had wiped off his face and hugged him until he stopped crying. When their mom got there, Abby didn’t really want to let him go. It had been kind of nice, feeling needed.
Lately, though, she’d been avoiding her parents and Ethan altogether. Mom and Dad were just insufferable—on the rare occasions when one of them tried to relate to her, they only made it that much more obvious that they had no idea what it was like being a teenager, much less a queer one, in 2017—and as for Ethan, he’d basically turned into a different person than the kid she remembered.
“Okay, so.” Abby put her hands on her hips, the stiff fabric of her vintage dress rustling. “What’s going on?”
Ethan shrugged and tilted his head back, avoiding her gaze.
“Don’t be a dick, Ethan.” At that, his head shot up. She’d never called her brother a dick before, but if he was going to act like a dick... “Did you get in trouble?”
“I didn’t do anything.” His eyes trailed down to his sneakers. “Mr. Salem started it.”
“Mr. Salem?” Abby didn’t hide her surprise. “What did he do?”
Ethan loved his dance teacher. When they used to have family dinners he’d always go on and on about what Mr. Salem had said in class that day, or what funny twist he’d added to the choreography, or how he’d told Ethan he was the most promising student he’d had in years.
Abby had seen Ethan dance. He wasn’t bad or anything, but she was still dubious about the authenticity of that last comment.
“He was being a jerk.” Ethan shrugged. “He kicked me out of class for being, like, two minutes late.”
“Well, yeah.” Abby remembered that from her own dance-class years. “You know you aren’t allowed to be late to the studio. Besides, I thought you always tried to be there five minutes early, since you’re a dance dork and everything.”
“I’m not a dance dork.” Ethan leaned forward and pinched the bridge of his nose. His face was red and blotchy. Shit—had her goofy kid brother been crying? “Anyway, it was only two minutes.”
“Okay, but what’s the big deal? School’s over. Why didn’t you just go home?”
Ethan looked away.
“So you are in trouble.” Abby tried to sound stern. “What did you do?”
“It isn’t some huge deal.” Ethan rolled his eyes. “I only told him it was a dumb rule. Then I kind of, um—” Ethan’s voice fell. “Threw my water bottle at his head.”
“What?” Abby’s jaw dropped. This was so unlike Ethan she might as well have fallen into an alternate universe. “Did you hit him?”
“Um. Kinda.” Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose again. “He moved, and it kind of—bounced off his shoulder.”
“That’s horrible!” Abby kept expecting him to say he was joking. Ethan was always thirsty, and he carried one of those huge metal water bottles everywhere he went. Getting hit with it would be incredibly painful. “You could’ve really hurt him!”
“Yeah. I know.”
“What the hell?” She couldn’t believe he was just sitting there, impassive. “Did you want to hurt him?”
“I only...” Ethan bent down so far all Abby could see was the back of his head. His thick brown hair pointed into a tiny V at the base of his neck. “I only wanted him to leave me alone.”
Abby didn’t understand. The Ethan she’d grown up with would’ve at least been sorry for doing something like this.
“Do you think Mom and Dad will both come?” Ethan didn’t look up. “They did that time I got sick in gym.”
“Yeah, well, your appendix ruptured. You had to be hospitalized. Water-bottle throwing probably isn’t on the same level.”
Ethan let out a noisy breath. “It’s like you want me to almost die again.”
“You didn’t almost die.” Abby rolled her eyes, but she was thinking, If you want to see Mom and Dad voluntarily in the same place at the same time again, almost dying is probably your best bet.
“Anyway.” Ethan wouldn’t meet her eyes. “They’re calling them both, right?”
“I don’t know. They’ll probably see who they can get to come. Dad was supposed to get back into town this morning, but he’s only staying one night before he has to leave again. Maybe they’ll call Mom, but she’s in—”
“Pennsylvania. I know.”
Abby sat down beside him on the bench, her backpack thumping heavily behind her. “She’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Because Dad’ll be gone by then.”
Abby pretended not to hear the resentment in his voice. “They have to travel for work, Ethan.”
He shrugged and didn’t answer, even though he had to know it was the truth. Their mom was the president of a think tank, and Dad was a lawyer for the National Institutes of Health. They both worked long hours, and they were always having to leave DC for conferences and meetings and other stuff Abby had given up trying to keep track of.
“Everyone’s parents travel for work.” Abby fixed her eyes on her sandals. “It isn’t a big deal.”
“I don’t know anybody whose parents travel as much as Mom and Dad do.”
And a memory swam into Abby’s mind before she could stop it.
It was a week after the fight—the big fight, the one Linh saw—and everyone at home was being even quieter than usual. Well, Ethan and Abby were, at least. Mom and Dad, whichever one of them was home at any given time, were trying to act normal. Except they kept smiling too hard or sighing too loud, and making it that much more obvious that they were faking.
But their Tudor-style row house was a hundred years old, and the walls were thin. When you were upstairs, it was nearly impossible to have a conversation without everybody else on the second floor hearing you. Most of the time there was nothing to hear, since no one in the family spoke to each other anymore, but that night was different.
Mom was on the phone in her room. Abby could tell she was trying to keep her voice down, but it wasn’t working.
“No, no. Fine. Stay in New York if that’s what you want. I’ll be here, doing everything. Again.” There was a thin, pained note in her voice Abby had never heard before. As though she was actively trying to sound like she was suffering. “No, he’s fine, but I already told you she’s upset. You don’t remember? I think she had a fight with her girlfriend, and—yes, it was about that. What did you think? No, no, she didn’t say anything, you know she never tells me anything, but if you paid attention to anything other than yourself, maybe you’d start to realize—”
Abby didn’t hear any more after that. She shoved a pillow over her head, dug out her headphones and turned the music up loud enough
