𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 | 𝐠𝐮𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞

⁰⁵ | The mess on the airport floor

ᴍᴀᴇᴠᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ

𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐏𝐄 𝐌𝐘 sweaty palms for what seems like the millionth time in the last two minutes. It's now or never, I decide, trying to choke down the nerves that wanted to spill out of me. But what I really felt like doing was crawling into a ball under my covers and never leaving. That way, I wouldn't have to see the look on Dad's face when I tell him.

He's kneeling in front of the T.V, messing with the speakers or antenna again, I'm assuming. I can tell he's frustrated, but he drops it when he hears the floorboards squeak beneath me. He's been good at that--not letting his emotions out on me.

"What's up, Sweetheart?" He asks, giving the speakers a final whack before giving up indefinitely.

I'm nervous. He can tell. We've gotten good at this whole reading-each-other thing. I'm scared we will lose it.

"There's something I kind of need to talk to you about," I start.

"Sure, come sit."

I sink into the seat across from him. The agonizing silence is ripped apart when the folded letter stuffed in my jean pocket crinkles. I take it out because hiding it just seems stupid now.

I'm trying to be less stupid.

"What do you got there?"

His voice shakes a lot when he asks. He tried to cover it up with a laugh. I know he thinks I found the bills and I'm here to talk to him about them. I'm not, even though I know about how high they've gotten and how little money we have left over.

I think he forgot how expensive kids can be.

"Dad, I think I want to go back to Minnesota."

It's a bad way to start the conversation but there's nothing else I can come up with soon enough. It was the truth, anyways. I'm also trying to become better at expressing my feelings.

"You think or you know?" he questions. It isn't harsh, though. He's not mad, he's just trying to understand me.

I don't answer his question because I'm still trying to understand myself, too. I slide the letter from Eden Hall across the table. "This came a few days ago. It's the same school Nicholas went to."

He reads it a few times and I can't tell what he's thinking. "Why didn't you tell me until now?'

"I don't know," I whisper, already starting to cry. God, I'm so weak. "I just wanted to think about it for a while before I told you or mom."

"Your mother doesn't know about this either?"

He isn't criticizing me still. I kind of wish he would, though, so I could be mad. If I was mad, I'd have a reason to leave him. But I don't.

"If you don't want me to go," I breathe slowly, "I won't."

"Of course, you should go, Maevie," Dad laughs. It was sort of sad, though. "You need this. We both know you need this."

"But if you want me to stay-"

He took my hands in his and told me to close my eyes. "I need you to understand something, okay? You being here has made these two years the best I've had in a very long time. But I know how unhappy you are. You should be with your mom and friends. Don't think about me. Be selfish. For once in your life, Maeve, be selfish. Do what you want."

I wish it was that easy--to just do what I want. But how can I do that when I don't even know what I want?

"Are you going to be okay by yourself if I leave?"