Ink is Thicker Than Water (Entangled Teen)

by Spalding, Amy

  “Sure,” I say, because as far as he’s concerned, I am more than okay. “Go, you probably have homework or something.”

  “I always have studying, trust me. But if you need anything, let me know.” He kisses me before getting into his car, and I watch until he’s backed out of the driveway and driven off down the street. Before I’ve even made it inside, Mom speeds in from the other direction and parks where his car had just been. It probably looks odd that I’m just standing there, barefoot and in my pajamas with messy hair, but it would look even stranger at this point if I dash inside. So I wait.

  “Hey, baby.” If Mom finds me suspicious in any way, it doesn’t matter, because her face is red with mascara streaked down her cheeks in mean, wet lines.

  I’ve never seen Mom look like this.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, even though no one’s looked like this in the history of being okay.

  “Oh, Kell-belle, I’m fine.” She gives me a big, big hug, like I’m a little kid, and I kind of scoop myself into it because despite the ten million reasons I shouldn’t receive little kid hugs anymore, I really need this one. “Did you eat dinner?”

  “Pizza,” I say.

  “Good girl.” She smooths down my hair a little. “Are there leftovers?”

  There are actually bizarrely few slices left, assuming I hadn’t split the pizza with anyone (How can guys, even skinny guys, eat so much?), but Mom doesn’t say anything about that, just takes the box out of the refrigerator and sits down at the table with a slice. I try to think of a good reason the pizza is from the place near Oliver’s dorm that definitely doesn’t deliver out here, but again, if Mom notices, Mom doesn’t care. Maybe we are all lying, like me sitting here watching her eat like someone just let out of a hunger strike when I know she’s just come from dinner.

  “I’m glad we’re here without Russell and Finn,” Mom says finally after consuming the two remaining slices. “We need to talk.”

  “Sara,” I say.

  “Sara’s going to move in with Camille,” Mom says in a very normal voice. “For the time being.”

  “What?” Sure, I’d felt this coming, but I thought it would involve Sara running away and lots of protesting from Mom and Dad. “Seriously?”

  “It’s what she wants,” Mom says, which makes me shake in what I realize is anger. There is a lot I want that I can’t just go and do, and I don’t believe for one second that once I turn eighteen all the gates will open.

  “I can’t believe you’re just letting her,” I say. “We’re her family, Camille’s—”

  “Camille’s her mother, too.” Mom cries as she says it. This time I don’t hug her. “And this is her decision. Not yours, not mine.”

  “No, it totally is your decision, but you’re so obsessed with coming off as open-minded and supportive you’re letting our family fall apart.”

  Mom bursts into fresh tears, which should have stopped me, but I’m on a roll. A roll of being a jerk, sure, but it’s called a roll for a reason.

  “Dad would have done something.” Gross, why am I suddenly all pro-Dad? “He’s just going along with you because you’re so convinced letting us make our own choices is what’s best, but sometimes it isn’t.”

  “Kellie—”

  “I’m really sorry you didn’t make enough good choices for yourself and ended up with a job and a husband you didn’t want, but that’s not going to happen to me, and it wouldn’t have happened to Sara.” I don’t know what I’m even saying, but I do know I mean every awful word of it. “We’re not you, okay? And maybe if you’d been more of a normal mom, Sara would still be here.”

  “Go to your room, Kellie,” says this voice behind me. Russell, who must have come in while I was yelling like an asshole at the only person who probably feels worse about all of this than I do. So I march upstairs.

  I sit down at my desk and try to just text everyone like it’s a normal night, but it isn’t a normal night. My family is falling apart—has fallen apart—and now some of that is due to me.

  After getting dressed, I throw some things into a small suitcase and walk back downstairs, where Mom and Russell are sitting on the living room sofa, her head on his shoulder, her hands in his. She is still crying. My heart and brain ache in a way I didn’t know they were even capable of, but that isn’t enough to stop me.

  “I’m going to Dad’s,” I say.

  “Kellie, baby,” Mom says.

  “Drive carefully,” Russell says. “And call your mom when you get there so she doesn’t worry.”

  “I will.” And I know I will, too, even if it makes me so angry that Sara doesn’t have to cater to Mom’s feelings anymore, ever. “Bye.”

  I let myself in to Dad’s, which I guess I shouldn’t have done, because he’s sitting on the couch with Jayne, watching TV, being totally normal except in Dad World. “Oh, hey, Kellie, there she is, we have plans tonight?”

  “No, I just thought I’d… Sorry I’m interrupting or—”

  “It’s fine, it’s fine.” He jumps up and hugs me, a really tight hug from Dad. “You remember my friend Jayne?”

  “Hi, Kellie,” she says, walking over and shaking my hand. “It’s good to see you.”

  “You, too. I’m sorry I didn’t call, and I really just need to sleep, so—”

  “Jayne was just leaving,” Dad says, which is obviously news to Jayne.

  “Dad, she doesn’t have to go,” I say, and not just because even in my current state, I’m dying of curiosity. His craziness is so unfair to her, which means we have at least that much in common.

  “Well,” he says, giving a wary glance at Jayne, “all right.”

  “Are you hungry?” she asks me. “We have leftovers from last night.”

  I’m suddenly starving, actually, so Jayne ducks into the kitchen even though I insist I can help myself. Dad still stands next to me. “Sorry for—”

  “Kiddo, you okay?”

  Hello, of course I’m not okay. “Sara’s gone. Why aren’t you guys freaking out?”

  Dad sighs and shakes his head. “You don’t get a standard-issue rulebook when you become a parent. You’re just trying to do the best thing, and right now this is what Sara wants.”

  “I want to quit school and travel the world,” I say. “Are you going to let me do that?”

  “I’m sure you feel like you’ve lost your sister,” Dad says, weirdly enough understanding me for the first time in forever. “But I think everything will be fine.”

  “Why would Sara come back when she finally gets to leave the freak family behind? It’s like her dream come true.”

  Dad ruffles my hair. “You’ve got to be wrong about that much, kiddo.”

  “Here you go, Kellie.” Jayne walks back into the room with a plate of some kind of fish with carrots and a little salad (clearly she’d cooked because Dad doesn’t even order meals that well-balanced), and the three of us sit down. Them on the couch, me on the floor. “How have you been?”

  It’s either a really generous or really stupid question considering I am clearly mid-meltdown. “I’m fine. How are you?”

  “Great,” she says with a big grin. Jayne is sort of average looking, but her smile is really good. Straight white teeth, dimples, the whole nine yards straight out of a toothpaste ad. “Three cats at the shelter went to new homes today.”

  “Good for them.”

  “It’s wonderful,” she says. “How’s school? The paper sounds fun.”

  I nod and take a few bites of what turns out to be salmon. Not bad. “The paper is really fun, yeah. Which I guess is weird.”

  “Not at all, I was on yearbook in high school, and I loved it.”

  I nod. “This salmon is really good, did you make it?”

  “Well, my friend sent me the recipe,” she says. “But I did, and I’m glad you like it. Though Clayton says you and Sara aren’t picky like he is.”

  I can’t imagine Dad talking about us beyond things like Sara does everything right and What did
I do wrong in a previous life for my genes to produce Kellie?

  “I should probably head out.” Jayne rises to her feet and walks to the coat tree to get her blue coat and matching scarf. “I’m trying to line up enough volunteers for an upcoming event, and I won’t feel settled until I have more accomplished.”

  “What kind of volunteers?” I find myself asking.

  “We’re throwing a fund-raiser for the rescue group,” she says. “Do you know anyone who’d like to help?”

  “If my friend Adelaide’s free, I know she’ll help. She’s addicted to volunteering. I can ask if you want.”

  “Kellie, that’d be great.”

  “Oh, and I guess I can probably help, too, if you need people, though I’m not very good at much.”

  Jayne bursts into laughter like I’ve just made the best joke of all time. “Of course I’d like your help. Clayton, send me Kellie’s email address so we can get everything set up, okay?”

  “Okay,” he agrees like he’s just been beamed in from another time period and can’t imagine what has led him to this very moment.

  I stand up to carry my plate and glass into the kitchen. “I should probably try to sleep.”

  “Hey, kiddo.” Dad walks into the kitchen after me. “That was a nice thing you did. I know Jayne really appreciates it.”

  I nod and find myself giving him a hug like when I was little, clingy and sad and broken. Sometimes I wonder if he misses those days, too. Yeah, people rarely think fondly of a divorce, but back then he was just Dad. He wasn’t the guy I’m capable of disappointing just by being me.

  By the time I brush my teeth and change into my pajamas, I remember I’m supposed to let Mom know I’m safely here. The thought of talking to her is way too much for me, so I just text. And for maybe the first time in my cell phone–having life, Mom doesn’t respond right away with an, I love you, Kellie baby.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  I go straight to English lit the next morning, dropping my head to the surface of the desk and praying Jennifer will let it go. For some stupid reason, I haven’t counted on the real boss of that classroom demanding otherwise.

  “What’s with you?” Adelaide sits down in front of me and turns around to tap the top of my head. “Night is for sleep, the day is for knowledge.”

  “Shut up,” I mumble. “My night was not for sleeping.”

  “Brooks, look alive.” She keeps tapping me until I finally sit up. “Much better.”

  “Seriously, you have no idea how bad my day was.”

  “Oh,” she says. “Are you okay?”

  I fold my arms on top of my desk and rest my chin on them. “I am completely the opposite of okay.”

  “Is it about Oliver?”

  “It’s about Sara moving out for good.”

  “Oh!” Her brown eyes are round behind the horn-rimmed glasses she wears on occasion. “That’s interesting.”

  “No, it’s not interesting, Adelaide, it sucks. My family’s falling apart.”

  “I read an essay the other week about adoptive families versus biological—”

  “Do you get this is something I’m actually going through? I don’t want to hear about some essay you read.”

  “Kellie?” Jennifer walks over to my desk, holding out a hall pass. “Get your assignment and notes from me later. You look like you could use a free period.”

  “Thank you.” I grab the pass from her and don’t look back. Of course Ticknor cares a lot about their students’ mental health—or they want to appear that way at least—so we have a little lounge where you can hang out quietly if you have a pass. There’s a rule against sleeping, but it’s enough just to curl up on the sofa by the window and try to turn off my brain. By the time first period is over, I feel a little more like I can deal with life, though I change my mind on that when I practically run into Kaitlyn in the hallway.

  “What?” I snap.

  “Kellie, are you okay?” She touches my shoulder, a move only Former Kaitlyn would have made, not the one standing in front of me. “You look—”

  “I’m not, not that it matters.” I pull away from her even though that brief touch had felt as if we’d never fought. “I have to get to class.”

  “What about that?” She points to the pass, still clutched in my hand. “You could get another hour out of that if you wanted.”

  Kaitlyn uses one of her free periods to work as an aid to the school administration, sort of weird for someone who isn’t a goodie-goodie or obsessed with her college application. It is helpful in skirting the rules without getting in trouble, though.

  “I could come with you.” She pulls a laminated pass out of her purse. Laminated! “If you want.”

  Yeah, Kaitlyn is practically my enemy now, but I do want.

  We get our jackets and walk outside to the courtyard. It’s been chilly out, so no one’s been using it lately, but it’s not so cold that everything has been put away for winter yet, so there are still chairs to sit in.

  “What happened?” Kaitlyn asks me. “Is it your boyfriend?”

  “Why does everyone think it’s him? No. It’s Sara.”

  One thing I have to admit that Kaitlyn is very good at is listening, when she wants to, even now. She sits there quietly while I lay it all out there, from me learning Camille had called Dad in the first place, to last night when I’d found out the horrible news immediately before turning into the biggest jerk in the whole world. Of course by this point in the story I’m crying, but Kaitlyn doesn’t look horrified, just wraps her arms around me, a hug like we haven’t had in forever. Way longer than we haven’t been talking.

  “I wish you would have told me sooner,” is what she finally says.

  “When? When you were yelling at me or ignoring me or—”

  “I miss you,” she says. “A lot. I just didn’t know how to keep being your friend and doing the same stuff all the time when there was all this new stuff, too.”

  “Everything else that’s cooler than me?” I ask but at least in what I mean to be a semi-joking tone.

  “Not cooler,” she says, which is probably her attempt at being nice. “Just different. I’ve known you since we were eight, Kell. I’m not the same as when I was eight. You aren’t, either.”

  “I guess I understand that,” I say. “But you weren’t really fair to me. It’s dumb that just because I’m a nerd about music and I think coffee’s gross that I wouldn’t have anything left in common with you anymore. There are a lot of ways to grow up.”

  “Yeah.” She nudges my foot with hers. “I guess I see that. We just felt like we were going in different directions. And I didn’t know how to keep being your friend if that’s what was going on.”

  It’s the kind of thing I want really badly to disagree with, but then I think about secretly applying for newspaper, and in one go I get what she’s saying. Even if she was a jerk about it.

  Why is this stuff so weird and complicated?

  “I miss you,” she says again. “And I’m sorry stuff’s been bad for you. At least you have a boyfriend, though.”

  Leave it to Kaitlyn to keep priorities straight.

  “You should eat lunch with us today. I know you don’t think you like Lora and Josie, but they’re actually—”

  “No, I mean, they’re your friends now, so I won’t say anything, but I just don’t think we’d get along. I probably have newspaper stuff today anyway.”

  “Your articles are really good, I keep meaning to tell you.”

  “Aren’t you too cool to read the Voice?” I smile so she’ll know I’m kidding, even if like 5 percent of that isn’t a joke. Maybe 15 percent? “Thanks.”

  “So your boyfriend’s hot,” she says, which I’d had no idea I’d been desperate to hear, but, yes. At one point it would have been as if Oliver hadn’t even existed until Kaitlyn had agreed on his level of attractiveness. “Have you guys done it yet?”

  “You’re not just asking so you can report back to your posse to help them
complete some sort of virginity chart of our grade, are you?”

  “Kellie, God, you know I’m not.” She is awfully huffy for someone who’s ignored me for so long. “So you haven’t.”

  “No, we…we have,” I say, as it dawns on me that she is still, after everything that has happened, the first one I’ve told.

  I kind of like that.

  “Oh,” she says, “my God. You have to tell me everything.”

  “I do not.” But I grin at her. “I’ll tell you some of it, though.”

  We sit there until the bell rings, and then she hugs me again as we head in separately. Honestly, I want to cry even more now, because now that I don’t hate Kaitlyn, I just have to miss her even more. Maybe we mean everything we said, though. Maybe even without sitting together at lunch and basing our weekend plans around each other, it will be okay to text when we need to, to chat if we’re both on our computers, to say hi in the hallways and sit by each other in class. It’s hard to wrap my mind around it—having Kaitlyn back but not really all of Kaitlyn. I guess it is a lot better than nothing. I’m pretty sick of nothing.

  I go back to Dad’s after school (well, and after hanging out with the newspaper staff for a while). He’s working from home, which I don’t expect, though he doesn’t seem shocked to see me. Even more strangely, he asks about school and offers to make me dinner without any prodding about my homework or upcoming tests or college prospects.

  “I talked to your mom today,” Dad says while I’m plowing into the tortellini that is surprisingly edible. “She told you not to worry about Finn this week, and if you want to stay with me, of course that’s fine.”

  Of course when I’m a royal jerk to Mom, she repays me by being fair and kind and all of that. Way to make me feel worse. Also, maybe that whole time I’d been hating how I felt taken for granted while Sara began her rebellion, I should have just said something instead of expecting Mom to read my mind. Open and honest probably does make a lot of sense, as far as family mantras go.

  “Seems like you’re a lot of help to Mel,” he says, like he’s just figured out I’m good for anything besides disappointment. “I’m sure she appreciates it.”