I wait for the yelling to start, but it never does. An eerie silence fills the house, so I rush to my tape deck and listen to whatever cassette’s in right now.
Dolly’s vocals pump through my headphones, but it doesn’t work. Nothing’s going to get my mind off the events of the past hour. I used to be able to distract myself by being annoyed at my parents and their constant yelling, but this is so bad, no fight could possibly solve it.
I imagine my parents sitting in bed, staring at the wall, in disbelief at what NASA just revealed.
They led my dad on this whole time, and it’s my fault.
I feel stuck. I wish I could do something to help, but I don’t even know where to start. It seems impossible. I take off my headphones and let the silence sour my stomach. None of the tracks feel right. None of this is right.
What I really need is to hear Leon’s voice. But he won’t hear me out, as evidenced by the ten ignored calls on his phone. I picture him sad or angry or a little of both, and my heart aches.
I pick up my phone, hoping the eleventh time is a charm.
“Cal.”
Leon’s warm, comforting voice is gone, and my chest nearly explodes with tension. I’ve wanted to hear his voice so badly. But not like this.
“I need to talk to you,” I say. “I need to explain.”
“Do you?” And I hear it now. The coldness, the pain in his voice. “It was pretty clear from the start—this was temporary. You were always going back to New York.”
I sigh. “I don’t know if that’s true.”
“But you said it.”
“Fine,” I say. “I wanted to go back. From the moment I got here, I wanted to leave. But once I thought of this as a temporary home, I realized it wasn’t so bad. And then I got to know you and Kat, and all the other families. And I thought I could help NASA with some of my videos, and … yes, I thought it would build my portfolio, but—”
“You said it yourself, when we first …”—he hesitates—“kissed. You couldn’t be with someone who was half in, but even then, you weren’t all in.”
“With you, I was always, always all in.” My voice is rough and low. I need him to understand this, if he takes nothing else away from this convo. “I’m torn, okay. She said she could get me a dream opportunity. She could get me back home. She clearly lied to get some shitty sound bites from me. But I have so much here that I wanted to stay for.”
“Then take some time to figure it out.” He sighs. “I love you, but when I heard you say those words, it kind of paralyzed me—the thought of you up and leaving me, leaving Clear Lake terrifies me. Like, I couldn’t even answer your calls, because I thought you would tell me this was goodbye.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. It’s all I can say.
“I can’t expect you to make me your number-one priority. But being everyone’s number two or three or four priority is really hard for me.” His breaths come through the phone in ragged bursts. “Could you give me, us, some time?”
His words send a chill through my body. Some time? How long, exactly? Can I still text, or is he cutting off communication for good? How will I know when I can speak to him again?
Will I ever be able to speak to him again?
“I …” I can’t get the words out. The tears are building, and I don’t think I can stop them. “Okay. Whatever you need.”
After we hang up, I sprawl out on the carpet in my room, because the move is just melodramatic enough to show how sorry I feel for myself. I know that Leon isn’t perfect. I know that I’m way not perfect.
But in some weird way, it feels like we’re perfect together. And of course I don’t want to leave him.
I nearly jump when I get a text, in hopes that it’s him, but it’s only Deb texting me her new address.
When did Deb become only Deb? She was my world; we’d spend every day on the fire escape planning our future and cursing our annoying parents.
She was hurt by my leaving, I realize that now. And that only reminds me of all the others I’ve hurt. All the shit that’s my fault. So many broken people I care about, and I can’t fix any of them. I can’t help Mom with her grief and anxiety or tell Dad I’m sorry that I’m the only reason his dreams have come—temporarily—true. Tell Leon that I won’t disappear, that I won’t be like his parents, who make him feel so lonely. Tell Deb how great she’s always been to me, and show up to tell her how I never really left her. How we can go back to normal and everything will be all right.
I sit up straight, accidentally slamming my shoulder into the dresser.
“I could do that,” I say aloud.
I google her new address, and map it out. Twenty-four hours. It’s a huge gesture, but it would work. I’d sleep in the car, and I can leave a message on Mom’s phone so she doesn’t worry. I’d catch a ton of shit from Dad, but he barely uses the car anyway, since he’s been carpooling with Grace to work.
I’m unsettled, and a queasy feeling creeps into my stomach. I know it’s a bad idea. But if I could just show one person that I’m there for them. If I could just … fix something. I think I can keep going.
I slip out of my room and grab the car keys hanging by the door. I turn off the lights and release myself into the hot Houston air. It’s sixty-five in Brooklyn right now. If it holds up, I’ll be nice and cool when I get there in a day or so. Maybe I should’ve brought a sweater.
Behind the wheel, I feel a little bit of power come back to my life. I plug the directions into my phone, and I’m off. The farther I get away from that god-awful town, the more relaxed I feel. My grip on the wheel loosens. I can finally, finally breathe.
But the breaths get heavier, more ragged.
I’m nearly alone on this road, even though it’s a separated highway. But the good thing about driving in middle-of-nowhere, twenty-miles-to-Beaumont, Texas is there’s plenty of room for me to pull over. Since I can barely see through all the tears that cloud my vision, I do just that.
My chest heaves, so I press my forehead to the steering wheel. I turn off the music and beg the silent night to keep me calm. My shoulders tense so hard, I start to shake. Haphazardly, at first, then steadier. It’s like being outside in a snowstorm, or jumping into a freezing lake. The chill creeps through my body, though it couldn’t be less than seventy-five in the car.
Three things become abundantly clear: I can’t fix anyone. I don’t want to leave Houston, now or ever. And I really fucking love him.
Sobs come fast and hard, and I unbuckle my seat belt so I can hold my stomach. I’d feel so embarrassed if I wasn’t completely broken right now. The hole in my chest grows larger, and it physically hurts. I can’t breathe, I can’t exist. I can’t keep this up.
This isn’t a way to make things better. This is me running away.
For the next twenty minutes, I curl up into a ball in the driver’s seat and alternate between heavy panting and light sobbing. I can’t control myself. I don’t even know the last time I cried. Like, really cried.
When I finally calm down, sort of, I take a step out of the car to get rid of the smell of tears. I look up to the stars and feel a refreshing breeze blow through me. I want to enjoy it, but I can’t. Not now. I need to get back. I can’t run away.