And I hide between my schoolwork. I drown myself in my studies in an attempt to escape the grief, but it only hurts worse when I resurface.
I take a seat across from my mother.
She nods a polite hello. "Your dress is lovely. New?"
"Found it today. It was a great deal."
She studies me. Her mouth opens like she's about to speak, but she says nothing. I guess that's a Smart family tradition. Words are always on the tips of our tongues, just barely failing us.
Miles glances at me like I'm a vase he's checking for cracks. His gaze turns back to my parents. "This is a lovely restaurant." Under the table, he takes my hand. "I'm afraid Meg and I need to leave after this."
"Oh?" Mom asks.
"She has a test Tuesday, and I have a deadline."
"What do you do, son?" My dad asks.
"I'm a songwriter." Miles skips over the rock star, sex god part. "Pop, mostly. The rules are strict, but I have fun with it."
"Anything I would know?" Dad asks.
Miles names another few songs. Different ones. Mom's gaze shoots to me. Her mood shifts now that she has something pleasant to latch on to. Her only daughter has a successful boyfriend. Only that's a lie, because I'm the one keeping up appearances.
I let Miles take the spotlight. He's effortlessly charming, begging my parents for stories about my childhood, asking if I was always such an adorable little nerd. He really sells it, really acts like my sweet, calm, loving boyfriend.
This restaurant serves expensive organic food. It usually tastes good, but not today. My tea has no flavor. Even my curry shrimp, a dish that's usually bursting with spice, has no flavor.
Finally, we finish eating. Miles insists on paying the check. My parents pretend to object. They look at me with pride. I've always been the good girl who didn't get into trouble. Future doctor. Perfect grades. Sweet boyfriend. I follow so well in their footsteps, keeping up these fraudulent appearances.
My parents invite us to join them at the wine bar across the street from the mall. We decline.
After some goodbyes and tense hugs, Miles and I leave.
We walk to the car in silence. We drive to my parents' house in silence. Our suitcases are already packed. I guess he thought of everything.
He really is a great boyfriend. Even if that's all a lie to please my parents.
I linger in Rosie's cleaned-out room. The spare room. It's completely transformed. There are no signs of her—no pop princess posters, no touches of bright purple, no ornamental vanity. There's nothing here but a bed and a dresser.
Maybe this is what moving on looks like. Would it be better to keep her room intact, a shrine to a girl who doesn't exist anymore? I don't know.
All I know is that this house is too expansive, too quiet. I'm going to suffocate.
I bring my suitcase downstairs. Miles is sitting on the edge of the couch. His eyes are on mine.
What does that look mean?
I don't know that either. But I do know something. I need to feel better. He's the only person who makes me feel better.
I takes his hands and pull him off the couch.
He leans closer. There's intention in his eyes. There are words on the tip of his tongue.
But he doesn't speak them. He kisses me.
I kiss back. Finally, I feel something. Finally, I taste something. Finally, I need something.
I grind my crotch against his. I dig my hands into his hair. I need him to wipe away everything that hurts.