Free What Happens Now by Jennifer Castle Page B

“That is the totally boring way to do it!”
    Mom took a deep breath and turned to me. “Ari, I have to buy a gift for one of the nurses on maternity leave. I will meet you and this child in the baby department.”
    She made a frustrated waving gesture toward my sister as she walked away. I was the Finisher.
    I stepped up to Dani, took the monkey gently out of her hand, and placed it on the shelf. Then I grabbed that hand andled her out of the aisle.
    “Come on, kiddo,” I said softly. “Like Mom said. Save up, and you’ll get it next time.”
    Dani began to cry. “I know. But I really wanted it today.”
    “Anything worth having is worth waiting for.”
    “But I really wanted it today .”
    I knew how it would go. She would not be able to break out of this thought cycle. I could use a thousand rational arguments. I could hire a celebrity lawyer to explain it to her. Nothing would work. All I could do was get her out of there and stop talking about it.
    We found Mom in the baby department, holding up a pair of minuscule jeans.
    “What do you think?” she asked, as if nothing had happened and Dani did not still have tears pooled in her eyes. “Aren’t these the most ridiculously cute pants you’ve ever seen?”
    At home, when Mom and I were unloading the bags and Dani was in her room, I thought about all the stories from the last few days—Camden and Kendall and Max—and whether or not I wanted to share them with her.
    Even after going down, down, down to that place then scrambling up, up, up to the Possible. The strength I’d fought to gain ounce by ounce, then using that strength to gain more. All that, and it was still so hard to talk to my mother about anything. Easy, though, not to think about why, or try (even begin to try) to fix it.
    “Hey, Mom?” I asked, yanking the tag off a garlic press. “Can I sleep over at Kendall’s tonight? She said she can pick me up here and drop me at the store in the morning.”
    Mom put down the new over-the-door towel hook she was holding. “I don’t see why not,” she said, squinting out the window as if she were, in fact, attempting to see why not.
    “Thanks.”
    Tell her that you’re also going to a party. Tell her about Camden.
    I was about to do that, really I was, but then suddenly Mom said, “Are you sure you can trust your sister alone with me for the night?” She was peeling the price sticker off a toothbrush holder, not meeting my glance.
    I dropped the garlic press and looked at her. “What?”
    “I mean, clearly you’re the only one who can handle Danielle.” Mom’s voice was cool and flat, almost robotic. It scared the crap out of me.
    “Mom . . .”
    “The last time you were out, she didn’t even want me to read to her.” Still looking at the damn toothbrush holder.
    “Mom.”
    Then she did it. Glanced up. Saw me. Saw me. And the glossy topcoat of tears in my eyes. In an instant, hers welled up, too. One of those moments with someone where you know everything and also nothing at all.
    “I . . . I’m sorry. Arianna . . .” She shook her head and stood up, spun away from me. “Tell Kendall I said hello,” she chokedout, then walked quickly down the hallway to the bathroom, toothbrush holder gripped in one fist, and closed the door.
    In an alternate timeline, I might have gone to her.
    In this one, I didn’t.

7
    We called the GPS Lady in Kendall’s station wagon “Gwendolyn” because she sounded judgy and fake-British. When she took us some way that didn’t feel right, Kendall would often snap something like, “Where the hell are you taking us, bitch?”
    Tonight, though, we needed to trust Gwendolyn. The address from Eliza’s cardboard looked completely unfamiliar. It was possibly something made up. Who lives on Chokecherry Road? And what kind of person names a place Chokecherry Road?
    We drove in silence, no radio, for a while. That comfortable quiet again. The windows down and the air streaking past asif we were the ones