Her phone goes to voicemail again quickly. I turn away from Casey so I can concentrate. “Hey, Paige…” I pause. Shit, I don’t really know what to say next. And Casey is listening. And now I’ve left about five seconds of silence on the phone. “Sorry, I…got distracted with something. Not earlier, I mean right now, when I just stopped talking. Well, now and earlier. That’s why I didn’t call back. Leah’s sick. That’s what I meant. Anyhow, I’m sorry I had to hang up so fast. Did you want to talk about the room? It’s still yours…if you want it. Just let me know. So…yeah. Call me. Oh, this is Houston.”
Fucking weak. My cheeks hurt from a fifth-grade brand of embarrassment, and it only gets worse when I turn around and Casey has his thumb and pinky finger stretched out like a phone. “So, like, totally call me, okay?” he says, mocking me.
“Shut up and eat another cookie,” I say. He wastes no time, pulling out one more and biting nearly half away. I hear Leah clapping upstairs, and I know that means she’s feeling better. It’s only been about ten minutes, but I guess throwing up a cookie is a lot more fun than throwing up Saltines and Sprite. I pull a cookie out for her, putting it on a plate, then pour a small glass of soda, and start to walk back up the stairs.
“Oh, this is Houston by the way,” Casey says through a full mouth, laughing before he can get the entire insulting sentence out. I don’t even acknowledge him. I know he’s just warming up, and I’ll have plenty of opportunities to say something to his face when I’m done with Leah.
Paige
Dad picked me up from the airport. That was good. I’m sure Mom has worked herself up trying to figure out why I wanted to come home early, dreaming up theories and worst-case scenarios. She does this with Cass more than me, probably because she worries over my sister’s health. Getting carried away is kind of her thing.
I had a few hours at home alone when Dad dropped me off. He headed back into the office, probably dealing with the assault case for my sister. I welcomed the alone time. Here, in my room, where I could erase the last six months and pretend I was still me—the girl I was before everything got so fucked up and twisted.
I haven’t been good at staying in touch with my friends from high school. Most of them stayed in California. I was going to stay in California…until I sacrificed everything for Cass. I think I blamed her for a while. Maybe I still do. But I know ultimately I made the choice to go to Oklahoma; I made all of the choices that got me where I am now.
Looking at my phone, I hover over Lexi’s number. She and I were best friends in high school, and she went to Long Beach for college. I know she’s in town. I text her.
Just got back for the holidays. Would love to see you! Call me and let’s hang out! XO
The feeling she’s not going to call sinks into my chest quickly, and I instantly regret messaging her. When I toss it on my bed, my phone buzzes with a message. I grab it with hope, but it isn’t a text message. It’s a voicemail. I flip to the missed calls, and see there’s three from Houston. I’m not sure why I didn’t hear it ring, or maybe I’m just now getting the message from the time my phone was on airplane mode. Either way, I’m glad I didn’t pick up. I may be starting to waver on my decision to move in with him.
His message is short, and sort of…weird. He sounds flustered, which only adds to my own anxiety. By the time my mom gets home, I have a raging headache and my neck is stiff from scrunching my shoulders up to my head with stress. I’m still happy to see her; her hug feels like a soft blanket, making me feel safe—if only for a moment.
“How was your flight?” she asks, letting go, standing back, and holding me by both arms, like she’s taking an inventory to make sure I didn’t come back with broken parts. I did, just nothing she can see.
“Good, no turbulence,” I say. My mom smiles. She hates turbulence. Add that to her long list of things she freaked out about when Cass and I told her we were both going to Oklahoma.
“Oh, thank god,” she says, hooking her bags on the rack by the door and kicking her shoes from her feet. My mom always brings home samples of things from the store. She has this grand idea of working on new display items and jewelry at night, but never really does any of it—she just takes the bags back and forth. Cass and I used to pull a few of the beads out at night, when she was asleep, to make things for our friends. Right now, the familiarity of her routine is comforting.
“We were thinking of going to dinner tonight—maybe to the pier, since your sister doesn’t like seafood as much as we do. What do you think?” she asks, and I start to answer with a smile when my phone chimes in the distance.