Page 10 of Kiss Collector
First Wylie and now my parents. Love is a sham. Marriage is a mockery. Everything I believe in is tarnishing and crumbling.
I feel a touch on my shoulder and look up to see Zebby. The same overwhelming loss is in his brown eyes and furrowed forehead. I tug him down, and we hold each other tight, crying.
Mourning.
Chapter Four
The next morning in the minivan, Monica is rubbing her long legs with plum lotion and telling us about the party happening at Jack Rinehart’s house this Saturday. Her long brown hair is braided in a fishtail over one shoulder. I feel so empty, I hardly hear her words.
I should have texted them last night. I tell my girls everything. But this... it’s so big. And last night I kept thinking any second my parents would say they’d changed their minds. That they were going to work things out. That we didn’t have to move.
When I woke up this morning after tossing and turning and crying all night, nothing had changed. Except that Dad wasn’t on the couch. He was gone.
My chest tightens and I rub it with one hand as I drive.
“You okay?” Kenzie asks from the front passenger seat.
I just keep rubbing. I’m afraid if I open my mouth I’ll start crying and I won’t be able to see the road. Just one more mile till we’re at school. So I nod. I can feel Kenz watching me as Monica and Lin talk about who all’s going to be at Jack’s party.
I pull into a parking spot and let out a ragged breath.
“Do you think you can drive us Saturday?” Monica asks.
I blink and slowly turn my head to her. Monica’s forehead scrunches.
“Zae?” she whispers.
“I can’t,” I say. “I—I’m moving that day.”
A long, silent pause passes before Lin shouts, “What?!” She unbuckles and flies forward between the seats to look at me. I turn so I can see all their confused faces.
“You’ve been crying,” Kenzie says. “What’s going on?”
My voice is deadpan as I try to protect myself from the ugly words that spill from my mouth: “separation,” “apartment,” “roommate.”
My friends’ faces reflect the direness of the situation.
Lin, who was adopted from China as a toddler, is the only girl in the car whose parents are still together. “Oh, Zae, I’m so sorry. And I’m so glad you’re not moving far away. You freaked me out when you said that.”
Kenzie wipes her eyes. Her mom, a white Texan, fell in love with a black classmate in college, which apparently was a big deal in the town she’d lived in, so they moved to the DC area. Her parents split when Kenz was in elementary school, and her dad moved back to Texas, but she’s still close with him, and her stepfather, too. She calls them both Dad and sees her real father for two weeks every summer.
“It’ll be okay,” she whispers. “Maybe they just need some time apart. Maybe they’ll get back together.”
I catch Lin shooting Kenz a warning look, and I know she’s telling her not to get my hopes up, but it’s too late. I don’t want stepparents someday. I want my family. Just the four of us. It’s all I thought about all night. Deep down, I know this separation will make them miss our family. It has to. I didn’t even want anyone else to know they’re separated, because when they get back together we can get a new, better house and pretend like this never happened.
“Don’t tell anyone, ’kay?” I say.
They’re quiet as they nod, looking around at each other.
Monica reaches over and links her pinkie finger with mine. “No matter what happens, we’re here, and you’re gonna be okay. All right?”
I tighten my pinkie around hers. Monica’s mom never married. Her dad was a marine from Quantico base, and now he sends child support, but otherwise he’s not part of her life. She lives with her mom, little sister from another father, her aunt, two female cousins, and her grandmother—a household of loud, bold Latina women.
My friends surround me with love as we walk up to the school. The dreary, cold day matches how I feel, especially as I sit through math class. By the time I trudge into English, I’m heavy, and my stomach churns every time I think about my parents or Wylie. I slump in my seat, zoning out as Mrs. Warfield drones on and on about the power of words.
Our assignment is to write another poem, this one about how we perceive someone else to be feeling, and it has to include a metaphor or simile. Something empathetic. Butmine is just pathetic. I write two lines about Lin’s smile being like sunshine. Lame.
It’s not until near the end of class that Mrs. Warfield sparks my attention.
