Die for You

by Amy Fellner Dominy

  “Dillon?” His name whispers out like a wish.

  “People leave,” he says. He turns enough that I can see the dark line of his square jaw and the shadow of his lowered eyelashes. “And then they never come back.”

  I sink onto the bed, my anger gone. I suddenly realize what this is really about. His dad. Of course he’s thinking about his dad. How he left. How he never came home.

  Dillon once told me that he grew up in a house of goodbyes. His dad was a freelance journalist and traveled whenever a job came up. Promises of birthdays and Little League games were forgotten when a war cropped up or a disease broke out. Dillon would wake up and find his father gone, never knowing when he’d be back. Or if.

  Three years ago, his dad left to cover a hostage situation in Africa. He died in a helicopter crash in a remote region with a name Dillon can’t even pronounce.

  “You aren’t getting rid of me so easily.” I move to his side of the bed, and when I sit beside him, Dillon’s warm arms encircle me as he pulls me onto his lap and hugs me tight. My face finds the hollow at the base of his neck and I curl into him, his chin rubbing back and forth over my head.

  “We’re arguing about something that may never happen,” I say. “I have to apply for it along with everyone else. I probably won’t get it.”

  “And if you do?”

  “We’ll deal with it then.” I pull away, just enough that I can look into his beautiful eyes. “Go on the cruise tomorrow, have a great time. Just…relax. You need that, Dillon. Eat too much. Swim with the jellyfish.”

  “Jellyfish have stingers.”

  “Then swim with the little Nemo fish.”

  His expression softens into a smile. “Was that the Disney movie you made me watch?”

  “And you liked it.”

  “I like you.” His smile fades. “I couldn’t live without you, Em. I wouldn’t want to.”

  “Enough,” Lauren says. She collapses on the bed, bouncing enough to make the coils groan.

  I groan, too, as I shove a heavy box full of books and DVDs across the floor until it’s next to the other boxes by the door. I straighten and wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my arm. My hands are filthy and my blue T-shirt is streaked with dirt. The closet is packed up and the desktop is empty of everything but dust motes that shimmer in the morning light. Afternoon, I correct myself. It’s a few minutes past two. I roll my shoulders back and feel the ache work all the way down my spine. “We haven’t even started your dresser.”

  “You do the dresser,” she says. “I’ll nap.” Her eyes are closed, her chest rising with a deep breath. I’m still not used to her with short hair. For as long as I can remember she’s worn it down to her shoulder blades like mine. It’s cute, though—her thick waves are cut so they’re fuller on top and wispy where they end near her chin. Still, the new look makes her face seem thinner and older. She’s twenty, a college sophomore; it’s not as if she’s still twelve. I don’t know why I still see her that way in my head sometimes. Maybe it’s this room.

  Exhaustion creeps up on me. After I left Dillon’s last night, it took a long time for me to fall asleep, and then I had to be up early to drive fifty-five miles across the city to the house that used to be home. I wasn’t thrilled to spend the first morning of spring break boxing up a room, but I’m glad for the distraction. It’s kept me from worrying about last night.

  “We’ll both nap,” I say. I shove her shoulder until she scoots over and then I lie beside her on the bed, our elbows touching. The double bed used to seem so big when we were little. A wave of sadness that’s been threatening all morning finally washes over me. I’m not sure if I’m sad for the way things used to be or sad about the way things are now.

  “It’s a good thing,” Lauren says. She almost always knows what I’m thinking. She’s not only my big sister, but she’s always been my closest friend, too. “This house is from a past life, you know? We may be packing up all the stuff today, but it’s been empty for a long time.”

  “It isn’t,” I say. “It’s full of memories.”

  “The memories we can take with us. The rest of it…” She makes a noise in her throat. Something clatters from below and there’s a sharp breaking noise followed by Mom’s muted curse. A broken plate, maybe. Lauren told her just to donate all of it—Henry already has dishes. But Mom wants to save it. For you girls, she said. As if dishes are what we really want her to save.

  “This room should be demolished,” Lauren says. “It’s like a shrine to my high school self. I look at that poster and I want to shoot myself.”

  The poster is from the first Twilight movie, and it’s tacked to the ceiling above us, carefully taped around the edges to protect it from the ceiling fan. A brooding Taylor Lautner has long hair and an intense stare. “I remember when you hung it up. Even then I thought it was weird. He never seemed like your type—you don’t even like dogs.”

  “But he was so tortured—just look at that expression. I wanted to save him from that bitch Bella.” Lauren shudders. “I like to think of it as my one lapse in judgment.”

  “You’re actually admitting to one?” I say with pretend shock.

  She gives me a patented Lauren smile—lips pursed with just the barest tilt to the left corner. Dad jokes that they could tell Lauren was going to be a judge from the day they handed her a rattle and she started banging it like a gavel.

  Now she’s prelaw at U of A, and Stupidity is not a defense is her favorite expression. She’ll be a great lawyer and an even better judge. She can cut through all the bullshit to the heart of any issue. Lauren’s never cared about what-ifs the way I do. Sometimes I think it would be easier if I were more like her.

  She sighs. “Everything about this room feels so dated.”

  “Because it’s been two years since you’ve lived here.” I pause. “It’s been almost a year for me, and even before that I was spending weekends at Dad’s.”

  The air conditioner kicks on with a hum, and a scarf hanging from the doorknob flutters in the flow of cool air. “Lauren…,” I say. The question hovers on my tongue, the way it’s hovered deep in my heart since the beginning of my junior year. “If I hadn’t seen them hugging that day, if I hadn’t said anything, do you think Mom and Dad would still be together?”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Dad wouldn’t have had to move out—the affair could have run its course. Fizzled out, maybe.”

  “The marriage would have ended anyway. Eventually.”

  Would it? Or would we all still be together? It’s the unanswerable question that keeps me up some nights.

  Lauren turns to look at me. “Have you told Dad she’s moving in with Henry?”

  I can’t meet Lauren’s eyes.

  “Emma, come on,” she says. “The house sold over a month ago. He needs to know.”

  I swallow, miserable. Even Taylor Lautner seems to be staring at me accusingly.

  “Fine. I’ll tell him.” Lauren blows out a breath and I can literally feel the heat of her frustration. “We’re meeting for lunch next Sunday. I’ll tell him then.”

  “No!”

  “Someone has to, Emma.”

  “What if he goes over the edge again?”

  “You’ll be there to take care of him.”

  “Don’t say it like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like it’s such a bad thing. He’s our dad.”

  “That’s the point,” she says. “He’s your father, not your child. You already gave up your senior year. You shouldn’t have to babysit him.”

  “I didn’t give up my senior year. I made a few sacrifices.” I roll my eyes—we’ve been over this so many times before. “I couldn’t stay at Centennial anyway—not after discovering that my mother was sleeping with the assistant principal. Kind of puts a damper on things.” Understatement of the century. “Anyway. It was better to move than watch Mom get a restraining order on Dad.”

  “But he still thinks she’s
coming back,” Lauren says. “He always has.”

  When the affair first came out, they tried counseling for a few months, but Mom insisted she needed space. So just after Christmas, Dad rented a house clear across the city. He was sure that Mom would miss him and beg him for forgiveness. But there was no begging. She asked for a divorce in March, and the day after school let out in May, I officially moved in with him. But even with fifty-five miles and a divorce decree between them, he’s sure she’s coming back.

  “He’s living in Fantasyland,” Lauren says.

  “Maybe he’s happier that way. Maybe it’s what he needs.”

  She shakes her head. “The truth is always better.”

  My thoughts shift to Dillon. “But it’s not always easier.”

  “Is he still drinking too much?” she asks.

  “Once in a while he’ll go on a binge. But usually it’s just a glass of wine in the evening. I think it helps him sleep.” I shrug. “He misses her.”

  “Then he’s an idiot.”

  “You’re so cynical,” I say.

  “And you still believe in fairy tales.”

  “Me? I’m not the one with a werewolf on my ceiling.”

  She laughs, the same deep belly laugh I have, and the tension that’s gathered around us fades.

  “Anyway,” I say. “I might not be around to take care of him.”

  Her eyes widen and she turns on her side, resting her cheek on her hand. “Tell me.”

  I fill her in about the meeting with Mrs. Lyght and the museum internship and the American University of Rome.

  “Is it logistically possible?” she asks, and I nod, having known that her first thoughts would be the practical ones.

  “I went online last night and checked it out.” It’s not like I could sleep. “The deadline is coming up, so I’d have to request a late decision. But my grades and test scores are high enough, so all I need to do is write a couple of essays and get a recommendation.”

  “Emmie, that’s perfect!”

  “It’s not a gimme. If I decide to apply, then I’ll have to do some sort of assignment, and there’s competition, mostly from college kids. I’m supposed to think about it over spring break and then get back to Mrs. Lyght next Monday.”

  “What’s to think about?”

  “It’s a big change.” I lick my lips. “There’s also the financial part of it. I researched that last night, too. If I go to ASU, I get a tuition waiver because Dad’s a professor there. But if I do the study abroad, I have to pay full program fees. Plus, I have to cover travel and higher living expenses.”

  “So what. You have a college fund—that’s what it’s for. Plus, you can apply for financial aid if you need to.”

  There’s a small tear near the hem of my T-shirt. I work my pinky nail through the material, then quickly try to smooth the ragged edges together again. “There’s also Dillon.”

  “Dillon? What does he have to do with this?”

  “He’s my boyfriend, Lauren. I can’t just disappear for a year without considering him.”

  “Yeah,” she says, “you can.”

  I roll my eyes again, but deep down I love the fierce certainty in her voice. “He’s still getting used to the idea,” I say. But is he? I have no way of knowing. This morning there was no message on my phone, and by now he’s on his way to California and the cruise—without his cell phone. His mom made him promise to leave it at home.

  “He better get used to it,” Lauren says in her Judge Judy voice, “because you’re going.”

  I tug at the hole in my shirt again. “So you don’t think leaving for an internship is total betrayal?”

  She gives me a pointed look. “I’m pretty sure we both know what betrayal looks like.”

  I smile.

  “All you’re doing is taking advantage of a great opportunity,” she adds. “In fact, Dillon should be pushing you out the door. And if he whines about it, tell him he’s free to sleep with whomever he wants while you’re gone.”

  I smack her. “You’re going to die a lonely old cat lady.”

  “The only reason I have a cat is because Dillon is allergic to fur. Cleo is still your cat.”

  “She’s happier with you.”

  “Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.” She slants me a serious look. “But you’re not giving up anything else for this guy. Especially not an internship in Rome.”

  “I won’t have to.”

  She quirks an eyebrow in question.

  “It’s not going to come to that,” I say. “We’ll talk about it and work through it like the mature adults that we are.”

  “Ha!” she says. “You mean you think he’ll see it your way.”

  I shift, flipping my ponytail so it’s off the pillow. “He will. It just makes sense.”

  “What if he’s thinking the same thing about you?”

  “He’s not.” But her words find their mark, sinking into my suddenly nervous stomach. I made a commitment to you. I can hear the hurt in his voice. “Why does everything have to be so complicated?”

  “Most things aren’t,” she says. “It’s people who create the complications. If you know what you want, you go out and get it. It’s simple.”

  “And if it hurts others?”

  “What’s the alternative—to hurt yourself instead? How does that make sense?”

  “I wish I could be more like you.”

  Her face softens into a smile. “I wish you didn’t have to be.”

  “Have to be what?”

  Startled, I look toward the door. Mom is leaning against the doorjamb, smiling at us. My whole body stiffens.

  “Hey,” Lauren says. “We didn’t hear you.”

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Mom says. She crosses her arms over her chest and then uncrosses them and tucks one hand in a pocket of her too-tight jeans. She’s thinner than ever and has started wearing skinny jeans and layered T-shirts. Maybe that’s what all the moms with little kids do—now that she’s got little kids again. Henry’s kids. Personally, I don’t think she looks very good. You can see every wrinkle in her neck.

  “It’s so wonderful to see you both like this,” she says. “Brings back so many good memories.”

  Her words, her cheery voice—they make me sick to my stomach. Most of my memories are from last year, and none of them are good. I turn so my back is to Mom. I don’t want to hate her, but I can’t help it. I flash Lauren a quick look. “I need to go.”

  “Emma, don’t. Please,” Mom says. I can hear her shifting, hear the slight squeak of the door moving. “I got us a pizza. Barbecue chicken and pineapple.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Emma. Honey.”

  Lauren slides to the edge of the bed. “Don’t push, Mom.”

  It’s a sign of how screwed up this is when Lauren is the understanding one.

  “I’m not pushing,” she says. “But how are we going to work through this, Emma, if you won’t talk to me?”

  I sit on the carpet and pull on my sneakers, tugging them up my ankles rather than untying the knots. “I talk to you.”

  “One-word texts. Five-minute phone calls.”

  “Mom,” Lauren says.

  “If we can just have a conversation,” she pleads.

  “What are you going to say that you haven’t already said?” I shoot to my feet and reach for my purse before facing her. “You slept. With the assistant principal. Of my high school.” Tears I can’t stop scald my eyes. “That’s just…gross. What you did to us—to Daddy—is just gross.” I swipe at a cheek, horrified that my feelings are so close to the surface, that I still let hurt and anger undo me every single time.

  Mom’s eyes are wet, too. Her tears make me want to scream. She chose to have an affair. She chose to leave. And it was her choice to make Henry and his two little boys more important than us.

  How do you go to a new life when you have to climb over the wreckage of the old one?

  How do you leave
your daughter to clean up your mess?

  I shoulder my purse. “I’ve got to go, Lauren. I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “Okay,” she says. She pulls me to her for a quick hug and I’m grateful for that second to get control of myself.

  When I reach the door, Mom holds her ground for a long second. “I love you, Emma.”

  Then she steps aside and I run down the stairs and out of a house that’s no longer my home. I’ll tell Dad the truth. I’ll tell him tonight.

  Marissa only lives three blocks away and I could get to her house with my eyes closed, so it’s not hard to do with tears blurring my vision. I pull into the driveway and take a minute to catch my breath.

  I text Marissa:

  Just pulling up

  I meant to text before I left Mom’s, but Marissa knows to expect me. It’ll be good to hang out awhile. Marissa always knows the right thing to say, and besides, I can tell her about Rome. Who knows, if it works out, maybe she’ll want to come out for a visit.

  When the front door opens, Marissa is standing there barefoot, pink bikini straps showing beneath a long tank.

  “Hi,” I say. “Sorry for the late notice.”

  “No worries.” She smiles but looks a little flushed as she holds open the door.

  “Everything okay?”

  “I’m trying on bathing suits, which is always a disaster.”

  I step inside and give her a quick hug. “I meant to get here earlier. I didn’t think it would take so long.”

  “How was it?”

  Before I can answer, frenzied barking fills my ears and Charlie, her hyper Australian shepherd, comes flying down the tiled entry, skidding as he barrels into my legs and sends me back into the door.

  I laugh and hold out a hand so he can sniff and lick before I move on to rubbing his ears the way he likes. He leaps up, over and over, pawing and sniffing and yipping until Marissa pushes him away. “Quit it, Charlie. She’s not here to see you. Go get a treat.”