She examined me, taking a long drag and exhaling the smoke. Her expression was unreadable. “Fine, whatever,” she said. “But tell him to watch out. I won’t let him win so easily.” She meant it as a joke and I laughed, but it didn’t feel very funny. I used to love the idea of being fought over, being a prize, but now I wasn’t so sure.

SATURDAY // JUNE 17 // DAY 281

40.

They were arguing again, my parents. They were below, in the kitchen, and I was in my room upstairs, trapped again. My phone began to buzz but I ignored Elise’s call. Then she texted me.

Elise: Where are you

Elise: Pick up

Things between us were still tense enough that I didn’t feel as comfortable talking to her about this like I used to. Ever since Elise told me about her father, I’d felt like I couldn’t talk to her about my parents anymore. That even though she didn’t explicitly compare my parents to her father, it was always there, this distance between us. The things she said to me over six months ago on New Year’s Eve haunted me, about gradations, about how I was lucky.

I tossed my phone aside and shut myself in the closet again, but who was I kidding? I could still hear them. If I’d really wanted to shut them out, I’d wear headphones, turn the volume all the way up. But I didn’t know what I was afraid of more—the storm itself or not knowing what was happening.

“You’re lying, I know you’re lying!” Mom screamed, and I could hear angry tears in her voice. “Just admit it and stop playing games. Stop trying to make me feel crazy.”

“The only one who’s making you feel crazy is you,” Dad snapped.

“Bullshit. You always do this, gaslighting me,” she said. “But you can’t say I’m making it up this time. You can’t say I’m paranoid or I’m reading too much into things. This time I have the fucking receipts. Literally.”

“That’s it,” my dad said. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“Don’t run away from this!” she shouted after him, and for a breath or two, all I heard was the sound of two sets of footsteps, one chasing the other. “Can’t we just talk for once?”

“What’s there to talk about?” he said, lowering his voice. “You don’t believe a word I say. You just want me to stand here and let you scream at me all day. No thanks. I’m out of here and I’m not coming back.” Like so many of their fights, this one ended up here.

Throughout the years I felt at turns desperate and hopeful when my dad said he was leaving and never coming back, depending on how sure I was that he would take me with him.

With a deep breath, I waited for my mother’s laughter, the slam of the garage door, and the disappearance of my father. He’d be gone a few days at least, maybe a week. Though maybe this time he’d take me with him. I didn’t allow myself too much hope, having been down that road before, many times, but a tiny part of me wouldn’t completely give up on him just yet.