Page 58 of Stops Along the Way
“We could just submit what we have and see what happens?” he says, grasping at straws.
“No, no…it really doesn’t seem worth giving it a try anymore,” I say, wondering if my double meaning is apparent. Internally, I smirk at how my point would’ve been much clearer if I’d used the wordcomplicatedin there somehow.
“I guess not,” he relents.
We finish the rest of the drive in silence. I’m so tired of being on the road. If I never see another billboard again, it’ll be too soon. There are so many times I half turn toward him, wanting to say something, anything, but restrain myself. This is too many hours to be sitting next to a fresh breakup.
The navigation takes us to Declan’s house, which is only a few neighborhoods over from my own, probably about seven or eight minutes if I had to guess. He’s lived this close to me this entire time?
He parks the car on the street in front but doesn’t get out.
The garage door is halfway open, revealing two competing piles of moving boxes that seem to be dividing his parents’ things. I wonder if Declan will end up putting his own stuff on both sides, or not at all, paring down everything he owns to just what he can fit in suitcases to bring to college. That is stressful.
“Hey, you’re home,” I say softly, not really wanting him to leave now that the time has come.
“It’s not home for much longer.” He delays getting out of the car, and I’m half-optimistic he’ll say something about us when he turns to look at me, but all he says for parting words is “I guess I’ll see you around?”
The best I can muster is “Maybe.”
Declan’s face scrunches up—mad at me, or himself, or everything. We both get out of the car, and he hurries up the drive as I switch over to get behind the wheel, but then he turns to add, “You’re right, the road trip game was probably really boring anyway.”
.....
While the journey had four of us, I finish it as I started: at home by myself. Cyclical and almost predictable. Pass Go, collect two hundred dollars, and go around the board yet again. My parents meet me on the driveway to hug hello and inspect the car, but Amelia is still out with friends.
I drag my bag inside, leaving my sister’s college stuff in the car because it’s not my problem, but she better clear it out as soon as possible, because it is mine to drive now, after all. I do a quick cry in the shower and attempt to go to sleep, but somehow I’m not tired.
When Amelia gets dropped off at home late, our parents have already gone to bed, but I’m still downstairs, searching for a snack in the kitchen pantry.
“Hey, you made it!” Amelia says, cheery, stepping around me to fill a glass of water at the fridge.
“Yeah,” I mutter, finishing a spoonful of peanut butter and dropping it in the sink, then adding, “No thanks to you.”
She kicks off her shoes in the entryway basket and takes my words as the fight instigator they clearly are meant to be. “Are you seriously mad?”
“I don’t know.” But I push out the kitchen chair and sit back with my arms crossed. “What exactly constitutesmad?”
“I’m sorry we drove home separately.” Her words reek of sarcasm, even if that’s not her intent. “But did you have a good time with your boyfriend?” she asks, the question eliciting animmediate negative reaction from me. There’s no one who can read me better than my sister, even without being able to fully see my face. Her tone shifts to concern. “Oh, you’re upset about something else?”
Because…well, obviously, there’s so much I’m angry about right now, no matter how I try to spin it, I don’t know how I’m going to say this without it seeming super childish. “I don’t know. It just seems like you’re ditching me every chance you get.”
“I’m not—”
“You actually are.” I count each instance on my fingers. “On campus. In middle-of-nowhere Iowa. All freaking summer.”
“Okay, I’m sorry we drove separately the final stretch, but you can’t be mad at me for the summer program?”
“Maybe I can. Because it’s really adding up, Lee.”
“Iris, we can’t do all the same exact things anymore.” She takes a seat opposite me at the table.
Yet as soon as she sits down, I stand up. “I know. And I don’t expect that. It’s just—it seems to me…” I say, pausing to consider, like I’m trying to make some brilliant outsider observation that should change how she lives her life. Some bigger picture thought that will distill why she’s trying to leave me in the dust. “That you’re trying really hard to be a different person. Pretending to be someone you’re not.”
Amelia takes a deep breath. “Iris, it’s late.”
“Sure, go to bed.” I cross my arms, feet planted on the ground in a fighting stance, making it apparent that I’m not going anywhere.
“Not while you’re still upset. Sit back down.”
