Goodbye from Nowhere

by Sara Zarr

  “That’s flimsy, Mom.” “Flimsy” was one of Coach Ito’s favorite words. Your fielding is flimsy. Your attitude is flimsy. Your excuses are flimsy.

  “I didn’t want to be a cliché and a liar or to hurt anyone.”

  “But you are.” All of it.

  “I know.” She sighed. “I know, Kyle. Right now we’re trying to minimize the damage while I figure it out. That’s all. I’m trying to not make it worse, and maybe I don’t have to lose everything.”

  Nothing in her voice wavered. She wasn’t going to cry like his dad did.

  “That’s why I’m upset Dad told you, and that’s why I’m still hoping to keep your sisters out of it or anyone who might know anyone involved. We really want to contain this. If something gets out and causes trouble for innocent people—”

  “Like me?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Maybe you should contain it by stopping,” he said.

  “Maybe I should.” And the way she said it was like . . . But I’m not going to.

  Kyle didn’t want to look at her face anymore, hear her voice. “Can you, like, get out?”

  She met his eyes with the most loving mom face he’d seen in a long time. He couldn’t understand it. How she could love him and be doing what she was doing.

  “Okay, Kyle.”

  She left, and Kyle slipped his headphones on and watched Maria dance through her song, a ribbon on top of her head, and it made him think too much about Nadia, so he stopped the movie and went over and over his mom’s words. “I’m hoping,” she’d said. “We really want,” she’d said. She didn’t tell him not to tell. Okay, his dad had said that, had invoked the vault, but that was weeks ago. Maybe if his mom had said she was going to stop and she was sorry and she was going to be better, or at least seemed like she felt slightly, like, guilty, he’d feel more like keeping her secret. But she didn’t, and he was sick of knowing this all by himself.

  I want to talk about the thing, he wrote to Emily.

  Her face materialized on his laptop screen after he told her it was too complicated for texting. That swimmer’s hair was in a bunch of clips all over her head, and she sported a septum ring. “Is that new?” he asked, touching his own nose.

  “Yep. My dad is annoyed I didn’t tell him ahead of time. And double annoyed because now my mom wants one too.”

  “It looks cool.”

  “I agree,” she said with a laugh.

  “So,” he said, trying to think how to ramp up to this. There wasn’t any good way. “The thing my dad told me is that my mom is having an affair.”

  She scrunched her brows together. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean . . . my mom is having an affair?”

  “Your mom is having an affair. Is what you mean.”

  “Yes.”

  “Like an emotional affair? Or a sex affair?”

  She was so matter-of-fact about it, about the word. Given that she was the one who didn’t date or hook up, was it ironic that it was easier for her to talk about? Maybe not, maybe it made perfect sense. She’d probably given all this stuff way more thought than he ever had while she was working out her own identity or whatever.

  “My dad’s exact words were ‘Mom is seeing someone.’ And I’ve been dealing with that information for weeks. Not telling anyone. Not Nadia, not you, not my friends. Not Taylor or Megan. Nobody.”

  “Oh, god, Kyle.”

  “Just now she came in and talked to me about it, and she was all like . . . this is happening and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

  “Wow.”

  “I mean, those weren’t her exact words.”

  Emily nodded.

  “The point is, no remorse or anything. Why should I keep her dirty secret if she’s not even trying to, I don’t know, stop? But,” Kyle continued, “the affair guy is also married. With a kid. And they don’t know, and I have no idea who it is, so I’m like not going to go around telling people at school or whatever . . . or anyone. And why would I dump it on Taylor or Megan when they would end up being in the same situation as me? Knowing some garbage they never asked to know.” He watched her face. “And neither did you.”

  She shrugged. “I told you that you could talk to me about it, whatever it was.”

  “You didn’t imagine this, though, I bet.”

  “Um, no. What is the matter with people? Is sex really worth it?”

  He hated thinking about the sex part. Maybe before, when it was an abstract idea, he could have handled it. But now that he’d been with Nadia, he knew the great and weird moments, the embarrassing and amazing thing that it could be.

  “Sorry,” Emily said. “You don’t want to talk about that.”

  “Nope nope nope.” Then a thought occurred to him. “Maybe they’re in love.” Saying it aloud made him uneasy, like he’d jinxed something.

  “Maybe love is worth it, then?” Emily asked.

  “Maybe? But that’s not the point. She should love my dad.”

  Emily ran her hand through her hair, scratched at her nose ring.

  “What?” Kyle asked.

  “I don’t know if ‘love’ and ‘should’ go together like that.”

  “Okay, but . . . you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do,” she said. “I can imagine if it was my parents, and like what if I knew something like that and I was supposed to keep it from Alex and Grandma and Grandpa and Uncle Mike and Aunt Jenny. I mean, I’d be pissed. Like aside from being sad? I’d be super, super angry.”

  All Kyle could do was nod. Anger felt like something waiting for him on the sidelines, something he hadn’t totally looked at yet, was afraid to.

  “So, what now?” Emily asked. “Have they said anything about divorce?”

  He explained everything he knew about the money, the business, and not only that but how his parents weren’t even sure what they wanted. As if this affair thing was like a losing baseball season, would come to an end and be in the past and they’d rebuild and make a comeback. Only unlike in baseball, this comeback would depend on the whole shitty season being a secret.

  And right before he had to go, he told her one more thing he’d hadn’t confessed to anyone, even himself, not totally.

  “I think me and Nadia . . .” He rubbed his face. Pressed his fingers into his eyes like he could make them stay dry. Chewed on his knuckle. He didn’t even have to finish his sentence.

  “Oh, no. Kyle.”

  Emily put her hand up to the camera, and this small gesture let his heart finally crack.

  4

  KYLE DOUBLED down on his avoidance strategy the whole next week. If he didn’t talk to Nadia, the end wasn’t final. If he ignored Coach Ito’s calls, left his uniform in a heap on his bedroom floor, he wasn’t really off the team. If he wasn’t at home, there was no home to get wrecked.

  He kept burning through tanks of gas and kept texting Emily and she was always there, just like she said she’d be. They would talk about the situation:

  My mom moved into Megan’s room, now that they’re not trying to hide it all from me. No idea what they’re going to do when Taylor is home from school in a couple weeks.

  Taylor will figure it out!

  Or talk about nothing, or randomly send her gifs from musicals, like Donald O’Connor dancing up a wall in Singin’ in the Rain or Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland doing the conga in Strike Up the Band.

  Meanwhile, Nadia had been trying to get him alone. She was too good a person to finalize the breakup over text, but he wished she would. He’d managed to slip away from her in the hallways, dodge the whole cafeteria at lunch, lurk in the boys’ room until passing period was over, and be late to every class they were in together and the first one out.

  If he had any guts, he’d do it himself. Face the reality that he was not in a place where he could be a good boyfriend or any kind of boyfriend, and tell her so.

  The problem was, he still loved her.

  It felt less painful somehow to
try to make her hate him than to actually say goodbye.

  One morning he woke up to an all-caps text from her.

  WE NEED TO TALK. TODAY, KYLE.

  He cut every class he had with her, and also last period, then drove to one of his favorite car washes in Ventura. It took almost forty-five minutes to get there on the 101, far enough and long enough to feel like he was putting real distance between himself and his life. He listened to the radio a little, then turned it off and sang a few show tunes. “My Favorite Things” from The Sound of Music and then “It’s the Hard-Knock Life” and basically the rest of Annie, but skipping over “Maybe” because it would probably make him cry.

  By the time he pulled into the car wash lot, his fuel light was on. Still, he was in an almost decent mood, high on denial and escape, singing, “He’s a what? He’s a what? He’s a music man!” to himself, and then he saw the sign.

  CLOSED DUE TO DROUGHT

  “Okay,” he breathed, the bleak mood creeping back over him.

  He checked his phone for the next closest car wash; there was one at a gas station not too far. Perfect. A wash and a fill-up.

  When he got there, that car wash was also closed. Kyle went into the station store and asked the guy behind the counter when they’d open it again.

  “Never, probably.”

  “Never?”

  “Do you see any rain clouds up there? Take it up with God.”

  Kyle went back to his car and pulled in front of a gas pump. He cleaned off his windshield with the station’s squeegee, which sat in half an inch of dirty water, then inserted his credit card and tried to stave off his gloom with more Music Man lyrics. “He sells clarinets to the kids in the town—” The pump interrupted him with three beeps.

  PLEASE SEE ATTENDANT blinked across the screen.

  He went back into the store. “Can you try running this in here? I’m on number nine.”

  “‘Number nine, number nine,’” the guy said, taking his card. “‘You say you want a revolution?’”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” He punched in some numbers, waited, shook his head. “This is your card, right?”

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s my dad’s.” The one Kyle was supposed to use for gas and school supplies and food and clothes. Necessities. A word that Kyle defined a little more loosely than his dad did. “Do you need my ID?”

  The cashier held out his hand for it without saying anything. Looked at the driver’s license, looked at Kyle, looked at the credit card and then back at the license. He tapped the little picture of Kyle’s face. “What happened to you, man?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re all smiling and shit here. Barely looks like you.”

  Kyle thought he’d been doing a better job than that at pretending. “It’s me.” He stared into the cashier’s eyes, forced a smile.

  He stared back a couple seconds. “Well, Kyle Baker, time to call the old man. Either he cut you off or it’s maxed out.”

  This brought him back to reality. He didn’t have any cash or any gas in the tank. He took the card back, his license. “I might sit in your lot for a minute. If that’s okay.”

  “Don’t block the pumps.”

  A bright, dry California day was nice to drive in but not ideal for sitting around in your parked car. The blue of the sky was so sharp it seemed to want to cut open Kyle’s brain and expose every thought he’d ever had. Sunglasses helped only slightly.

  He started to text Emily about it: the running out of gas, the car wash problem, the sun. She hadn’t replied to his last text, though, and he worried he was becoming a pain in the ass with his problems or being on his musical theater bullshit.

  Calling his dad for help would mean an awkward conversation about money, not to mention what he was doing in Ventura instead of at baseball. He could call his mom. Different awkwardness, different words. He could and probably should call Nadia, who’d probably be eager to help him out because then he’d be forced to face her.

  Megan. He had never been to his sister’s apartment, but he knew she lived not too far from where he was right now. They hadn’t spoken in at least a month. Still, contacting her seemed like pretty much the only option, unless he was prepared for Nadia. He was not.

  Megan answered on the second ring. “Kyle? Did someone die?”

  “No. Hi.”

  “Have you heard of texting?”

  “I didn’t want you to be able to pretend you hadn’t seen my texts. I got you now.” Kyle watched two little black birds fight over a Flamin’ Hot Cheeto in front of the convenience store. “Are you at home right now?”

  “No. I’m at Target. In Oxnard.” She paused. “I mean, I work here, so I’m at work, but I’m on a break.”

  “Oh. I thought you worked at that restaurant?”

  “I do. Being independent isn’t cheap. Hey, my break is over soon, so cut to the chase.”

  “I’m stranded in Ventura with no money for gas.”

  “And?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Can you . . . help me?”

  “I don’t have any money for gas, either.”

  “Do you have a credit card or something?” Kyle asked. “Maybe you could give it to the guy here over the phone and I could fill up. I’d pay you back.”

  She laughed her famous annoyed laugh, the one he’d been hearing since Megan turned twelve. “No, Kyle, I do not have a credit card or something. As you may recall.”

  Right. When Megan had left home, she’d made a show of handing their parents a stack of halved bank cards and store cards and made a big speech about how she wanted to take care of herself, was sick of watching the family and the business get deeper and deeper into debt, didn’t want to be a part of it. Kyle felt a pang of guilt now over all the car washes and fill-ups and fast food.

  “Listen,” she continued, “if you can wait about two hours I can come bring you a few bucks after work to get you home. But why don’t you just call Dad? Also, what are you doing in Ventura?”

  “Two hours?” He switched his phone to his other ear. “His card got declined. I don’t want to ask him.”

  Megan sighed. “Are things that bad? Why doesn’t Mom get a freaking job instead of giving free labor to Baker and Najarian?”

  “She’s doing her design consulting . . . and stuff.” He’d almost said “on the side.”

  “I’m sure. Kyle, I really have to go. Do you want to wait, or . . . ?”

  He knew at this point that his after/during school wanderings were over—after today, he’d either have to come clean or disappear in ways that didn’t cost anything. Might as well see his sister while he had the chance, given that she never came home anymore.

  “Yeah, I’ll wait.”

  “Text me where you are. I don’t have to work at the restaurant tonight, and I think I have some money left on a gift card to one of those ‘casual American dining’ places you love so much. We can split a gross dinner. See you later.”

  “See you,” he said. “And . . . thanks.”

  She’d already hung up.

  With time to kill, he couldn’t stop himself from texting Emily, even if it did mean he was a pain in the ass.

  how DO you feel about schnitzel with noodles? Favorite thing y/n

  He didn’t even wait for a reply before continuing:

  I’m having dinner with Megan later and thinking about telling her about my mom even though I’m not supposed to.

  She replied right away to that.

  Yes, you should!!! she’s your sister!!

  Had she been right there at her phone for all his texts but didn’t care enough to reply until this one?

  But like I wish *I* didn’t know. why would I put that on her?

  A long pause.

  (like I did to you), he added.

  More pausing.

  Never mind, I’m sorry

  He waited and waited for a reply, restrained himself from adding even more. There weren’t even typing bubbles. Come on, Emily
!

  His brain took a long soak in a hot bath of anxiety, thinking about Emily being sick of him, Nadia waiting for her chance to tell him off, the team seeing him as a traitor. His mother wanting a life, and Kyle and his dad not being enough of one.

  No gas, no money, no team, no girlfriend. No response from Emily to soothe the feeling that he was spinning through space, untethered, yet at the same time completely stuck.

  He white-knuckled it until Megan could come save him.

  Did you tell her?

  Finally. The relief of the text from Emily took about a thousand pounds off his shoulders. She was the one person he could confide in, and he needed that to be all good.

  He and Megan had finished their club sandwich and fries, and she’d ordered them a slice of lemon meringue pie before excusing herself to the bathroom. And no, he hadn’t said anything about their parents. It wasn’t like she could do anything about it, and it would only make her more furious at their mom than she already was. Megan had been mad at her for about five years for no specific reason that Kyle was aware of. His dad had once told him, “Teen girls and their moms. It’s just how it is.” But Taylor had always gotten along okay with their mom, so that didn’t quite explain it.

  Still undecided, he replied.

  “Who are you texting?” Megan slid back into the booth. “Nadia?”

  “Emily.”

  “Who?”

  “Emily Emily. Our cousin?”

  “I didn’t know you guys were that tight.”

  He shrugged and put his phone facedown on the table. “If you would ever come back to the farm, you’d know. You’d know a lot of stuff.”

  “Like, what do you talk about?”

  Her big-sister interrogation tone made him want to tell her exactly nothing. “Random stuff.”

  The look on Megan’s face reminded him of their dad, how he’d be when he knew you weren’t telling him the whole story, lips kind of pressed together and eyebrows up. “You know,” she said, “cousins used to get married all the time. Back in ye olden days.”

  He’d been taking a sip of water. A little went down his windpipe; he had a coughing fit.