Page 100 of Meet Me at Midnight

Antsy, I send another message.

ThunderStruck: I’m worried about you. I know you’re not home. Please, I need to know you’re safe.

When the wheel spins to indicate she’s typing, I stand up straighter, my heart in my throat.

ElizaBeth: I’m safe. But please, I need you to leave me alone.

ThunderStruck: I don’t think I can do that.

ElizaBeth: If you can’t, I’m going to have to do it for you. This isn’t a good idea, and I’m sorry I was the one who started it. I ruined everything.

ThunderStuck: Don’t say that. Avery is going to get over it.

ElizaBeth Ended the Chat

My phone beeps, and everything we’ve ever said to each other inside Midnight disappears. Months of conversations, gone in an instant.

I swallow thickly and sit down on my bed, my phone in my hands and my mind adrift.

Is there really a chance this is over? It can’t be. I don’t want it to end.

But fuck, what if I don’t get a choice?

My parents’ driveway is empty as I pull into it and put my car in park. Dark circles hollow the skin under my eyes, last night’s lack of sleep on full display.

Holiday décor and jingles greet me as I get out of the car, and I groan, the spirit of Christmas Day not touching me in the ways it normally would.

I still don’t know where June is, and Avery won’t open her door to talk to me either. Normally, we’d all head to my parents’ housefor Christmas brunch, but it’s clear by the “I’m not fucking going” message I got from Avery when I attempted to text her an olive branch in the form of offering a ride to our parents’ that nothing about today is normal.

I know what June and I did wasn’t right, and I know Avery has every right to be pissed. And if there’s anything I need right now more than ever—besides June, that is—it’s a voice of clarity to tell me like it is.

Thankfully, my mom Diane is the unequivocal best at that task.

I push the doorbell at the side of the arched entryway, staring at my shoes while I wait for someone to come to the door. Linda is there pretty quickly, and upon seeing my face, she smiles sympathetically. She witnessed the whole sordid chase of June running after a screaming and crying Avery and me running after a distraught and crying June.

We created quite the scene, and I have a feeling the next time I see our grandparents, I’m going to get a passive-aggressive earful about proper etiquette and all that.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Banks,” Linda says. “Your parents are on the back patio.”

I nod gratefully. “Thanks, Linda.”

“Of course, hun.”

The house is quiet, emptied of both last night’s Christmas cheer and the unexpected drama that occurred before Chef Stone even served dinner. Just as Linda said, my parents are on the patio, holding hands while my dad reads the newspaper and my mom drinks from a coffee mug.

I hold my breath for a moment, offering up a silent prayer that my dad doesn’t read me the riot act, and force myself to face them both head on.

“Hey, guys,” I say simply, lifting both of their gazes. They exchange a look with each other, my dad’s face pinched with disappointment, and my mom pats him on the arm.

“Why don’t you go on in and make some more coffee, sweetie? I’ll talk to Beau.”

Neil nods and stands, walking past me without a clap to the shoulder or a massive hug like usual, and my confidence that everything about this is going to turn out okay crumbles even further.

I didn’t want to hurt my family. I didn’t want this. But Idowant June.

“Come on, honey,” my mom says, patting the gray-cushioned patio chair right beside her. “Come sit down.”

I do as she says, taking my dad’s spot and sinking my head into my hands. She reaches up and rubs my shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like a little kid.

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