Every Other Weekend
Page 1
Can life begin again...every other weekend?
Adam Moynihan’s life used to be awesome. Straight As, close friends and a home life so perfect that it could have been a TV show straight out of the 50s. Then his oldest brother died. Now his fun-loving mom cries constantly, he and his remaining brother can’t talk without fighting, and the father he always admired proved himself a coward by moving out when they needed him most.
Jolene Timber’s life is nothing like the movies she loves—not the happy ones anyway. As an aspiring director, she should know, because she’s been reimagining her life as a film ever since she was a kid. With her divorced parents at each other’s throats and using her as a pawn, no amount of mental reediting will give her the love she’s starving for.
Forced to spend every other weekend in the same apartment building, the boy who thinks forgiveness makes him weak and the girl who thinks love is for fools begin an unlikely friendship. The weekends he dreaded and she endured soon become the best part of their lives. But when one’s life begins to mend while the other’s spirals out of control, they realize that falling in love while surrounded by its demise means nothing is ever guaranteed.
Praise for Every Other Weekend
“Every Other Weekend left me teary-eyed and hopeful with its flawless balance of unforgettable characters, tough issues, and a pitch-perfect love story.”
—Suzanne Young, New York Times bestselling author of The Program series
“A poignant, painful, and stirring story about two kids trying to navigate divorce, first love, and finding your dreams.”
—Kathleen Glasgow, New York Times bestselling author of Girl in Pieces
“Heart, humor, and characters you want to know.... This book is a winner!”
—C. C. Hunter, New York Times bestselling author of In Another Life
“With remarkable skill, Abigail Johnson has created distinct and unforgettable characters in Adam and Jolene. A must-read!”
—Samantha Young, New York Times bestselling author
“Adam and Jolene spark the page with their wit...and they’ll slide into your heart as they discover each other’s.”
—Laura Taylor Namey, author of The Library of Lost Things
Books by Abigail Johnson
If I Fix You
The First to Know
Even If I Fall
Every Other Weekend
Every Other Weekend
Abigail Johnson
For Grady
August 1st used to mark the day I broke my neck.
Years later, August 1st became your birthday.
Because of you, it’s the anniversary of the best thing that ever happened to me.
Abigail Johnson was born in Pennsylvania. When she was twelve, her family traded in snowstorms for year-round summers and moved to Arizona. Abigail chronicled the entire cross-country road trip in a purple spiral-bound notebook that she still has, and has been writing ever since. She became a tetraplegic after breaking her neck in a car accident when she was seventeen, but hasn’t let that stop her from bodysurfing in Mexico, writing and directing a high-school production of Cinderella, and becoming a published author. Visit Abigail online at abigailjohnsonbooks.com and follow her on Twitter, @abigailswriting.
Contents
First Weekend
Jolene
Adam
Jolene
Adam
Jolene
Adam
Jolene
Adam
Second Weekend
Adam
Jolene
Adam
In Between
Text Thread
Jolene
Adam
Third Weekend
Jolene
In Between
Text Thread
Adam
Fourth Weekend
Adam
In Between
Text Thread
Fifth Weekend
Jolene
Adam
In Between
Text Thread
Adam
Jolene
One Day Later
Adam
Sixth Weekend
Adam
Jolene
Adam
Seventh Weekend
Adam
Jolene
In Between
Text Thread
One Week Later
Eighth Weekend
Adam
Ninth Weekend
Adam
Jolene
In Between
Text Thread
Jolene
Adam
Jolene
Adam
Jolene
Adam
Jolene
Adam
Jolene
Adam
Jolene
Tenth Weekend
Adam
Jolene
Adam
In Between
Text Thread
Jolene
Adam
Eleventh Weekend
Adam
Jolene
Adam
Jolene
Adam
Jolene
Adam
Jolene
Adam
Jolene
Adam
Twelfth Weekend
Text Thread
Jolene
Adam
Text Thread
Thirteenth Weekend
Jolene
Adam
Jolene
Adam
Jolene
Adam
Fourteenth Weekend
In Between
Text Thread
Jolene
Fifteenth Weekend
Jolene’s Essay
Author Note
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from Even If I Fall by Abigail Johnson
FIRST WEEKEND
September 25–27
ADAM
The pigeons blanketing the parking lot took flight into the setting sun when we pulled up to Dad’s apartment building. I kind of envied the little flying disease bags for escaping until Jeremy killed the engine and they settled back down behind us. As though in sync, my brother and I leaned forward to peer out the windshield and get our first look at Oak Village Apartments, aka Dad’s new home and the place we’d be forced to stay every other weekend until we turned eighteen.
Forced wasn’t the word Jeremy would use, but it was exactly how I saw the situation.
“Huh,” Jeremy said, his blondish brows smoothing out as my reddish-brown ones drew closer together. “I thought it’d be worse.” Mom’s piano teacher salary and Dad’s handyman business might have been a great combination for summers spent slowly restoring our old farmhouse, but it didn’t leave much for Dad to live on after he decided to move out last month.
Built just over a century ago, the six-story apartment building looked as if it was one bad day away from being condemned. Water stains from window AC units ran down the walls, and several windows were covered with warped and weather-beaten boards. Describing the green paint on the doorframe as peeling was like saying a tornado was a windstorm.
I could only imagine that the inside was equally inviting. No wonder the owner, an out-of-state friend of Dad’s, had been eager to trade a rent-free apartment in exchange for Dad fixing the place u
p.
I turned slowly to face my brother. “I think it’s perfect for him.”
Jeremy jerked the key from the ignition and pushed his door open. “We’re staying with Dad for two nights, Adam. Cut the crap.”
Normally, I couldn’t let things go with my brother, even little things, but after the thirty-minute drive from the rural Pennsylvania I’d called home my entire life to the crowded, somewhat congested outskirts of Philadelphia, I was feeling too dejected to bother. As it was, I barely had time to grab my backpack from the trunk before Jeremy slammed it shut. His massive duffel was easily five times the size of my backpack. That about summed up our respective opinions on our parents’ separation.
The full impact of our new residence—however temporary—hit me as we drew closer to the glass front doors. There was a tiny spiderweb-like crack decorating one corner, and the maroon carpet inside was worn so thin by foot-traffic paths that it looked striped. Small metal mailboxes were built into the wall on the right, and unpainted plaster covered the left. Mom wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in here before peeling back the carpet to check for hardwood. Another ten and she’d have been chipping away at the plaster, hoping to expose brick underneath. Dad would have been right there next to her, grinning.
He should have been, only not here, there—home. With Mom.
Two and a half years. Jeremy didn’t seem to grasp the severity of the situation. Then again, at seventeen, maybe he was realizing that he’d have to hold out for only another year. Not that he viewed the inauguration of these weekends as something to endure. He was looking forward to seeing Dad, whereas I would have sooner slept in the alley outside.
I moved past Jeremy toward the elevator, but after pushing the button for a full minute, I started up the stairs. “You’re right, Jeremy. This place is way better than our dry, clean, not-broken-down house, where Mom is alone right now.”
My backpack wasn’t nearly as heavy as Jeremy’s duffel—unlike my brother, I was carrying only what I needed for the next forty-eight mandatory hours—so it was only reluctance that weighed my steps up five flights of stairs. We stopped at the sixth floor and peered down a surprisingly wide hallway with three doors on each side. One of the light bulbs was flickering in a seizure-inducing pattern that increased my nausea at having to be there.
“Which one is it?” Jeremy asked.
“Does it matter?”
Jeremy checked his phone, then pointed to the middle door on the right, 6-3. He was already knocking by the time I stepped up next to him. Each rap of his knuckles made me wince. I hadn’t seen Dad in three weeks, and that was only when he’d been packing up the rest of his stuff. He’d tried to hug me before leaving, but I’d backed away. It was his choice to leave and mine not to help him feel okay about it.
“He’s not here.” Jeremy frowned at the door.
“Great. Let’s go.”
More door frowning from Jeremy.
“I’m not staying if he’s not here. I’ll call Mom to come get me if I have to.”
Jeremy’s head snapped to mine and he glared. “I’m so sick—”
The door to 6-5 opened, and a pretty Korean woman wearing sky blue yoga pants and a matching sports bra stepped out. “Oh, hi! You must be Jerry and Adam!”
The expanse of midriff on display rendered my brother mute. I was too pissed off by the whole situation to care much. “Yeah, but we were just leaving.” I grabbed Jeremy’s arm.
“Paul asked me to keep an eye out for you. He needed to pick up a few things, but he thought he’d be back by now.” She peered down the obviously deserted hallway. “Anyhoo, come on in.” She turned and called to someone in her apartment. “Jo, come meet the new neighbors.”
Neither Jeremy nor I moved.
“Whoops. Probably should introduce myself. I’m Shelly, I live here with my boyfriend, Robert. It’ll be so nice to have some new faces on the floor.” She laughed and popped her hip against the doorframe in a way that drew my eye despite my mood. “Those are vacant.” She pointed at the two apartments directly across from ours. “And then the Spiegels and their new baby live on the other side of you in 6-1, but don’t worry, the baby doesn’t cry a lot. There’s a guy who lives in 6-2, but he’s not around much, and honestly, he gives me a creepy vibe. That’s mean, isn’t it? It’s just that this generally isn’t the kind of place that attracts non-creepy people.” She made a face. “I know your dad is going to fix it up, but it’s kind of a dump right now.”
She lifted a hand as if to shield her eyes from the flickering bulb. “We wouldn’t be here if Robert’s queen bitch of an ex hadn’t taken everything in the divorce, and I mean everything. The house, the cars, his sports memorabilia.” She started ticking things off on her fingers. “You wouldn’t believe what he went through just to get Jo every other weekend.” Shelly shook her head. “So this is it for now. It’s better inside though. We might still have some pizza left over, I think.”
She leaned back into her apartment, and I thought Jeremy was going to pass out at the rear view she presented. “Jo, did you eat all the pizza? Jolene?” Back in the hallway, she half rolled her eyes, then smiled. “She’s kind of a nightmare, and I’m not exactly her favorite person.”
I blinked at the sheer amount of information this complete stranger had just vomited at us. “Maybe you shouldn’t call her mother ‘queen bitch.’”
“I know, but...” Shelly shrugged. “It really suits her.” She stressed the word and laughed again. “Do you know she had their dog put down while Robert was out of town? I mean, who does that?” She leaned forward. “Just between us, she’s a drunk, too.”
I wasn’t sure that Jeremy was listening as much as he was watching the way Shelly’s chest rose and fell when she took a deep breath—which she did constantly.
I leaned into Jeremy while Shelly continued to grossly overshare. “You realize she’s probably wondering what size diapers you wear.”
Predictably, Jeremy reacted by slamming me into the opposite wall. His nostrils flared. “I’m so sick of your crap.”
“Yeah?” I straightened up from the wall with a smile. “I’m not exactly—”
Shelly had fallen quiet as soon as Jeremy pushed me, but she started up again as Dad crested the stairs behind us. “And here he is.” Her voice held a note of relief, like she expected my brother and me to fall in line at the sight of our father. Once, that would have been true.
Dad’s arms were filled with bags. Jeremy went to help him; I did not.
“Thanks, Jer.” Then he stared at me. Dad looked about ten years older than the last time I’d seen him, with a scruffy half beard and more salt than pepper in his light brown hair. His normally suntanned complexion looked paler, too. But he was smiling, and that made me want to knock his teeth out. “Hi, buddy.”
“Don’t worry,” Shelly called out, drawing all eyes once again. “They only just got here. We’ve been getting to know each other. Paul, you didn’t tell me how cute your sons are. Jeremy looks just like you, and I bet Adam has the sweetest smile.” She flashed an inviting grin at me, and I continued not smiling as Dad thanked her and led us inside his apartment.
That was when I discovered Shelly’s first lie: it was not nicer inside. There were two tiny bedrooms, a small eat-in kitchen, and a slightly-larger-than-the-hallway living room that barely fit a couch and TV.
“So—” Dad clapped his hands “—who wants a tour?” Jeremy and I kept silent. “Guess I should save the jokes for after dinner, huh? I’ve got a lot of plans and I’m hoping you guys can help me with some of them. This building has good bones, you’ll see.”
“Yeah,” Jeremy said. “We’ll help.” He tried to catch my eye but I ignored him.
Dad pointed at the closed doors on the right. “I’m giving you guys the bedrooms. One has access to the balcony and the other has slightly more space.”
“Adam’s
the youngest, so he can take the couch.”
“And you’re practically a hobbit,” I said. “I wouldn’t even fit.” Jeremy had nearly two years on me, but it’d been clear for a while that I’d gotten the height in the family. I’d grown two inches in the past year. Jeremy was five-nine with his shoes on and I was six-two barefoot. I enjoyed Jeremy’s reddened face before heading into the bedroom with the balcony.
“Okay then. Adam, I got a pillow for the lounge chair out there, but the balcony is probably held together by rust more than anything right now, so be careful.” He moved back to dig in one of his bags. “The lady at the store said it was fine to leave outside even in the snow—which it feels like we’re going to get early this year.”
I shut the door behind me and heard Dad’s voice trail off. The walls were paper-thin, so Dad and Jeremy’s somewhat stilted conversation chased me onto the balcony. It shook but felt sturdy enough. The view was... Well, it was the side of another building.
There was an apple orchard outside my window at home.
I pulled my phone out and hit Redial. Mom answered on the first ring. “Adam, sweetie?”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Oh, is it that bad?” She could tell from my two-word greeting that it was.
“No, it’s swell as long as I breathe through my mouth.”
“Two days and you’ll be home. You can do anything for two days. And Jeremy’s there.” My mother lived in denial about the state of my relationship with my brother. In her mind we were still the same little boys who’d built forts together. “Your dad misses you.”
I ground my teeth together to hold in my response to that oft-repeated comment. It wouldn’t do any good to remind her that if Dad missed us, he had no one to blame but himself.
She asked me a few more carefully worded questions about Dad’s apartment. For once I was less careful with my answers.
“It’s foul, like rats-wouldn’t-live-here foul.”
Mom laughed, which was what I wanted. “So I shouldn’t tell you I just saw a deer in the backyard?”
“Can you repeat that? I couldn’t hear you over the drug bust going on below me.” I heard a snicker—not from Mom—and moved forward, following the sound to the edge of the balcony.