The Vow

My cheeks are on fire now, hot tears dripping off my nose and soaking into the fabric of my dress, turning the light blue to indigo. It’s better to be crying. I look too guilty to defend myself. He can’t expect any more words.

“And after . . .” He cuts himself off.

But my mind completes it for him. After he fed me. After he told me about cooking school and having his own restaurant someday. After he kissed and touched me and made me feel like I was some sort of angel.

I stare at his hands. His knuckles are white. I didn’t expect him to be so angry, but I’m not scared. It feels like he’s angrier at himself than me, which feels worse. He steps back, out of my reach. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet and so bitter it eats away at me. “After I told you that my last girlfriend cheated on me.”

Everything runs cold. My blood, the tears, my thoughts. I am a monster.

“I’m so stupid,” he says to himself, and pulls his hand down over his face, over his mouth like he wants to wipe me away.

“You’re not stupid.”

“But apparently I have a type.”

Type. He doesn’t say the word. Of course not. He’s not the kind of guy who would call a girl a slut, even if she deserves it. And besides, his eyes say it perfectly. I look into them and hold his gaze long enough to see what I made him feel.

Crushed. My rib cage. I can’t breathe. I’m all puncturing splinters on the inside, so chewed by pain I must be bleeding. Somewhere the blood must be gushing out, pooling, filling all the spaces around my heart. I let out one humiliating half-stifled sob, and he turns away from me in disgust.

“What kind of person does that?” he yells. “Tell me. Was there any point where this felt real to you?”

“I’m so sor—” I start, but he cuts me off.

“Go,” he shouts, coming closer again.

But I’m frozen, scared to move, scared that this’ll be the last time I see him.

“I didn’t mean to hurt—”

“Go!” He slams his fist down beside me.

I go. I slide off the counter and run. He doesn’t want to hear that I’m sorry, because there’s no way he can believe it. I wouldn’t. I stumble out the door, and it’s a miracle I don’t trip running down the stairs, tears and the midday sun blinding me. I make it to the car, but my hands are shaking so much, it’s hard to get the key in the ignition.

I’m sobbing. I didn’t think it would hurt this much, but I’m already doing it, and there is only one direction to go now. I finally get the car started and pull away from the curb.

I had to do it. It had to be done. I repeat it over and over so repetition can either make it true or numb me. Hurting Reed was the price for saving Mo. I had to do it. It had to be done. I had to do it. It had to be done.

But If I’d have imagined that his eyes could ache like that, I don’t know. I don’t know.

Chapter 20

Mo

Did you know?” I ask.

“Hello to you too.” My father’s face on the computer screen is distorted, the webcam stretching his forehead and shrinking his chin. And the sound of his voice is a half second ahead of his moving lips. “Did I know what?”

“That Annie and I were committing a crime. That we were going to have to pretend to be married for real.”

He raises an eyebrow. “It doesn’t matter if I knew. You didn’t consult me before you got married, remember?”

I lean back and fold my arms. He’s right. “But did you?”

“If you’re asking me if I know what marriage fraud is, the answer is yes.”

“Does Mom?”

He stares blankly, unimpressed by me, by the question, by Mom—it’s hard to tell which. Maybe all of the above. “Good question,” he mumbles.

I picture the triumphant look on her face at the Taylorsville courthouse. If she knew, it didn’t matter. It was more important to her that I stay. And that she win.

“Would it have changed anything if you had known?” he asks.

“No. But you should’ve told me.”

“Again, I had no idea you were considering it. You just ran off and got married behind my back.”

“I mean after,” I argue, knowing it’s pointless, that he’s right, that I’m the one who didn’t go to him for help. “You should’ve told me or helped me find out about a student visa for college or some other way to stay. Instead you just retreated and made your plans and ignored the rest of us because you didn’t care. You don’t care.” I stop for breath. I never talk to him like this. I’m not yelling, but my pulse is racing, and I’m telling him the truth. It’s disorienting.

“That’s a bit dramatic, Mo. You were the one who shut me out.”

“So what, you wanted to teach me a lesson because I went to Mom instead of you? You could’ve at least found me a real lawyer.”

“You asserted your independence,” he says. “I was letting you be your own man.”

“You washed your hands of me.”

“If that were the case, I wouldn’t be paying your living expenses.” It’s the same even voice he uses with Mom, the same impassive look on his face. The screen between us and the out-of-sync audio don’t help. He seems like someone else. Or maybe I’m someone else. “Have you found a job yet?” he asks.

“Have you?”

He glares.

Ha. Finally, a crack in the stone. I’ve pissed him off, and I haven’t even shared my fabulous news yet. “Turns out I can’t work anyway,” I say, doing my best not to grin. “The genius law student you sent us to said it’ll take a few months for me to get work authorization. Probably more. I might as well go to basketball camp.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Work authorization. The form is being filed, but it takes—”

“I got that. I meant basketball camp. Obviously that’s out of the question, since I’ve already been reimbursed and your spot on the roster is long gone. You can spend the rest of the summer studying for the SATs and working through that reading list I gave you.”

I fight the urge to stand up and walk away from the computer. It’s not like I really thought I could still go, but he could’ve at least been more annoyed. Or apologetic. “Is Mom there?”

“She’s at the store. Sarina’s here, though. Do you want to talk to her?”

I did when we planned this call, but now I’m not sure I can hold a decent conversation with anyone. “I guess.”

Dad leaves. After a few seconds Sarina appears, and she looks okay. Thousands of pixels, thousands of miles, but she looks okay. I didn’t realize I was worried she wouldn’t be until now.

“Hey,” she says. “Your nose looks huge.”

“So does yours. It’s the webcam.”

“Oh. How’s it going?”

“Fine, I guess. Sort of weird being alone in the apartment, but I won’t be for long. Annie’s moving in.”

“I heard.”

“Yeah?” I say, trying to imagine the conversation that must have gone on after I called Dad on the way home from Sam’s. I can’t, though. I don’t understand them anymore. The who-knew-what, the who-was-right—that’s their fight. I don’t want to be on anyone’s side anymore.

“How’s Jordan?” I ask.

She hesitates. “Good, I guess. I feel a little lost with the language. It’ll come back though, right? That’s what