how we actually are, which is the two of them and then me, was gone. I thought I’d killed it, smashed it into pieces so small they’d never fit together again. I guess I was wrong.
“Fine,” I said, and went to meet them.
They were there in the waiting room, sitting curled up in each other’s arms on one of the sofas. My fi rst day at Pinewood, my arms were raw from where I’d dug my fingers in to make sure I was alive, and they’d sat on that same sofa the exact same way.
I’d sat across from them and watched them clutch each other’s hands like they’d be lost if they let go. They’d given me a weird almost hug when I left, the two of them still clutching each other and trying to squeeze me in.
That was a lot of fun.
5
Today they were clutching hands again, but they actually let go of each other and got up and hugged me.
Separately. That’s when I realized today was going to be weird. As in seriously weird.
I’m taller than both of them now. I can’t believe it. I knew I was taller than Mom but didn’t realize I’m taller than Dad. I guess maybe I grew some while I was here. It figures. Sixteen, about six feet tall, and just out of a “treatment center.” I’m such a winner.
On the drive home, Mom and Dad told me about my
“new” room. My bedroom up in the attic is gone. They moved all my stuff down into the guest room on the second floor, and now it’s my bedroom. I can’t believe my parents want me sleeping near them. Weird. But then I suppose it fits in with today.
Because after telling me about my new room, my parents had other things to say. They told me there wouldn’t be a lock on my door anymore. They told me that even though I’m now old enough to get my license, there’s no way I was going to. They also told me I would have to keep seeing Laurie every week.
I said “Fine” to everything. I think they expected arguing or something because they kept looking at me, Dad in the rearview mirror, Mom in the little one you’re supposed to use to check your makeup.
6
When we got here the weirdness was complete, because the house . . . it’s still the same, but yet it isn’t. For one thing, it’s blue now. Apparently, Mom had it painted again. It’s better than the yellow it was before but not by much. I don’t know how an art professor can be so clue-less when it comes to this stuff. I mean, she can paint and teach other people how to do it, but she can’t fi gure out that a blue house is a bad idea?
Mom and Dad might have been waiting for me to comment on the house. You never know with them. I didn’t say anything. It’s a new color, not a new house, not a new me and a new them, and Julia is still gone.
They helped me bring my stuff in, and then we all stood around looking at one another. I finally said, “I’m hungry,” just so it wasn’t so quiet. They, of course, both went to fix me something to eat. I know they don’t do everything together, and I’ve even heard them argue once in a while, but most of the time it’s like they’re one person. Not Colin and Grace. Just ColinandGrace.
I can hear them now, laughing at a joke they’ll never share with me. If Julia was here I never would have heard it because we’d be out having fun. I don’t care about my room or a stupid lock or driving or even having to see Laurie. I don’t care about any of it.
7
76 days
J,
It’s me. I’m home, though it doesn’t feel like it. Not without you.
I tossed the starter journal Dr. Marks gave me, which is just as well because it had little pine trees running along the bottom of every page. I suppose I should be happy it wasn’t teddy bears.
After I tossed it and a bunch of other random crap Pinewood gave me, pamphlets and books and bullshit about feelings, I found my old chemistry notebook.
Remember chemistry?
Me neither. I know I passed because I wore a short skirt every time we had a test. Mr. Lansing was such a pervert. Neither of us took a single note all year. I 8
flipped through the notebook when I pulled it out and it was blank page after blank page except for one.
Hey, you wrote me a note at the bottom of this page.
“Locker after class?”
Your handwriting is so much nicer than mine.
I just called your house. Your mother hung up as soon as I said hello.
9
T W O
78 DAYS TODAY, and Mom took me to the mall.
“A belated birthday present,” she said.
I wasn’t allowed to get gifts while I was in Pinewood.
Laurie had asked me how I felt about that at least a hundred times, but what did I care? What kind of birthday was it without Julia there? In the end it was just another day of therapy and bad food punctuated with an awkward visit with Mom and Dad.
