Ink Is Thicker Than Water (18 page)

Almost.

“This is actually really good,” Dad announces as we’re eating our burgers. Probably I should have been offended at his incredulous tone, but I’m so used to him that I’ll just take his shock that I could have good taste in dining establishments as a compliment. “Great idea, kiddo, glad you came over tonight. I know it’s tough between my schedule and yours.”

“Yeah.” I feel sort of awful that it took the Sara drama to get me to his place tonight. Honestly, once Sara and I started driving, we haven’t exactly stuck to the stricter schedule of seeing him at least one-point-five times a week we’d upheld before. It truly isn’t about how sometimes hanging out with Dad is the emotional equivalent of getting needles poked under your skin, and not in the good acupuncturey way. (Usually.) At this point I’m just ready to have one place to live. Mom and Russell are much closer to school, and also they rarely say anything about my college chances or my attitude toward school and hard work, so I guess there is also that.

“So, uh, your mom said something to me about you…” Dad gulps his root beer like that will fortify him. “Dating someone.”

Dad knows this, but not that Sara is totally leaving our family for possibly forever? Mom and her open communication! “I guess I am.”

“Mel seems to approve, so…” Dad shrugs, like it’s perfectly normal for him to basically say,
If it’s fine with your mom, it’s great with me.
“And you know a guy has to treat you well and respect you and all of that, right, kiddo?”

“Of course, Dad.”

“Well, I hope he’s good enough for you,” Dad says, which is such a cheesy and clichéd thing a dad would say on a TV show that I feel way less like his biggest disappointment.

Back at the house, though, he immediately (before I’m completely inside the front door counts as
immediately
for sure) tells me to work on my homework, so we’re back to business as usual, and then he walks into the kitchen yammering on about something to do with college. Good thing you didn’t get too cool all in one night, Dad.

“I’m only a junior,” I say, my default response to anything containing the words
college
,
university
,
GPA
, or
extracurricular
.

“It’s never too soon to start looking, though.” He plunks down this giant book on the table in front of me.
Your Guide to the Best Colleges and Universities FOR YOU
.

“Whoa, the all-caps are a little freaky,” I say.

“I got it for you this week, thought it might be helpful.”

“What is it, some book for weirdos?” I check the back of the book, and after mentions of
creative
and
against-the-grain
and
non-traditional
environments,
I realize I’m right. Honestly, if you’re really at home at Ticknor, you’re probably not going to exactly fit in at your average college with a Greek system and organized sports and whatever else. I’m not really ready to start actually narrowing down college choices, but I guess it’s nice Dad knew not to get whatever genius edition he’d gotten for Sara. For once the differentiation doesn’t feel like an insult. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Sure, kiddo. You want to start looking through this? Maybe over the summer you and I can take a trip and tour some of your favorites. What do you think?”

A million thoughts fly through my head at once like in movies where your whole life flashes before your eyes (though luckily without the accompanying near-death experience). Dad and I on a trip together is a recipe for disaster! A vacation that doesn’t involve making sure Finn doesn’t run into traffic or the ocean sounds relaxing! Wait, college is actually this completely real thing that I’ll go away to in a couple years and I have a say in it?

“You know.” Dad sits down across from me, backward in the chair like rebel kids on bad TV shows. “You’ve got to give Sara a break.”

“What?”
What?
“I didn’t say anything about Sara.”

“I’m sure getting to know Camille is really validating for her,” he says.
Validating
? “You wouldn’t know how hard it is to not fit in.”

I think there should be a law that if any adult says that to someone in high school, they can be declared mentally incompetent.

“You and your mom have so much in common,” he continues. “Sara’s never had that. Think about what that would be like.”

I’m not a violent person, but I have to get up because right then I really want to punch him in the face. Think about what
that
would be like, Dad. “I’m going to bed.”

“Kellie—”

“I’m tired.” I leave the college book on the table and carry everything else to my room. It isn’t even ten yet—of course I’m not tired—and I have all this additional energy thanks to getting riled up by Dad and his crazy talk.

I get online, figuring at least maybe I can distract myself somehow. Oliver is logged in, which is just about the best distraction I could get.

Oliver McAuley: Hey.

Oliver McAuley: What are you up to?

Kellie Brooks: ignoring my dad. you?

Oliver McAuley: Procrastinating from reading. Hoping to catch you.

Oliver McAuley: What’s up with your dad? The usual?

Kellie Brooks: sort of.

I think about mentioning Sara then or Mom’s reaction—well, lack of—or Dad’s wrongheaded thoughts of almost everything. Oliver will be there for me, of course, but I’ll still have to dwell on all this stuff. And, ugh, could I just not dwell on stuff?

Oliver McAuley: Sorry to hear it.

Oliver McAuley: Mine just emailed me an article about some Philosophy major who graduated from SLU last year and still can’t find a job.

Kellie Brooks: our dads should team up.

Kellie Brooks: they could be REALLY disappointed with their powers combined.

Oliver McAuley: Not sure the earth could withstand that.

Kellie Brooks: apocalypse dads!

Adelaide starts messaging me, and even though I also briefly think about dumping all my brain’s issues on her, I decide to keep taking distraction where I can find it. And, anyway, Adelaide is detailing the blog posts she’d made that have gotten the most hits (which means I’m mostly typing lots of
oh
and
awesome
and the occasional
they really test THAT on animals??
). Oliver can at least be counted on for actual conversation.

Oliver McAuley: No, as far as that’s concerned, I think you’re insane.

Kellie Brooks: there is NO WAY the stones are better than the who. you’re the one who’s crazy.

Oliver McAuley: Now I’m not sure if I can trust you regarding anything.

Kellie Brooks: i was just about to say the same!

Kellie Brooks: so do you want to go with me to a friend’s party next week? or are you totally above high school parties?

Oliver McAuley: I don’t make a habit of frequenting them.

Oliver McAuley: But sure I’ll go. It’ll be good to meet your friends outside of Adelaide.

Kellie Brooks: i don’t really seem to have THAT many friends outside of adelaide anymore.

Kellie Brooks: terrifying thought I know.

Oliver McAuley: I can think of worse scenarios than that.

Kellie Brooks: i guess.

Kellie Brooks: it’s a halloween party so you have to wear a costume.

Oliver McAuley: I can handle that.

Kellie Brooks: oh, and please don’t tell anyone about your stones opinion or i’ll completely deny i know you.

Chapter Seventeen

Sara is, miraculously, home when I get there after school the next day, and since Finn is zooming around playing pirates and zebras, she clearly lived up to her assigned duties and picked him up from daycare.

“Hey,” I greet her, trying to seem like she didn’t just go AWOL on us. My voice sounds a little screechy, so I’m not sure I pulled it off.

“Oh, good, you’re home,” she says. “I need to work on homework, so Finn’s all yours.”

“But I haven’t seen you in days.” My voice is still screechy. Get it together, self. “Can we hang out?”

Can we hang out?
Ugh, I sound like such a dork.

“I really don’t have time, Kell,” she says and disappears up the stairs. I put my energy into joining in the game of pirates v. ninjas instead of dwelling on Sara v. the rest of us. Luckily Mom’s home before long, because honestly the not-dwelling isn’t going that well.

“Hey, you two.” Mom drops to her knees to hug Finn, then stands and hugs me. “Could you do me a huge favor and cut up all those veggies on the counter for the salad?”

The thing is, I have homework, too, but I’ve never figured out how to refuse Mom without being a huge brat. So I just pick up a cucumber and a knife and start chopping.

“How’s school, Kell-belle?”

“It’s fine,” I say, because the actual school part is, and I know it would make Mom really sad to know lately the Kaitlyn stuff isn’t. Mom has enough to be sad about these days without me adding to that crap pile. “How was work?”

“Exhausting. I started on a girl’s backpiece that’s going to take several sessions, but believe it or not, I got the whole thing outlined.”

“That reminds me, the other day I was thinking how you and Russell are almost to the point where you only have appointments people make in advance, so maybe you should hire someone else for all the walk-ins, at least on your busy days like the weekend. You do have an open station, two when the freelance lady isn’t there.”

“That’s a great idea.” She slides a casserole dish into the oven. “I’ll talk to Russell and see how he feels. We’ve definitely turned away more people lately than we’ve liked.”

“Mom! Mom!” Finn runs into the room with a bunch of Sara’s highlighters. “Can I have paper so I can color?”

“You’d better give those back to Sara,” I say. “Or risk being torn limb-from-limb.”

“Let’s not talk about dismemberment so close to dinner,” Mom says. “Finn, did you ask Sara if you could borrow those?”

He shakes his head, so we make him return them. Mom gets another knife from the fancy set she’d given Russell for Christmas the year before and grabs the carrots. “Want some help?”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I’m impressed with you. It really is a good suggestion for the shop.”

“Guess I’m not as useless as everyone thought.” I smile so she’ll know I mean her brand of useless and not Dad’s. (Truthfully, I mean both.) “Can I get some more hours next week? I’m not having any issues balancing school or anything.”

“Sure, baby,” she says, but her focus seems to be on the carrots and the sharp, sharp knife, not me. “How’s everything with Oliver?”

“Good,” I say, instead of
I can’t believe how cute and smart he is and how good kissing him is
. “Can I go out on Friday night? And then Saturday after work—if I can work Saturday—some people from newspaper are going to hang out in The Loop. Okay?”

It takes a long time for Mom to seemingly even realize I’m talking to her. “Mmm hmmm. Sure, Kell.”

At this point I feel like I could get her to agree to giving me a million dollars or letting me skip town for a year or tattooing a full backpiece on me. But I just excuse myself from vegetable chopping instead of taking advantage.

Okay, I guess getting out of vegetable chopping
is
taking advantage. Just to a very mild degree.

Sara’s door isn’t shut, but I still knock before sticking my head into the doorway. “What’s your deal?”

Okay, not exactly good negotiation tactic there, self.

She’s sitting at her desk, surrounded by textbooks, novels, and notebooks. “Kell, seriously, not now.”

“It seems sort of…I don’t know, just, like.” Terrible timing to become extra-inarticulate. “You’re choosing her over us.”

“That’s a stupid thing to say.”

I really hate when Sara uses
stupid
or any of its synonyms regarding me. She might as well have slapped me.

“I’m—” She looks up at me. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” I say, not because I really am, but because I don’t want to fight with her. I just want things to be okay again. I don’t have to be right.

“We had a lot to talk about,” Sara says. “Eighteen years, and more, after the trip. I didn’t feel right just leaving.”

“But you felt fine
just leaving
us?” I try to make my voice mellow and open, the way Mom always sounds.

“I didn’t leave,” she says. “And I’m back now, aren’t I?”

“I still feel like you’re still shutting me—shutting
people
out.” I might have said more then, but I feel weird admitting I’ve been talking to Dexter about her.

“Right now I just need to do my homework,” she says, which is such a normal Sara thing I know I’ve pushed enough. “All right?”

“Fine.” Of course I wanted more from her than dismissal, but it’s like I’m not programmed for real conflict. Sara’s always been the easiest person in my life. I can’t just switch over to dealing with her as the unknown…or the enemy.

I walk back downstairs, where Mom’s making homemade salad dressing and not looking overly concerned at the state of our family.

But the next night, Sara doesn’t come home, and I guess the truth is that no one is surprised. Least of all me.

I pick up Oliver from his dorm on Friday night, even though by now I still haven’t seen a trace of Sara, and I feel weird leaving the house dark and empty. I’m torn between assuming we’ll just never see her again and staring out the windows for her imminent return. But I’m determined to be fun tonight, and not to get distracted by my drama, family or otherwise. I feel like so recently I was 95 to 100 percent fun!

I drive us over to Cherokee Street (after a reasonable amount of time spent making out, of course), where vintage and antique shops line up against hipster coffee shops and old-school traditional taco places. We grab coffee and cocoa right away before dropping into Apop Records (Oliver insists on buying me Buddy Holly & the Crickets on vinyl, and I let him because he seems so excited to do it), and then to a handful of vintage shops and the store that sells only stuff made in or about St. Louis.

I wonder if I should still be so surprised that, in general, having a boyfriend is really easy. This is completely the kind of night I’d want to have anyway, but I’m with someone who’s interested in all the same places I am (well, I was way more excited about the music, and he was more interested in looking at dusty old books, but it evens out), plus there’s the bonus of holding hands with him and knowing that, post-tacos, we will be making out again.

“What’s your next column about?” Oliver asks me over the giant plate of tacos we’re sharing.

“Vegetarian options in the cafeteria,” I say. “It’s kind of goofy, too.”

“Yeah, but isn’t that the point?” He grins at me. “What are you doing tomorrow night? They’re playing some old movie on campus, thought you might like to go.”

“I’m hanging out with Adelaide and some newspaper people,” I say.

“Oh,” he says. “Want me to come?”

“No, I’m good,” I say, like he’s being nice to offer, but his eyes dim a little, and I realize he’s disappointed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just to be honest, it’d be nice to see you more.”

“You’re seeing me now,” I say. “In combination with tacos. Pretty great, right?”

“Ha,” he says.

I don’t want to flat-out say that he isn’t invited, and I don’t want to comfort him even though maybe I should. I’m still learning the good relationship rules, so how would I know the other ones yet? If a guy wants you to spend all of your free time with him, is that nice, or is it too much?

I hear a tiny Adelaide in my brain yelling,
Just talk to him, Brooks
, but she’s pretty easy to ignore when she’s not around.

“Where do you want to go after this?” I ask. “Is your roommate out?”

“He’s there,” Oliver says.

“Okay,” I say, trying to seem like things didn’t just get kind of weird. “I guess I could just drive you back.”

“Sorry.” He takes my hand despite taco grease. “I just like hanging out with you. You’re one of my favorite people.”

It’s intense. Oliver is
intense
. But lately I haven’t felt like anyone’s favorite. Why would I refuse this? I’m one of his favorites,
and
he doesn’t let a little taco grease get in the way of anything. That’s basically perfection.

Sara’s door is shut but her light is on when I get home, and I take a chance and knock softly.

“What?”

It’s the same way Kaitlyn answered when I tried to talk to her, and I wonder why lately conversation with me is such a horrifying option to the two people I used to talk to the most. Still, I open Sara’s door and lean in. Of course I’m hoping to catch her in some secret moment, something telling or meaningful or new. But she’s just hunched over a textbook. She’s just Sara.

“I said
what
, I didn’t say
come in
.”

My mouth actually falls open because she sounds so mean. I catch sight of myself in the mirror, and I look ridiculous. But it’s Sara! Sara’s made me look ridiculous!

“I wanted to talk to you,” I say, even though I didn’t knock with thoughts of Oliver in my head. I knocked because this is
Sara
and that sentence should get to end there. Now that I’m here, though, I might as well ask something like,
What if a guy is clingy and intense, but also intense in a good way
? Seriously, since when do Sara and I need reasons and excuses for each other? Especially when we haven’t seen each other in days?

“I’m busy,” she says with barely a look to me. The only positive thing about that is hopefully she missed me looking ridiculous. “It’s one in the morning, Kell.”