Love at First Fight - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Five

"Can we not do this right now?"

"Say goodbye to your mother," Dad replied through a set jaw.

"She didn't say goodbye to me."

I wasn't talking about the car ride or the mansion. I wasn't talking about the start of the school year or the end of summer. I was talking about her Grand Plan. Her Great Escape. I usually was, and Dad knew that. Dad knew everything, because for the past two years, he had been the only one. "Please say goodbye to your mother," he said. "You don't know when you'll get a chance again."

"Why? Because she's planning to run off again?"

Dad just laughed, a little exhausted, like he could never be quite sure of what his other half was planning. "No," he said, and he only sounded a little uncertain. "But I don't know if you've heard that your mother tends to attract the attention of international terrorist organizations."

"I think I might have heard a little something about that."

"Say goodbye to Mom."

She was standing right behind him, looking at me from over Dad's shoulder. I knew she could hear every word, but I didn't care. Summer had been kind to our relationship, slowly stealing the heat between us until it was bearable to sit in the same room as her, but it had been a very slow process and there was still a very long way to go.

But she was my mother. And I loved her. And some part of me knew that all of this running away had been for my sake, so I took a few steps and she took a few more, until we were hugging, just like we had every other time she had dropped me off for school.

She left a kiss on my hair. "I love you," she said.

"I love you too," I said back, but we both knew it wasn't quite right. This hug was too stiff and it was starting to make my arms ache. "Don't run."

"I'll be around," she told me. "I'm not going anywhere."

And then, finally, the hug was over, and I was back in my own bubble. In my own space. In my own head.

I'm leaving you.

It was my mother's voice, but her lips didn't move. That was the only way I knew that it wasn't real. Sometimes, when she wasn't looking at me or when she was in another room, I couldn't tell the difference. I would answer her when she hadn't asked—reply when I hadn't actually been spoken to.

Sometimes she saw it. I knew she did. She had this look, worse than the one my father had been giving me and harsher than those from my grandfather. I hated it, mostly because she was the expert. She knew about brains and voices and crazy and in her, professional, qualified opinion, I belonged in a mental hospital.

She didn't give me that look this time. She didn't see it. Maybe that was the scariest part. Even when she was always looking, I could still hide it from her. I could hide it from all of them.

Before I knew it, I was in my father's arms. Before I knew it, I was home, because my father was here and he had always been here. His hug was warmer and bigger and selfless. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

I nodded, and I finally understood why his hugs were always so tight. "An hour away, right?"

"An hour away," he confirmed. "And you'll probably be headed my way sooner than you think."

"Is that your way of saying I have a CoveOps lesson coming up?"

"That's probably a question for your CoveOps teacher."