs; I’m tacked on to their little scene, perched on a stool.
“Nice to see you
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