Page 68 of Meant for Stone (Meant For)

“How much did you drink last night?” he scoffs. “You look like shit.”

“Tyler,” my mother hisses at him, “what is wrong with you?”

“Her eyes are all puffy.” He points at me.

“I have allergies.” I avoid looking at them. “Started this year.” Neither of them calls me out on my bullshit.

“We leave at noon,” my mother announces when I’m about to sip my coffee.

“Leave at noon for what?” I swear I sound like a whining kid.

“Family lunch. We spoke about it in the car on the way home.”

I’m about to argue with her. “Was I awake?”

“You were blinking your eyes, so I assumed you were awake.” She grabs her own cup of coffee, bringing it to her mouth. “I think I heard a grunt.”

“Why do I have to go?” I ask, and they both stare at me.

“That would be so rude,” my father scolds. “They know you are here with us and then you aren’t going to show up?”

“Ugh, fine,” I concede, walking out of the kitchen, “but this is it. I’m not doing anything more.”

“Duly noted!” my father yells while he turns the blender back on.

I stay in my bedroom, watching television until I have to get up and get dressed. Going over to my open bag in the closet, I get on my knees and toss clothes around until I spot my white jeans. Getting up off the floor, I shimmy my way into them before I snatch up my thin, long-sleeve black sweater and bra. I put the bra on and then the sweater, pulling up the sleeves before tucking one side in the front. I brush my teeth and put a bit of cover-up on to hide the dark circles I have under my eyes.

“Mom,” I shout from my bedroom door, “can I borrow your Converse sneakers?”

“They’re by the front door,” she replies. I run down the stairs to get them.

At one minute past twelve, we’re in the car and going to someone’s house. When we pull up, there isn’t even parking on the street. “Where did all these cars come from?” I mumble as we park and walk down the street toward the house.

“It’s starting to get so hot,” my mother huffs. “I can’t wait to head to Montana.”

“Girl, same.” I look over at her, smiling as we walk up to the door.

My father rings the doorbell, and I look over at him. “Why are you ringing the doorbell?”

“We aren’t just going to walk in,” he sneers at me.

“Dad, do you not hear the hundred people in that house?” I point at the door. “They probably don’t even hear the doorbell.”

“Then walk in.” He holds out his hand, and I’m about to do it when the door swings open.

“You guys didn’t have to ring the doorbell,” Matthew says, holding the door open, “you just walk in.”

“See, told you,” I tell my father. I kiss his cheek at the same time that my phone buzzes in my back pocket.

“Go on in.” Matthew points at the door that leads to the foyer. People are everywhere.

Kids run after each other, laughter all over the house. I spot Gabriella, who has a frown on her face. She spots me and rushes over at the same time I give her father a kiss on the cheek.

“I just texted you,” she hisses, and I laugh, pulling the phone out of my pocket.

“I didn’t know you two were coming,” Justin says from beside me, smiling at whoever is behind me.

But I stop midway because I hear it. The voice that is usually in my dreams or in the videos I took from the hot air balloon. “Figured why not.” I turn and look over my shoulder, and there he is, standing in the middle of everyone in dark blue jeans and a white T-shirt that I know feels like silk on my skin.

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