“There you are, baby. I’ve missed you.”
“You sent me a text you meant for him,” I hiss. “For D. Honestly, Mom. Can’t you even make sure your texts to your boyfriends go to them?”
She gasps and it sounds so natural, like that’s exactly how she’d express the shock of a misdelivered text. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I meant to send that to Diana. She’s one of my new writers on the show and we just met to discuss a new storyline that I’m so excited about.”
“Do you honestly think I believe that?”
“Baby, stop this. Please. There’s nothing going on at all with your friend’s father.”
I seethe inside, and speak through gritted teeth. “Daniel, Mom. You know his name. You used it the other day.”
“Daniel,” she says lightly as if it’s the first time she’s even breathed it. “Yes, that’s it. Daniel. Thank you for reminding me, dear.”
“I have to go. I’m sure Diana’s storyline is just fantastic,” I say and stab my finger against the End Call button.
I stare at the phone. The phone is my mom right now, the phone is all the things I can’t say to her, and all the ways I contort the truth too.
I take a deep breath. I inhale. I count to three. I start to reply to Noah, the one thing that will calm me down. But my fingers are shaky and I mess up the words. I try again, and my fingers slip once more. I glare at the phone like it’s my mortal enemy, like it’s a teeny tiny little person with her arms folded across her chest, feet planted firm on the ground, standing guard against me.
I flash my phone a dirty look as I chuck it at the sidewalk. But it’s a sturdy bastard, so when I pick it up, it’s still ticking.
“You okay?”
It’s Lane.
“Fine,” I grumble.
“What’s going on, Kennedy?”
“Nothing. Stupid phone not working. It’s all frozen,” I lie.
“Perhaps this might not be the best way to fix it though.”
“Where’s Amanda?”
“Right here.”
I turn around and Amanda’s standing on the sidewalk too, hands parked on her hips. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I mutter. “I have to go.”
Amanda grabs my arm. “Hey. You just threw your phone on the sidewalk. You’re not leaving.” She turns to Lane and tips her forehead to the coffee shop. “We’ll be inside in a minute.”
I love her for taking charge, for not letting Lane be the one to talk to me, even though he’s the one of them I could tell. He’s the one who knows about my mom.
But he obeys, and retreats inside.
Amanda wraps an arm around me. “Are you pissed at me for talking to Lane?”
Amanda is very direct. Amanda is also very wrong. “No,” I say, taking some small comfort in my ability to tell the truth for one second.
“Really?” She gives me a pointed look.
“Really. I’m fine with it.”
“Because it seemed like you were pissed that we were chatting.”
“It’s fine. I swear it’s fine,” I say because I have to keep my worlds separate. The walls must be maintained.
“Then why did you throw your phone?”
Sometimes I contemplate telling Amanda about my mom. But then I remember Catey, and how she’s gone from my life. A few months ago I ran into Catey at a nearby bookstore. While waiting for a coffee in the bookstore café, I scanned the crowds and saw her by the magazines. She raised her hand to wave, and I waved back. Before I could even process that it was the same Catey, the guy behind the counter handed me my drink, and when I turned around she was gone.
I look at Amanda, at her blue-gray eyes, her long dark-blond hair, looped into a low ponytail, and the prospect of us being reduced to a random bookstore encounter someday keeps my lips clamped shut. Although I want to tell her that our parents suck, that her dad is a jerk, and that my mom is the worst kind of woman, I know that if I open my mouth, the best friend from high school will be out the door too.
“Just my mom giving me a hard time,” I say in my best irritated-with-my-parents voice. “She doesn’t want me to stay at my dad’s tonight, so she’s insisting I come home for dinner now.”
Amanda looks at her watch. “It’s two. It’s not dinnertime.”
I roll my eyes. “I know that. But she wants me to read a script before dinner, so I really have to go,” I say, then I lean in and give Amanda a big hug, so she can’t see my eyes, and know that I am half—half truth-teller, half liar, half daughter, half person. I assemble myself for the people I am with, to shield my secrets and to hide theirs. Right now, I loathe this chameleon I’ve become. “I’ll go say ‘bye to Lane.”
“I’m calling you later. You’re not acting like yourself,” Amanda says. “I wish you’d tell me what is really going on with your mom.”
I wish I could. I wish I could stop it. I can’t though, so I’m just going to duck and hope it doesn’t hit where it hurts.
“She’s just …” I trail off. “You know. Moms. They exist to drive you crazy.”
“I do know that,” she says, and drapes an arm around me as we walk back inside Dr. Insomnia’s. She kisses me on the cheek and excuses herself to the restroom, while I say a quick good-bye to Lane.
“You cool with me leaving you here?”