My subconscious had tried to warn me. I should have paid closer attention, should have known that it was in my DNA to mess things up. I wasn’t better than my parents. I was exactly the fucking same.

With that thought playing in my head like a broken record, I, for the first time since I had come here, clicked onto my father’s messages. There were over fifty, all different stages of exasperation. The last one, which I had received two days ago, read: Hi, Seth. I know you’re probably not going to respond, but I wanted to let you know that I finished moving. I’m renting a little apartment a few blocks away from our old house. It’s not huge, but there’s a spare room here for you if you want it. You don’t have to decide right now. Just please for once let me know if you read this. Love, Dad.

Staring down at it, I had to choke down a hysterical laugh.

This was what I had wanted all along: to go home. The knowledge tasted of bitter irony. There was a ringing in my ears that got louder and louder, a shrill, high-pitched tone that bored itself into my skull. Belatedly, I realized that it was the sound of dialing, my phone pressed to my ear even though I hadn’t consciously lifted it there.

“Hello? Seth?”

After not hearing Dad’s voice for over two months, my throat constricted at the sound. He was silent for a moment. I could tell that he was listening, probably trying to at least hear my breathing.

When I finally spoke, my voice came out sounding robotic.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Seth! Jesus Christ, I didn’t think I’d get to hear your voice again anytime soon.” He let out a chuckle that sounded uncharacteristically nervous.

“Yeah. Sorry I didn’t respond. Or call,” I numbly said.

“I’m just glad you’re speaking to me now. How are you? Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” I ground out, even though my eyes were burning and my stomach felt sick and I couldn’t get rid of the smell of Amelia’s perfume that clung to my clothes and wouldn’t go away. “I . . . I saw your text about your new apartment. I’m glad you found one.”

“Oh, yes! It wasn’t easy and it’s not that great, it has water damage and stuff, but other than that it’s . . . it’s good!”

I nodded even though he couldn’t see, blindly staring at the opposite wall, gray bricks all blurring together.

On the other end of the line, Dad cleared his throat. “So . . .

were you calling to let me know you want to come back to Manchester?”

Speaking was difficult when you were choking on funeral flowers. All I got out was a shaky, “Yes.”

“Okay! Okay, that’s great, you’re more than welcome here.

What do you say, I’ll call your headmistress and we can get you moved back here in time for Christmas?”

“Can I . . . can I come now? Like, right now?”