“I put it on the card,” I told him. “The total was twenty-three forty-two.”
He took out a five and a couple of ones, handing them to Mac. “For you, then.”
“Thank you.”
“So my parents said it was okay,” I said, glancing at my dad, “for you guys to use the studio.”
“Really?” Mac said. “Wow. That’s awesome. Eric’s going to go bananas.”
“Eric’s the lead singer,” I explained to my dad. “Mac plays drums.”
“Great,” my dad replied, clearly distracted. “I’m, um, going to check on your mom. Set the table, okay? Nice to meet you, Mac.”
“You too.”
As he went upstairs, I walked over to the cabinet and took down some plates, even though I was pretty sure we wouldn’t be having a typical family sit-down. “My brother just called,” I said. “He’s mad about something. That’s why my mom’s upset.”
“Oh,” he said. “Sorry.”
“It’s not like it’s that big a deal. But we were having a good night, you know? For once.”
He said nothing to this as I put the plates on the counter. Upstairs, I heard another door shut.
“I asked them about the studio, and they were great about it, and you were coming over . . .” I swallowed, opening the napkin drawer. “I’m just so tired of this. Of him being everything.”
Mac just watched me as I moved to the silverware. As I counted out three forks, I felt like I was going to cry. And then, just like that, I was.
Not just tears pricking my eyes, or that slow throb in your throat that gives you enough warning to breathe and, maybe, get under control. Instead, instantly, I just found myself sobbing: chest heaving, nose running, making noises that sounded almost primal. I gripped the edge of the countertop, dropping my head, and tried to suck in some air and calm down. It was just occurring to me that I should be embarrassed when I felt Mac’s hands on my shoulders.
“Hey,” he said. His palms were warm. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Sydney.”
But it wasn’t. Nothing had been okay, not for a long time. And every moment that I thought I was getting close, like the one I’d had earlier, seemed to remind the universe that I didn’t deserve that, not yet.
What was due me, then? Only tiny seconds where things felt right, just fleeting enough to make me crave more? Was that it? I was beginning to think so, that I just couldn’t get what I wanted, that maybe I didn’t even have any idea what that was. But as Mac turned me to face him and I looked up into his eyes, I realized I was wrong. So I took a single step—one foot, then the other—and then his arms wrapped around me, pulling me in the rest of the way.
Chapter 16
PEYTON DIDN’T want me at his graduation. Actually, he didn’t want any of us there. But my mom was only willing to compromise so much.
“It’s not that he doesn’t want to see you, or that he doesn’t miss you,” she’d explained the next morning. “He’d just prefer that you not interact with him in that setting yet. I thought that might have changed by now . . . but it hasn’t. It’s actually a very common sentiment among the incarcerated when it comes to family, children in particular.”
She was speaking slowly, carefully picking her words. What a difference twelve hours made. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been disappearing upstairs in tears; this morning, she was at the coffeepot calm, rested, and capable. She was also clearly concerned about how I’d take this news, somehow having forgotten that I’d never wanted to go in the first place.
“I understand,” I said. “It’s fine.”
She was still watching me as I took a bite of my breakfast. Suddenly, my welfare was very important, which would have been nice had I not known the real reason she was suddenly so invested. By focusing on Peyton’s not wanting me to go, she could skirt the wider truth of how he really felt about having her there. My mom had always been good at narrowing an issue.
“As I told you,” she continued, “Peyton’s time at Lincoln will be marked by a series of transitions. It’s very possible that his emotional need for us will at some point manifest itself in his feeling like he has to pull away. So the key is that we allow him to do what he thinks is necessary, while at the same time making clear that we are here and not going anywhere.”
My dad, who was getting a rare late start to the office, walked into the kitchen, adjusting his tie. He’d already eaten, but still stopped by the eggs on the stove, picking out a bite with his fingers.
“So you’re all still going?” I asked. “To the graduation?”
“Your father and I will go. We’ll ask Ames and Marla to stay here with you. That’s probably the best plan.”
“I don’t need anyone here with me, though,” I said quickly. “I mean, it’s only one night.”
“It’s already arranged,” she told me, glancing at my dad. “Right?”
“I mentioned it to him last night.” He wiped his hand on a dish towel. “Apparently things with Marla have . . . cooled. But he’s happy to do it.”
“Really?” My mom looked at him. “I had no idea! He hasn’t said a thing to me about their breaking up.”
Considering how much he and my mom talked, this was kind of surprising. But I had learned not to put much past Ames.