While she sleeps, I clean the apartment, throw away empty bottles (and some of the more questionable full ones), and take out the trash. I straighten her things in the shower and on the bathroom sink and don’t even spend that much time sniffing her shampoo like a lovesick idiot. I do all her dishes by hand and run a load of laundry. Most of this shit is probably dry-clean only, but beggars can’t be choosers. I itch to leave, my entire awareness centered on her resting a few feet away, all while praying to the patron saint of boners that she doesn’t wake up yet. I know when she wakes up, I’ll be gone, and she’ll hate me.

Finally, I call a car. It’s minutes out, so I pick up a pen and find a scrap of paper and write her a note.

Shelby,

I had to go … Alaska is calling. Lyle never deserved your love, and he definitely doesn’t deserve your tears. If you want to leave, do it. Start over. Don’t let this town suck you dry anymore.

I’m sorry I left you. Both times. Turns out, I don’t deserve you either.

Love,

Cameron

I finally work up the courage to slip into her room. She’s breathing steadily, but blessedly deep asleep. I wonder how long it’s been since she’s really slept? I cover her with the edge of her duvet and press a barely there kiss to her forehead one last time. She doesn’t stir and I’m torn.

Like always.

As I’m closing the door, my phone buzzes with the alert that my car has arrived.

I leave without saying goodbye.

2

SHELBY

IDGAF

PRESENT DAY

I have a confession.

I can’t cry on command. Not in the impressive award-winning child-actress way, anyhow. I’m just sensitive. I cry all the time and can’t help it. I even asked my therapist about overactive tear ducts once. She informed me it was a real medical issue and I didn’t have it.

The thing is, like so many morally ambiguous stage moms, Ada Mae Springfield was a former pageant queen with a chip on her linen-padded shoulder. Before she could skip town, she’d fallen into bed with a local boy who had sawdust in the creases of his hands and found herself with a colicky baby nine months later. She named me Shelby after her favorite movie character, who unfortunately dies (but gives her mother one hell of a grief-stricken graveside monologue, winning Sally Field critical acclaim … which is an important footnote when talking about Ada Mae).

Feeling the pressure to make lemon martinis out of lemons, my mother enrolled me in every lesson, workshop, and camp that marketed the potential to turn me into some semblance of darling.