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19. Drifting
“What’s this I hear about you havin’ a boyfriend?” Dad opens.
I got back from Monday class a couple hours ago and have
been nervously anticipating this Skype call ever since—it’s
our first since I started the internship.
I shift against the wall in my bunk. “I don’t have a
boyfriend.”
“That’s not what I heard from Leo.”
“Well, Leo’s an ass.”
“What’s wrong with you? I’m just askin’ a question!”
“Come on, Shane, don’t talk about your cousin that way,”
Mom chides.
I harrumph.
Mom changes the subject. “Tell us about work!” She grins
at the webcam. “What did you wear? Who are you working
with?”
“I’m working at an urgent care office, and I’m shadowing
the receptionist right now, her name’s Wendy, and my
roommate Sahra works in the same building at the pediatrics
office there.” I pull up a forced smile.
Mom beams. “Wow, Shane, that’s great! You know I’m
proud of you, right? I’m so proud of you! I just…” She trails
off, putting a hand to her heart. “And that’s so nice that you
have Sahra there. Do you two get to take lunch together?”
My heart hurts. “Yeah.”
“You learnin’ a lot?” Dad asks.
I nod vigorously. “Yeah! I’ve already been exposed to all
sorts of medical issues and emergency situations.”
Mom’s eyebrows shoot up with curiosity. “Any
particularly interesting ones you want to share?”
“Um, no, I mean, well—”
Dad conveniently interrupts me with a new question. He’ll
never admit it aloud, but he’s squeamish. We sign off a few
minutes later. I feel like I just swallowed a cup of mud. I want
to tell them about
Packed!
I want to tell them how great the
writing course is going, that I got another A on an assignment
in class today. I love the way they look at me when they hear
I’m doing well—the way my dad smiles and my mom’s voice
wobbles because any heightened emotion brings her to the
brink of tears. I like being their perfect daughter.
It’s inevitable that they find out I lied about all this, but I
need it to be after the semester’s over. Once I’ve sorted things
out. Dad’s good at being proud. He’s good at providing,
protecting, playing games. But he’s not good at being angry. It
swallows him up. He goes into sleep mode and someone else
takes the helm. I’ve experienced as much when the cousins
and I have broken things by accident, or when I haven’t
attended to a chore fast enough. Mom and I make Bruce
Banner jokes after the fact, but there’s nothing funny about it
in the moment.
But it’s going to be okay when I come back to them with a
job. He can’t be too mad if I get a job. I close my laptop.
Through the window wall, I can see my flatmates in the
kitchen, engaging in various stages of dinner. I climb down to
join them.
I flop onto the leather couch, not wanting to crowd the
cooking area where Babe and Atticus move about chopping
things. Sahra and Pilot are eating at the table.
“How’d Skype with the parents go?” Babe calls from the
counter as Atticus wraps up the story he was telling when I
walked in.
“Fine.” I smile.
“Any change in status with Friday night Rugby Guy?”
Atticus asks in a silly this-is-scandalous tone.
“Who?” Babe exclaims, spinning around.
I swallow. It takes all my willpower not to glance at Pilot. I
stare at Atticus. “Um, he texted me last night. How was your
date with Man Bun?”
“You missed it. I was just telling everyone how great it
was!”
“Oh my gosh, that’s amazing!” I smile.
“Shane, who’s this Friday night Rugby Guy?” Babe puts
down the knife she’s been chopping vegetables with and
crosses her arms.
I glance at Pilot. He’s pushing microwaved lasagna around
with his fork. I open my mouth and close it wordlessly.
“Shane made out with some Lawyer Guy at the club on
Friday,” Sahra says casually.
“Sahra!” I yelp. I stare at my keyboard now, cheeks
blazing.
“Way to fill me in!” Babe accuses.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” I tell her.
“So did he ask you out?” Atticus asks.
“He wants to go out on Wednesday,” I mumble.
“That’s exciting!” Atticus grins.
“Well, I told him: No, sorry, I’ll be in Germany,” I add
sheepishly. Out of the corner my eye, I see Pilot’s fork stop
moving.
“You’re going to Germany?” Sahra asks.
“No,” I answer guiltily.
“Shane!” Babe giggles and turns to resume her cooking
prep.
Atticus breaks into a full-on cackle.
Pilot turns his head and meets my eyes for the first time in
over a week. “Why don’t you want to go out with him?” he
asks.
My heart rams against my chest.
You should ask him if we
can talk outside.
I swallow. “I just … didn’t like him.” I can’t make my
mouth form any more words. We hold each other’s gaze for an
extra second in which I desperately try to communicate
But I
do like you, can we talk, do you have any interest in me, what
happened in Paris?
with my eyes. Sizzles and pops permeate
the room, disturbing the moment. I look away to find Babe
breaking up a blob of ground beef on the stove.
Atticus pipes in from the sink where he’s about to drain his
pasta, “Well, don’t worry. I’ll help you draft something to let
him down easy.”
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