Page 52 of When We Were Younger

"What's going on?" I ask. My voice shakes, and I hate it.

"Stephen, son, why don't you sit down?" Dad says as he pushes the chair out next to him. I slowly cross the room and sink down into the seat.

"What's going on?" I ask again. They look to each other, and then down at the paper. Mom slides it across the table, and I pick it up with trembling hands.

Turning it over, I read-

Stephen,

I have to go. I'm so sorry.

I promise to think about you.

-Your Dorothea

I read it again and again, trying to make some sense of the words. It might as well be written in Mandarin for all the sense it makes to me.

I ball the paper up in my fist and move to the front door. I stand on the porch, staring at the house next door.

Dorothea doesn't come out.

Dad tries to coax me back inside.

I don't go.

Mom brings me tea.

I don't drink it.

I stand, and I watch, and I wait.

The sun rises. The sun sets.

But Dorothea doesn't come back to me.

28

DOTTIE

I try so hard not to cry, but it's impossible. I've never told this full story. Not outside of therapy, anyway. Even that day, when I'd walked miles out of town and finally broke down and called Kira, asking if I could stay at her dad's cabin for a bit, I gave her the TL;DR version.

I'm pretty sure it went something like this-

"Dottie, where have you been?

"My mom is a cunt and I'm getting the hell out of here. Can I stay at the cabin?"

"Yup, oh and you're coming to USC with me when summer semester starts. You can sleep in my dorm. Love you!"

The McKenna's are unflinchingly loyal. They don't ask questions when the people they love are in trouble.

The only saving grace for my pride as the tears start to fall down my cheeks is that I don't have to face Stephen while it happens. I'm in his lap, my back to hischest. He knows I'm crying, of course. I'm not a cute crier. I'm sniffly and sobby, and he keeps swiping at my cheeks with his thumbs. I lean into him, allowing his body heat to wrap around me for as long as possible, because I'm certain that at any moment he's going to get up and storm off.

I might, if the roles were reversed. It's a terrible reason to have left. Just ghosted like the eleven years he and I shared meant nothing to me. And then to have the audacity to just show back up in his town and fall into his bed like it never happened?

Fuck storming off. If I was him, I'd push me into the lake.

I feel him stirring behind me and I brace myself for the abandonment. At least we're here. If we were at his place, I'd be getting kicked out. At least here on McKenna Mountain, I can go up to the guest room with my tail between my legs and lick my wounds. Stephen's chest heaves, and for a moment I think he might be crying, too. But then he…

---