Allyson In Between ✔︎

Chapter Fifteen

|photo by Mart Production from Pexels|

Something wakes me. Whispered words. A light touch at my temple.

Then there's a buzzing. Sound, but also...vibration.

Oh. It's the garage door—which is right below me.

Crap. Was that Dad?

I flail out of the comforter, rush to the window and yank the cord that opens the blinds. He's at the end of the driveway, leaving a green container full of recyclables at the curb. He turns and heads for his truck. It's Monday morning—ridiculously early—and he was in my room, kissing me goodbye, because he works in North Carolina.

I already knew this, of course. His job situation has been explained to me multiple times. But when he came up to my room last night to say goodbye, it felt brand new. Because he's leaving me in a house I don't know.

He's leaving me alone to deal with whatever it is that's going on between Mom and Lindsay.

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I remember the tradition. Every year we'd head out to the mall in search of The Perfect Outfit for the first day of school. My memory of those shopping trips doesn't measure up to Mom's enthusiasm for our plans today, but I get the impression from my closet—which is packed full of clothes—that this trip is something I would've been excited about before the accident.

"We're only going to one store," Mom says, as we cross a parking lot blanketed in shiny minivans. Her tone still has the nervous pitch that started the moment we climbed into the car. I could "say the word" and we'd turn around and go back to the house. I know this because she's said those words at least three times since she backed out of the driveway.

I bolster my smile to reassure her. Yes, this mall is big and intimidating, but I'm not afraid of a brick and mortar building. The truth—that I came so close to telling her this morning—is that I'd much rather have gone to a movie. Because agreeing to shop for school clothes makes me feel like I'm saying I've made up my mind about going to Summerfield High and I haven't.

Lindsay mumbles something unintelligible as we pass through the breezeway. She's mad because Mom was going to let her stay home—alone with her weed and the older guy who lives on our street—until I exaggerated a pouty-face and said, "Please come with us, Linds. It'll be so much fun."

She breaks away from our trio the moment we're inside the massive store, and my relief shames me. I know for a fact now that my sister is not being overly dramatic about one thing—Mom hasn't allowed her to be alone with me for more than ten minutes—but I haven't figured out what that means or how to deal with it. I haven't even tried, because I can't stop thinking about Noah's last text.

I keep telling myself it's not important that I didn't tell Samantha about the call he made from Georgia. My lie by omission is ancient history—and it's not going to help me help Lindsay. The important thing now is to find an opportunity to convince my sister that it wasn't her fault. Noah stopped talking to me because of me. I was the stupid one. I was the pain in the ass who destroyed our friendship.

"What about this?"

I focus on Mom. She's holding a denim miniskirt up for my inspection. "It's cute," I say.

She smiles at my smile—which is genuine, because the skirt is adorable. Then she drapes it over her arm and forages on. When she's sufficiently weighed down with potentially perfect outfits, she deposits me in a dressing room and reexamines "our" choices as she hangs them on one of the brass wall-hooks.