said.
• • •
F our months later—four months of falling asleep on a damp pillow and thin meals and phone watching—Hudson had arrived on the Cape with the words Lexi had been dreaming of.
“I ended it,” he said. “I told her I want to be with you.”
And just like that, Lexi had melted back into him. Like egg whites folded into cake batter. She’d yielded every part of herself to make him sweeter, to make him complete. Never imagining a person could change his mind, that even dried cement could be split apart.
5
M eg Wright pulled out a handful of Nilla wafers from the box and spread them out on the table in front of her. From the time she was little, she’d always eaten them the same way: always in pairs, flat sides together. Arranging them so was oddly comforting, the ritual almost as calming as the taste of the cookies themselves.
She didn’t know why she’d been feeling so nervous lately. No, she did. George and her mom were getting married. The big gallery show in LA her mom wanted her to attend? That was actually going to be the ceremony. Her dad would freak. She knew he would. God, he still nearly choked just saying her mother’s boyfriend’s name—this news of their engagement (and planned wedding!) would send him into full-blown cardiac arrest. Or worse, he might just curl up like a pill bug and not say a word. Meg wasn’t sure which response scared her more.
It had been hard enough staying with him that first summer after the divorce. He’d moped around. He’d cooked mushroom omelets in the middle of the night. Half the time Meg got the feeling he expected her to make him feel better, and the other half he fished for information about what her mother was doing in New York, and whom she was doing it with. Meg had hated lying to him, but she’d hated even more seeing his expression when she’d told him the truth.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t have her own things to be pissed off about! It wasn’t as if she was crazy about George, but she didn’t hate him. The truth was—and she would never have said this to her father—George was actually pretty cool. He didn’t freak out if she wanted a glass of wine or if she brought a guy home after school. He treated her like an adult, while her father—Meg stared woefully at the Nilla wafers in her hand—still bought her the same cookies she’d been eating since she was five.
She loved her father more than anything, but sometimes he held on so tight she couldn’t breathe.
Meg heard the sound of the truck rumbling up the driveway, then the slam of the driver’s door. Owen came inside a few moments later, carrying a pizza.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, setting the box down on the table.
Meg frowned at it. “I thought you said we were getting dinner from that new noodle place?”
“Since when don’t you like Russo’s mushroom pizza?” Owen asked, sliding into the seat across from her.
“It’s not that I don’t like it,” she said with a small shrug, wondering why she even bothered to bring it up. “I just thought we could try something, you know,
different
.”
He flipped open the pizza box, releasing a fragrant burst of warm, spicy air. Seeing the glistening lumps of sausage on one half, Meg gave her father a disapproving look.
“I swear I told them no meat,” Owen defended quickly.
Meg served herself a slice. “And you wonder why I worry about leaving you and your rapidly increasing cholesterol levels here alone.”
“I’m not alone. Did you ever call your mom back?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Honey, I’m not alone. I have you and your aunt and your grandma. . . .”
“You’re alone
here
. And you get mopey.”
“I don’t get mopey,” he argued.
“
Dad
. You get ridiculously mopey.”
“Hey, I don’t want to talk about me,” he said, dropping a slice onto his plate. “What about you? You still haven’t told me about this last semester, about your friends, what you’ve
• • •
F our months later—four months of falling asleep on a damp pillow and thin meals and phone watching—Hudson had arrived on the Cape with the words Lexi had been dreaming of.
“I ended it,” he said. “I told her I want to be with you.”
And just like that, Lexi had melted back into him. Like egg whites folded into cake batter. She’d yielded every part of herself to make him sweeter, to make him complete. Never imagining a person could change his mind, that even dried cement could be split apart.
5
M eg Wright pulled out a handful of Nilla wafers from the box and spread them out on the table in front of her. From the time she was little, she’d always eaten them the same way: always in pairs, flat sides together. Arranging them so was oddly comforting, the ritual almost as calming as the taste of the cookies themselves.
She didn’t know why she’d been feeling so nervous lately. No, she did. George and her mom were getting married. The big gallery show in LA her mom wanted her to attend? That was actually going to be the ceremony. Her dad would freak. She knew he would. God, he still nearly choked just saying her mother’s boyfriend’s name—this news of their engagement (and planned wedding!) would send him into full-blown cardiac arrest. Or worse, he might just curl up like a pill bug and not say a word. Meg wasn’t sure which response scared her more.
It had been hard enough staying with him that first summer after the divorce. He’d moped around. He’d cooked mushroom omelets in the middle of the night. Half the time Meg got the feeling he expected her to make him feel better, and the other half he fished for information about what her mother was doing in New York, and whom she was doing it with. Meg had hated lying to him, but she’d hated even more seeing his expression when she’d told him the truth.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t have her own things to be pissed off about! It wasn’t as if she was crazy about George, but she didn’t hate him. The truth was—and she would never have said this to her father—George was actually pretty cool. He didn’t freak out if she wanted a glass of wine or if she brought a guy home after school. He treated her like an adult, while her father—Meg stared woefully at the Nilla wafers in her hand—still bought her the same cookies she’d been eating since she was five.
She loved her father more than anything, but sometimes he held on so tight she couldn’t breathe.
Meg heard the sound of the truck rumbling up the driveway, then the slam of the driver’s door. Owen came inside a few moments later, carrying a pizza.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, setting the box down on the table.
Meg frowned at it. “I thought you said we were getting dinner from that new noodle place?”
“Since when don’t you like Russo’s mushroom pizza?” Owen asked, sliding into the seat across from her.
“It’s not that I don’t like it,” she said with a small shrug, wondering why she even bothered to bring it up. “I just thought we could try something, you know,
different
.”
He flipped open the pizza box, releasing a fragrant burst of warm, spicy air. Seeing the glistening lumps of sausage on one half, Meg gave her father a disapproving look.
“I swear I told them no meat,” Owen defended quickly.
Meg served herself a slice. “And you wonder why I worry about leaving you and your rapidly increasing cholesterol levels here alone.”
“I’m not alone. Did you ever call your mom back?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Honey, I’m not alone. I have you and your aunt and your grandma. . . .”
“You’re alone
here
. And you get mopey.”
“I don’t get mopey,” he argued.
“
Dad
. You get ridiculously mopey.”
“Hey, I don’t want to talk about me,” he said, dropping a slice onto his plate. “What about you? You still haven’t told me about this last semester, about your friends, what you’ve
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