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“Is Uncle John around?”
“He took his mother to church.”
“Do you know when he’ll be back? I was hoping to go looking for a car.”
“I’m not sure. Sundays are always an all-day ordeal with Joanne.” She rolls her eyes, and I can sympathize.
My father was never a fan of his stepmother, and I’ve only met her a handful of times when we’d come for our visits in the summer. I don’t remember much about her, but she was always snippy, and my father could never wait to get away from her.
“He has to have her back to the home by six.”
“Gotcha. Maybe one day after school or something.”
She takes another big gulp from her drink, and I notice this glossy look in her eyes that has me wondering if there’s something other than the coffee she’s sipping on.
What else isn’t Kyson telling me about his home life?
About John and Helen?
The rest of the day is a blur, filled with mundane Sunday activities like cleaning my room and the bathroom I share with Kyson, catching up on homework, lounging around, and ignoring the tight sensation in my gut whenever Matt and how we ended pops into my mind. Uncle John finally arrives home around six-thirty, looking as if he’s just completed a triathlon or something. His eyes are tired, shoulders slumping under the weight of the day. It makes me wonder what exactly transpires during those long Sunday visits. After what Kyson shared with me, I can’t help but think he’s probably been with his other woman.
I don’t bother asking him to take me to browse for a car. Waiting a little longer won’t change anything.
Dinner is delivered takeout from a chain restaurant. The pork roast is as dry as the conversation at the table. Kyson took his food to his room, leaving me on my own with his parents, who seem to want to converse with each other as about as much as I wish to watch paint dry. Though watching paint could prove more exciting.
The silence stretches until I’ve had enough and excuse myself to my room as well.
After showering and laying out my clothes for tomorrow, I slip into bed and watch TikTok clips until I pass out.
In the middle of the night, the familiar dip of Kyson sliding into my bed awakens me, but I pretend not to know he’s there. I’m not ready to forgive him. He presses his lips to the back of my neck, spooning me, forming a cocoon around me.
I hate that I sleep better with him. That he seems to be able to slay the demons who haunt my dreams.
The next morning, I get up early to do some meditating in the backyard, finding Kyson long gone from my room. Meditating is a habit I’ve developed over the years, as a way for me to clear my thoughts and prepare for the day ahead. I’ve not been doing it since my arrival here. I need to get back into the routine. The crisp morning air hits my face as I step outside, the quiet stillness creating a perfect backdrop for my morning ritual.
I pop in my earbuds and try to ignore the sensation of being watched creeping over me. It’s probably Kyson staring at me from his bedroom window, plotting a new way to disrupt my life and make me miserable.
The rest of the next few weeks go by in much the same way–school, yoga, homework, lonely dinners, restless sleep except for the nights Kyson slips into my bed. It feels like I am floating through life on autopilot. I try not to think about Matt or the fact that neither of us has reached out to the other. Kyson, oddly enough, has been keeping his distance other than the nights we share my bed. I continue to pretend I don’t know he’s there every time he presses his lips to the back of my neck and curls his body around mine.
Lauren has been going on dates with Ray. She says thanks to my association with Kyson, I’ve boosted her rating on the social scale.
Most of my friends back home are busy enjoying the thrills and frills of their senior year. Then there’s me, merely surviving. But Gauge has been a surprising yet welcome distraction through it all. Nothing serious. We’ve exchanged a few random text messages. He flirts and I dodge his advances, both at school and through our chats.
By Friday, I am feeling restless. Even my daily yoga sessions have failed to alleviate the sense of discontent gnawing at me. After school, I decide to go for a long walk around town, alone. It feels good somehow, to be away from everyone. Away from the usual humdrum of Uncle John’s house, where no one talks to each other. Away from Kyson and his schemes. Away from Lauren and her constant chatter about Ray. Away from Gauge and his flirtatious advances. Away from the distance the length of an ocean that seems to stretch between Matt and me.
As though he knows I’m thinking of him as I’m browsing the shelves of the bookstore in need of an escape from reality, he calls me.
For once since I arrived here, I’m happy to answer. I’ve missed his checking in terribly.
“Hey.”
“Hi. Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I want you to hear it from me first.”
My belly does a dip and my heart squeezes in my chest. “Okay,” I hedge, unsure if I want him to continue.
