Watch her realize I’ve found out something she already knows.
Mom knows, and I stand up, putting the phone down as I say, “You … why didn’t you tel me about Tess?”
I figure Mom wil try to talk her way out of it, say she wanted to wait or something like that. But she doesn’t.
She just says, “It wasn’t my place to tel .”
“Wasn’t your place?” I can hear my voice rising. “Al this time I thought Tess—”
“What?” Mom says, eyes narrowing, and I think she actual y believes I’m going to judge Tess for who she cared about, that I—
“Hey!” I say. “I’m not—you mean you didn’t tel me because you thought I’d, what? Try to set her on fire? What kind of person do you think I am?”
“Abby,” she says, coming toward me and touching my arm. “I didn’t—”
“You did too.”
“No,” she says softly. “I didn’t. I don’t. I—I just don’t know what you know.”
“How about Tess was in love with Claire, and I’m pretty sure Claire loved her, but it looks like Tess got hurt. And then she met Beth but couldn’t bring herself to admit they were a couple, so—”
“We’d better go downstairs and talk,” Mom says. “There’s … there’s some things your father and I need to tel you.”
“You mean there’s more?” I say, stunned, and Mom nods before turning away. I hear her walking downstairs.
After a moment, I fol ow.
strangers, and that Mom and Dad wil be nervous, look at each other as they tel me about Tess, using each other’s expressions to figure out what to say and how to say it.
Instead, we sit in the kitchen and eat dinner like we used to. Like we did when Tess was home. Like we did before her accident, back when Mom and Dad wondered out loud about how Tess was doing, gesturing at her empty chair like she was stil there as they talked about their days and asked me about mine.
I’m not prepared for this, for how easily my parents start talking about Tess, Dad glancing at Mom as I sit down and nodding once before saying,
“I don’t know if Tess would have ever told us anything if I hadn’t walked in on her and Claire when I went to tel them good night back when they were fifteen.”
“You might not remember,” Mom says, passing me a bowl of corn. “You were twelve, and—”
“The night Claire went home because she was sick from eating too much ice cream, only I never saw her eat any, right?” I say, and Mom nods.
I always knew something had happened then. I just didn’t know what.
“Anyway, we sent Claire home because—wel .” She clears her throat.
“You were surprised,” I say, stil feeling pretty surprised myself, especial y as I watch Dad take the smal est amount of corn he can, just like he always does. Shouldn’t there be drama? Shouldn’t we at least be speaking in hushed voices or something? Shouldn’t it not be so … normal?
“Wel , yes,” Dad says. “We were surprised. But Tess—wel , she was the one who asked Claire to go.”
“Dave,” Mom says, fondness and exasperation lacing her voice, and gives him another scoop of corn before looking at me. “So then your father and I talked to Tess. And yes, before you ask, that’s why we let you stay up late and watch television downstairs.”
“Right,” I say, watching as Dad sneaks the extra corn back into the bowl just like he always … just like he always did back when us eating dinner like this was normal.
But this isn’t normal.
We haven’t eaten dinner together in ages, not like this, so why now? Why tonight? They didn’t know I knew about Tess, there’s no way they could have, so this dinner—
They planned it. Before Mom found me in Tess’s room, this was going to happen. They set this up to tel me something, I’m sure of it.
But what?
“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice sharp, and Mom glances at Dad, and Dad glances back at her like I thought they would at first, like how I’d pictured. Like they’re trying to figure out what to say. How to say it.
“Just tel me,” I snap when neither of them speaks, and Mom looks at me as if she’s never seen me before.
As she does, I realize there is a lot she doesn’t know about me. I’ve kept myself hidden from her and Dad just like Tess kept herself hidden from me.
“First of al , don’t talk to your mother like that,” Dad says. “And second—” He picks up a piece of chicken like he’s going to take a bite, like this is stil a real dinner, like Tess is going to walk through the door. Like she’s stil real y here.
“Stop it,” I hiss. “Stop pretending, stop—just stop al of this and tel . me. what’s. going. on.”
Dad frowns, clearly unhappy with my tone, but Mom leans over and squeezes his hand. “We spoke to the hospital today,” she says. “We’ve made arrangements for Tess. The day after tomorrow, we’re having her moved and we—we’d like you to be there, Abby.”
I crack into a mil ion pieces then. How can I not, with Eli and Claire and Tess—who she was, who she is—how
