Page 117 of One Night

"I'm sitting in the car outside my house. I was over at Kira's and my mom called, telling me to come home. But I don't want to go in there. I don't want to talk about it, or think about it, or discuss it. I just want to pretend it isn't happening."

"Amber, I'm so sorry. I wish I was there with you. If you want, I could drive out there later this week. Or I'll leave tomorrow. Whatever you want."

"Thanks for offering but I need to spend time with my sisters. All three of us are in shock right now and we need to help each other get through this."

"So you had no idea this was coming?"

"I knew it was a possibility but I wasn't ready for it. And part of me thought it would never happen. My parents have been fighting for years, so why now? What made them take the next step and end things?"

"I don't know," he says quietly. "I'm just sorry it's happening. I wish I could do something to make this easier. To make you feel better."

He's so sweet, so caring. Even that night back in May, I got the feeling Dylan was a kind, considerate person, not just some guy trying to have sex with me. I still remember his face and the sound of his voice when he asked me if I really wanted to do it. There was genuine concern in his expression and tone, wanting to make sure I was the one making the decision, not him. And after it was over, he didn't run off, like some other guy would. Instead, he stayed there, holding me, talking to me, falling asleep with me.

"Dylan, I should go before my mom calls me again. Can we talk later?"

"Of course. Call me when you can."

"Okay, bye."

Back in the house, I find the living room is empty and the kitchen too. I check the garage and see my dad's car is gone. So he left. On Christmas. Probably went back to his apartment.

I go down to Britt's room. The door is open and my mom and sisters are all sitting on the bed. Their eyes are red, like they've been crying.

My mom gets up. "Amber." I walk over to her and she hugs me. "Come sit down."

"Mom," Britt says.

My mom lets me go and looks at Britt. "Yes, honey?"

"Can Leah, Amber, and me be alone? So we can talk?"

She nods. "Of course. I'll be in my room." She leaves, closing the door behind her.

I sit on the bed and hug both my sisters at once. "This sucks, you guys." As I say it, the tears I'd been holding back break free, which makes Leah and Britt cry and soon we're all sobbing messes, holding onto each other on the bed.

When our tears finally subside, we pull back and take some deep breaths.

"Well, now what do we do?" I ask, not knowing what else to say.

"I'm thinking of moving back home," Leah says. "To be with Britt."

I look at Leah, shocked she would even suggest that. Moving home is the absolute last thing she wants to do. When she was younger, she was always insecure, never having confidence she could do things. And now, she has a good job, her own apartment. She lives in a different city. She's finally proved to herself that she's strong and can make it on her own. She's been moving forward. Moving home would be taking a step back. A big step.

"Leah, no," I say. "Don't move home. Your life isn't here in this house anymore. You're doing great and you're happy. You can't move back."

"She's right," Britt says. "I don't want you doing this for me. I can get through this. I know I can."

"You can always call us," I tell Britt, "and if you need us to be here, we will. I promise. You tell me to be here, I'll drop everything and get in the car and start driving."

"And I'm just an hour away," Leah says. "If you want, I'll come home every weekend, or whenever you need me to."

Britt nods, her eyes tearing up again.

I hug her, then Leah. "I love you guys."

"We love you too," they say at the same time.

My sisters and I used to fight constantly, usually over sharing clothes or shoes. Those fights seem so stupid now. For one, because I'm older and more mature, but also because I love my sisters and need them in my life. I don't want to fight with them or grow apart from them. All three of us need each other, now more than ever.

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