Up in my room, I check messages.
The first one is from Nathan, confirming we’re still on for dinner with my family. For a few seconds I close my eyes. This won’t be easy. Then I send back, Yep. See you after school.
Next up, Emma has sent me a funny gif, and it’s sort of hilarious that she did this while she was at my house. I find one of a dog dancing in a bow tie and send it back.
I’m happy to find a text from Clay. He’s probably home by now, though I’m not sure how long it takes for him to finish cleaning. What’re you doing? I’ve gotten this kind of text before, and usually it means your guy’s thinking of you, but he doesn’t want to be cheesy.
Not much, I send back. Just getting my stuff together for tomorrow.
Remember it’s cool for you to come by if you need to.
With a half smile, I remember asking if it’s okay to visit him at work. Maybe the dinner with Mom, Dad, and Jason won’t be as bad as I think. But deep down I know it’ll be worse because I can’t let on.
Every moment is a struggle not to get in the car and tell them everything. If I could be sure they’d recognize me, I’d go. Right now. But I’m really scared of the aftermath, of the pitying looks, and the reasonable reaction that what I need is not to go home, but a mental health assessment. I’m afraid they won’t hug me and say, “Welcome home.” Instead they’ll tell me I can get better with time and treatment.
I text a little more with Clay, just bits of nothing that leave me feeling more cheerful.
Then I remember there were four pings. Which means I have an unread message. The last one is from Creepy Jack. My skin crawls as I open it. Busier than expected, don’t be mad. I miss you. Letting out a slow breath, I close my eyes on a drowning wave of relief. I mean, I already told him I have plans on Thursday, but I was afraid he might insist on getting together. Now that my stitches are out, my excuses will only go so far. The clock is ticking on Morgan’s investigation, and I have to turn up some answers before Creepy Jack gets suspicious.
I’m tempted to ignore the text completely but that will probably piss him off. So I write, I’ll be waiting, and then turn off my phone.
In the morning, as I pull out of the garage, I spot Mrs. Rhodes in the doorway, watching. Normally this would strike me as sweet, but given her reaction to my question last night, it’s more like she’s keeping tabs on me. Shit. I already know she needs money. Would she report on me to Creepy Jack? The scary goose bump answer is, Yeah, probably. This morning I can’t get off the estate fast enough.
Last night’s group is hanging out by the school’s front doors when I stroll up. Oscar breaks away from the pack to fist bump me while the others keep talking about whatever’s hot on the art scene. Eventually Sarah calls, “Thanks for having us over.”
I don’t think she means for her voice to carry like it does, but ten heads swivel in our direction and the whispering starts. Jesus Christ, I can’t even have movie night without it being a thing? Wait. Morgan. Morgan can’t. My knees go weak when I realize how I’m sinking into her life like I’m in quicksand. Will there come a point when I don’t even remember being Liv? As I stumble back against the wall, I wonder if that would be such a bad thing.
“You okay?” Emma asks.
Tish comes over to inspect. “You’re pale, even for you. Did you eat?”
“Yeah. I guess I’m still … adapting.”
I’m surprised to get a sympathetic arm pat from Emma, then Sarah and Tish fall in beside me, as if they’ll protect me from the buffeting crowd. Letting them do it—that’s very un-Morgan—I take the escort while the guys follow. The rest of the day goes quicker than I want, probably because I’m so nervous about this family dinner.
Oscar’s waiting for me outside my last class. “You busy?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I should’ve known you wouldn’t hang out with us two days in a row.” By his smirk, I know he’s poking me about the mystique Morgan cultivated.
“I’m going over to the Burnham place,” I say, before I think better of it.
He goes quiet. Nothing like a dead best friend to kill a conversation. Finally he mumbles, “Sorry. I think Ben’s trying to flag me down. Catch you later.”
I don’t see Ben anywhere but I let Oscar make his escape and head for the front of the school, where Nathan is already waiting. Today he’s actually clean, shaved, and dressed in normal clothes. Until now it didn’t occur to me, but he might have shown up in torn jeans, a dirty hoodie, drunk off his ass. But at least he has enough common sense not to do that to my parents.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Yep.”
“They aren’t expecting us until five, so I’m going to the library to work for a couple of hours. I can take you home and pick you up later if you want.” I like the quiet of the town library, plus it’s open longer hours, the resources are better, and there’s free Wi-Fi.
“No, it’s fine. I’m behind in all my classes anyway.” He finally sounds like the Nathan I dated for nine months.
Maybe he’s done melting down over me.
I have mixed feelings. I mean, I want Nathan to be okay, but not this soon, maybe. It’s not like sorrow has a kill switch.
But I don’t say anything as I head out to the car. Nathan feels like a question mark walking beside me. There are so many things I want to ask, but I can’t because Morgan would already know. While I drive, there’s a movie running in my head, no soundtrack, just Morgan kissing him. God, why the hell was Nathan her first? Why did she lie? The fact that she didn’t tell me before we started dating is driving me crazy.
Homework gives me the excuse not to talk to him, though. We pass from the sunny afternoon to the shady building with tables spread out among the shelves. I recognize the librarian as Miss Pat but Morgan probably wouldn’t. I can’t remember her ever coming here with me. Nathan greets her with a smile; he even pauses to chat while I pick out a spot near the computers at the back. My phone at hand means I probably won’t need to use one of them, but it’s better to be close, just in case.
I’m already reading for Lit class when Nathan sits down. Though it takes some effort, I don’t look up. Morgan wouldn’t let him distract her.
An hour and a half later, Nathan stretches. “That’s it for me. I don’t have anything left.”
“You’re already caught up?”
“You know I’m a genius, right?” Nathan’s really proud of his 147 IQ.
“Whatever,” I say, collecting my stuff. “Let’s go.”
The drive to my old house is quiet, painfully so. I’m aware each time Nathan shifts, each time he drums his fingertips on the door. Finally he says, “Did I piss you off somehow?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re acting weird, even for you, rich girl.”
“I’m just nervous. Wondering how this will be.”
At this excuse Nathan’s perplexity evaporates. “I hear you.”
The place looks exactly the same. Not surprising, as it’s only been a few weeks. But I feast my eyes on the simple brick ranch house for a long moment while pretending to fortify my strength. By the time I climb out of the car, my mom has the door open. She looks a little better than she did at the hospital, though she’s still pale and tired. I can tell she hasn’t been sleeping.
Guilt nearly drowns me.
Before I take more than two steps, she rushes down from the small porch and swoops. As Morgan, I’m six inches taller but she somehow manages to mom-hug me. I hug back, awkward, as Morgan would be, but only because I’m fighting the urge to bury my head in her shoulder and sob my heart out. As Morgan never would. Thankfully Nathan nudges me aside to take his turn and then she leads the way into the house.
It’s a mess, Jason’s shoes everywhere. With a lump in my throat, I take in the cushy brown couch and the stained beige carpet. The wall art we purchased at various garage sales, so there’s no real theme. On one wall it’s boats and another one has a series of faux-Victorian portraits. The TV is on, some talk-show host chattering about the latest big issue.
My dad isn’t home, so we follow Mom into the kitchen. She’s making stuffed peppers, my favorite. Morgan’s version will have soy, tofu cheese, and rice instead of ground beef. But it’s sweet of my mom to remember Morgan’s dietary issues when I, the crappy best friend, couldn’t keep track.
“It’s so good to see you two,” she says, spooning the filling into a hollow green pepper.
“I miss you.” Nathan perches on a stool at the island without waiting to be invited, and his eyes are so green and wistful, like a rainy spring afternoon.
“Me too, hon.” Mom pats him on the shoulder, leaving a smear of tomato sauce. “You’re awfully quiet, Morgan. Is it … strange?”
For a moment I can’t believe she asked, but my mom’s always been up front like that. So I nod. “Would it be okay if I went into her room, just for a sec?”
Her room. My room. This weird, hellish emotional limbo will wreck me.