I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Ro. It all happened really fast. Dad went nuts and I just lost it, I guess.”
“He’s superpissed at you, too, Trey. What did you do?”
Trey rolls his eyes. “I think I humiliated him in front of an Angotti. He told me to go home. I said no. He tried to ground me.” Trey laughs bitterly. “He’s really losing it. He can’t get a handle on that stupid rivalry. Okay, so somebody stole your recipe. Get over it. Make up a new, better recipe.”
I bite my lip and look at the floor. I know it’s more complicated than that. And I’m starting to wonder if there’s even more shit going on with Dad. But as mad as I am about the way he’s treating me, I don’t think I should say anything, especially about the affair. I’ve made enough messes for now.
Rowan looks at her phone. “I gotta get back down there,” she mutters.
“Hey, Rowan?” I say as she turns to leave.
“What.” She’s still upset with me.
“They’ll figure something out. I’ll help them if they need me. If Dad’ll let me. They can get Nick or Casey or hire somebody else—they’re business owners. Stuff like this happens. But I’m still sorry for letting you down.”
She scowls. “It’s fine. I don’t actually blame you.” She pauses once more. “Dad told Mom that you’re not pregnant. I take it he accused you of that again.”
I nod.
“Well, I understand why you’d quit.”
“Thanks.”
“What did any of us ever do to make Dad not trust us? I don’t get it.” She disappears, nimbly zigzagging through the cluttered hallway, and then we hear her feet on the steps once more.
Trey stands up. “I should go down too.”
I look up at him. “Everything’s such a mess.”
He nods. “You should call Sawyer. He was figuring stuff out, remember?”
I’d forgotten. “Yeah, okay,” I say.
When he leaves, I pull out my phone.
Twenty-Seven
Sawyer’s working and can’t talk. We make a plan to meet at the coffee shop again before school. I hang around feeling useless, getting all my homework done in record time, making a veggie omelet for dinner, and getting on the computer to research more schools since that’s all I know to do to help Sawyer.
When I’ve exhausted everything I can think of, I sit down in the living room chair and watch TV. Local Chicago news pops on and I watch it idly. There’s something about the food truck festival this weekend, so I pay attention, wondering if Dad signed us up. And then I remember I don’t work at Demarco’s Pizzeria anymore, and I feel really lonely all of a sudden.
When the segment is over I mute it and stare at the screen, thinking about how I’ve messed everything up. My eyes focus on the TV when there’s a piece on the University of Chicago, which is where Trey once thought about going until he found out how expensive it is. A reporter stands on the grounds, talking about who knows what, and then the headline pops up. “Vandalism over Spring Break.” The camera pans wide and some of the campus is visible, and then my eyes pop open wide. I lunge for the remote and hit the record button, begging it to get the whole segment. Then I fumble for my phone and call Sawyer.
“Hey,” he says.
“Where are you?”
“I’m—”
“Come over. Right now. Can you?”
“I, um, are you kidding me?”
“No. I think I found the school. I have it on my DVR.
It’s not a high school, Sawyer—it’s the University of Chicago!”
“The—okay, but what about your parents?” “They won’t be upstairs before eleven. Come!” “I’m—I’m turning around. I’m five minutes away.
Meet me at the door to your apartment.”
“Awesome.” I hang up and run to the bathroom to
make sure I look okay. And then I go back to the TV and
rewind to make sure I actually got what I need. I do—I
have the whole show. While I wait, I cue it up so Sawyer
LISA M c MANN
can be in and out of here quickly. And then I look around the living room like I’m seeing it for the first time. “Oh, dear dog,” I say. “Oh. Dear dog.” It’s mortifying. No one has ever seen this. No one.
“Whatever,” I mutter. This is more important. And I
head downstairs to wait.
Sawyer comes out of nowhere, a sudden face in the
door’s window. I open it quietly and wave him inside. “Two things,” I whisper as we creep up the stairs. “We
have to hurry. And . . . my dad is a hoarder. I’m not sure if
you knew that. It’s a train wreck in here, I’m just warning
you, and I’m really embarrassed, but I want you to know
the rest of us don’t live like that. It’s part of his . . . illness.” He nods. “It’s okay,” he says. “I knew. You mentioned
it in the hospital.”
We weave through the apartment, Sawyer pretending like it’s the most normal thing in the world to have
piles of Christmas lights and bulbs in the dining room but
nowhere to put a tree.
In the living room I grab the remote. “Watch,” I
say. “About a minute in, the camera pans and there are
buildings with ivy and a whole row of those trees along a
street.” I turn on the sound for the first time and hit play.