We both look at him, waiting. My breath catches because he looks so serious.
What the hell?
I see him swallow hard. Not a good sign.
“I’ve decided to go to MIT after all.”
My stomach plunges into my shoes and the silence in the room is heavy. I look at my dad and he looks at me, then we both stare at Finn while I try and remember how to speak so that I can argue.
“No,” I manage to say. “You can’t go alone. Finn.”
He feels the pleading in my eyes and looks away, at the walls, out the windows.
“Please don’t try and talk me out of it,” he tells us, but he’s mostly telling me. “Cal, I want to go with you. I do. But this is for the best. It’s something I have to do. I have to be alone, and figure out how to be alone. How to stay sane alone. Do you understand?”
No. A thousand times No. A millions times NO.
I’m shaking my head, but my father leans over and puts a hand on my shoulder. A warning to be silent. I stare at him helplessly.
“I think that’s good,” my father says. “Your mother and I…” his voice trails off like he’s in pain and he pauses for a second. “Your mother and I both thought that was for the best. Some separation so that you can grow independently. This is good.”
My dad sounds so proud. Like Finn is doing something heroic, like he’s saving a kid from a fire or moving a tortoise off a free-way. But it’s not heroic because he’s being self-destructive. I can see it in his eyes, and the way he holds his shoulders and won’t look at me.
Put me out of my misery.
The words in his journal are all I can see when I look at him.
But when he looks back into my eyes, his are filled with something else. Pleading.
Let me do this. Let me go.
Let him do what?
Learn to live alone? Shoulder things alone? I take a shaky breath and Finn still stares at me. And stares. And stares. And finally I break under the pale blue weight of it.
“Ok.”
The word comes out like an exhale.
Finn raises an eyebrow. “Ok? No kicking or screaming?”
I shake my head. “No. Not if you’re sure. I fought mom and dad over it, but I’m not going to fight you.”
I feel resigned and sad and panicky, and I already feel alone. But what can I do? It’s Finn’s choice. His gaze softens now.
“You’re not fighting me,” he points out. “You’re doing what I know needs to be done. And you know it too, Calla.”
No, I don’t. I know just the opposite, actually.
But again, what can I do? His mind is made up.
I don’t say anything, because I can’t. So I nod wordlessly instead.
I push my food around on my plate because when I try to swallow it now, it sticks in my throat like some sort of gelatinous sludge. Dad and Finn keep watching me, waiting for me to protest or argue or throw a fit. But I don’t. In spite of myself, I somehow remain calm, cool and very collected until the minute that I can excuse myself and make a break for it.
I rush outdoors, ignoring the fact that Finn calls out from behind me. I flee the yard, sucking in air as I run down the path leading to the beach. The trail looks like a silvery ribbon in the dusky moonlight, twisting and turning through the green wet underbrush and gleaming dark rocks.
The trees form a canopy over the path, and it’s unsettling here alone in the dark. The shadows give me goose-bumps, because I don’t know what they’re hiding. But even still, even with the moon slivering in through the tree tops and with the wind calling incoherent words through the pine needles, I’m still grateful to be here, rather than in my dining room.