No Place Like Here

by Christina June

  A timid knock at the door snapped me out of my daze. When I opened it, Cassie Pringle stood there with a look that was one part sympathy, one part curiosity.

  “Hi, Ashlyn,” she said, the corners of her mouth turned down. “I just wanted to see if you were . . . okay. I saw, um, about your dad.”

  “Bad news travels at the speed of light around here, I guess,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

  On a scale from one to ten, my year at Blue Valley Academy earned a five. I’d managed to get good grades and do well in activities, but I hadn’t really made friends. Plenty of acquaintances, but not friends. I wasn’t surprised. The other girls were mostly from small towns nearby, while I was the “city snob,” as I’d overheard one girl saying in the hallway. No one had been rude to my face, and some had been pleasant—Cassie was on the nicer side, for sure—but I wasn’t invited on weekend trips home and no one decorated my door on my birthday. I couldn’t really blame them. Trying to break into any clique during junior year, when everyone else had known each other since birth, was nearly impossible.

  “So, it’s true?”

  “It seems that way.” My face was blank. I didn’t know Cassie well enough to trust her with the fear and confusion that was hiding behind my emotionless mask.

  Cassie sighed and cocked her head to the side. “Can I . . . do anything for you?”

  You can just go, please. I shook my head. “No. But thank you. I just want to make it through finals. And then I want to go home.”

  Cassie nodded. “I understand. Let me know, okay?” She smiled sadly at me and retreated to her own room.

  I shut the door, lay on my bed, and squeezed my eyes shut. Forget surviving exams, I just wanted to go home. But what did that even mean now? No one would be there anyway. I shook my head, fighting the urge to cry. I’d had this grand idea that I’d have an amazing year here, prove to my parents that I was making good choices, and they’d turn in the paperwork to transfer me back to Henderson High, where I’d spend my senior year with Tatum. But now? It felt like home didn’t even exist.

  Chapter 2

  When the town car dropped me at the edge of the driveway, I nearly teared up at the sight of my house. Not that I’ll be staying long. I rolled my suitcase into the garage and bumped it up the three steps into the house. When I came home for winter break, at least my mother had greeted me at the door in her Christmas sweater. But now? Nothing. I turned my ear toward the foyer. Silence.

  “Hello?” I called, pulling the giant bag in behind me. “Mom? Dad?” I rounded the corner into the kitchen and watched an imaginary tumbleweed roll by. Where is everyone? My cheeks heated. Don’t they even care a little bit that I’m back? I dropped my bag in the middle of the kitchen, slipped off my sandals, and padded up the stairs to my parents’ bedroom. The double doors were wide open, and my mother was sitting on the edge of the bed, a pair of socks in her hand, an open but empty suitcase at her feet.

  “Hello? I’m home,” I said softly.

  She looked up at me, as if I was a ghost. “Ashlyn?”

  “Hi, Mom.” I sat down on the bed next to her. I’d never seen my mother wear pajamas past eight in the morning. It was three in the afternoon. I studied her—this woman who I knew was my mom yet seemed to be only a shell now. Light brown roots peeked from her normally pristine honey blonde highlights. I leaned in, expecting to smell her familiar perfume, but wrinkled my nose instead. When was the last time she’d taken a shower?

  “When did you get home, honey?” Her voice was distant, as if there was a pane of glass between us. Like in a prison. Would that be how I’d soon talk to my father?

  “Just now. Didn’t you hear me calling?”

  My mom turned to look at me for the first time, her face without affect. “No. I guess not.”

  This was normally the part where she’d wrap me in a hug and I’d be smothered by her signature scent—a smell I didn’t know how badly I missed until right then. But she just sat there for a moment before turning her attention back to the socks.

  “Are you packing for rehab?” I almost couldn’t get the word out.

  “Yes. They said to bring things that make you comfortable. I don’t . . . I can’t . . .” Mom’s voice disappeared completely.

  “Can I help you?” I stood up and walked to her dresser.

  “Maybe in a bit, sweetheart. I’m so tired right now. I think I’m going to take a nap.” She shifted higher on the bed and slid her slippered feet under the comforter.

  I pulled the covers up over her shoulders as she turned on her side. “Okay, Mom.”

  She closed her eyes and I just watched her for a moment, holding my breath. She looked frail, like if I breathed too hard, she might blow away. A moment later, my mother was snoring softly. Was this what it felt like to be a parent and watch your helpless child sleep?

  Where my dad had been a lifelong opponent, Mom was more of a silent ally. Our relationship consisted of measured glances that said whole conversations with just one look, followed by shopping trips and pedicures after he’d been particularly cruel. And we rarely discussed things further. I knew she worried about me, about us, but just like I had, she’d convinced herself that staying quiet was best for everyone. Like, if we said it out loud to each other, it might get worse. So, we carried on. Now it seemed like she’d worried herself into nothingness. Thanks, Dad. I tiptoed out of the room.

  I crept to my father’s office at the end of the hallway. The door was cracked, with yellow light spilling out, illuminating my pink-painted toes.

  “Yes, I’m taking care of it.” His voice, loud and sharp, suddenly cut through the silence.

  I paused outside and listened, knowing that I probably shouldn’t.

  “No. Yes, I’m sure you are.” Pause. Heavy sigh. “Fine. Uh-huh. Speak to you tomorrow.”

  The phone slammed down on the desk, echoing through the hallway loud enough to make me flinch, causing my eye to twitch. I fingered the single pearl I always wore around my neck. My dad had given it to me on my thirteenth birthday. I’d only taken it off a handful of times. He was typically a gift card kind of present-giver. Or, more accurately, his administrative assistant was. Dad rarely picked out his own gifts. Or even remembered gift-worthy occasions for that matter. But when he handed me the blue velvet box when I turned thirteen, he was almost shy. As I opened it, he said, “Ashlyn, you’re a teenager now. On your way to becoming a grown up. Pearls are classic.”

  I thanked him quietly, admiring the iridescent sheen on the pearl. It was lovely. And a rare reminder that somewhere beneath my father’s cool, slick exterior was someone who was occasionally thoughtful.

  I inhaled and pushed the door wider, revealing myself. “Dad? I’m back.” I almost said home. Almost.

  My father was bent over his desk, his eyebrows pushed so close together they became one black line over his eyes. Papers were strewn about and his briefcase lay haphazardly across the loveseat, pens ready to spill at any moment. This was more than unusual. It was just plain wrong. Dad was the kind of guy who never had even one paper clip out of place. I cringed at the irony—now his whole life was askew.

  “Ashlyn.” It wasn’t a greeting. It was barely an acknowledgment of my presence. He looked up at me from beneath his furrowed unibrow. “How was the ride?”

  Who the heck cares about the ride! Everything is a disaster! I didn’t shout.

  “Fine,” is what came out instead.

  “Good, good,” he said, nodding. “I guess you’ll need to do some packing for work. Do you have enough pairs of shorts? Athletic shoes? A bathing suit? You’ll want a one piece.” I resisted rolling my eyes at his wardrobe suggestion. “Maybe some water shoes. Your uncle sent a list. I’ll email it to you now. Take the credit card tomorrow and get what you don’t have.”

  “Okay.”

  He shuffled some papers into a pile. “Did you say hello to your mother?”

  I nodded. “She’s napping now.”

  “That’s to
be expected. She’s worn out.”

  Is that what we’re calling it now? More like clinically worn out. Why can’t you say depressed?

  I just nodded again. “I guess I’ll go start the laundry.” And with that, I turned and ended our little reunion.

  “Good, good,” he said, eyes already back on his laptop, hand reaching for the phone. “I just need to square some things away with my lawyers and . . .”

  His voice trailed off as I reached the stairs. I retrieved my suitcase from the kitchen, bee-lined to my bedroom, and shut the door, locking it for good measure. I wrapped myself in my quilt, letting the weight of it settle around me, and turned on my favorite sad playlist. As the heaviness in my chest began to lift, I dialed my best friend, Tatum. Her grinning face appeared in the middle of my phone.

  “Are you here? Are you here? Are you here?” I’d missed her puppy-like enthusiasm.

  I grinned back, I couldn’t help it, and panned the camera around to verify. “I. Am. Here.”

  “Hooray!” She pumped her fist into the air, shaking the camera. “So, what’s first on the agenda tomorrow? The pool? Trip into DC? Binging on all the TV you missed this year? I’m game for anything. Your choice.”

  My grin slipped away. “How about you come over while I do laundry?”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound very exciting. Can we pair said laundry with some TV at least?” Tatum pouted and then grinned again, eyebrows up and waggling.

  “Yeah, about that.” I flopped down on my bed and held the phone above my face. “There’s been a change in plans. Have you seen the news lately?”

  “About your dad?” I knew she’d been waiting for me to bring it up, instead of pressing me, and I loved her for that.

  “Yep. Turns out I’m only here for a few days, given the house is about to be totally empty.”

  “Wait, what? Where’s your mom going?”

  I filled her in on all the gory details and her brown eyes grew wider and wider with each new bit of grisly information. By the time I got to “work” and “cousin,” her jaw was at the bottom of the screen.

  “But . . . but . . .”

  “I know.”

  She slumped down on her bed. “Gosh. That sucks. All of it. I’m so sorry, Ash.”

  “Thanks. Me too.” I pursed my lips and blinked back the tears welling up in my eyes.

  “At least there wasn’t a trial. That would’ve been a nightmare.”

  I imagined reporters peeking in our windows at all hours of the day. “Thank goodness for small favors.” Not that it changed the outcome of this whole mess.

  “And it’s nice that you’ll be with family?” Five years of best friendship had given her intimate knowledge of the Zanotti family dynamics. Or lack thereof. Uncle Ed, Aunt Greta, Hannah, and Dylan—they were more like characters in a book I’d read once or twice, not close relatives. I could barely remember the last time I’d seen them in person. “Maybe this is your chance to get to know them better,” Tatum added.

  “That’s true.” My father didn’t care to spend time with his own brother, for reasons that had never been clear to me. But, I guess their relationship wasn’t so nonexistent that my dad wouldn’t ask for a bailout when he really needed it.

  “So, a retreat center, huh? That could be fun. Lots of time in the sun? Maybe there will be some cute employees to hang out with?”

  I groaned. “Even if there are, that doesn’t take away the bugs and the dirt and the pretentious corporate participants.” I was picturing groups of men in suits, just like my father, side-eyeing the ziplines and checking their expensive Swiss watches.

  “At least you have lots of experience with that type.” We both snorted. “You’ll be great.” That was easy for Tatum to say. She wasn’t the one venturing into the unknown.

  “I’m glad you can be optimistic.” I sighed loudly. “And really, this new job is the least of my worries. I was going to ask my parents if I can come home for senior year, but now? I don’t even know if they’ll be home for senior year.” I’d had this grand vision. If I got good grades—which I always did—and kept my nose clean—which I usually did—all would go back to normal. If I proved myself, Dad would forget that I’d dated a guy who was now in jail. Sure, I’d just been along for the ride when he got busted, both figuratively and literally, but no permanent damage had been done and Dad covered it up, which was kind of ironic considering my dad couldn’t cover his own tracks.

  My hand went to my neck and the pearl that rested at the base of my throat. It wasn’t always like this. My dad had always been strict, but he hadn’t always been a dictator. My mom hadn’t always been superficial and complicit. When I was little, before Dad got busier with work and shorter on time and patience with me, we went to the movies or museums together most weekends. We ate dinner around the table. We laughed. But when the money started drifting in, we drifted apart. Now it had been so long since the good times outweighed the bad, it was hard to remember what the good times felt like anymore and if they were even worth fighting for.

  “Need help packing? Shopping?” Tatum asked, jolting me back into the present again.

  “Sure, that’d be great.” I smiled.

  “Stellar. I’ll pick you up first thing in the morning and we can hit the stores. You can pick out stuff for care packages too.”

  “Care packages?”

  Tatum rolled her eyes and laughed. “I’ll send you little notes and stuff to make you not homesick.”

  “You’d do that for me?” Tears pricked the corners of my eyes again.

  “Hello! If you can’t hang out with me all summer, this is the next best thing.”

  “Thank you,” I said quietly. If summer with my best friend wasn’t an option, a care package would have to do.

  “You got this, Ash. You’ll be brilliant. You’ll see.”

  “I hope you’re right.” We smiled at each other and hung up, the promise of shopping giving me hope for tomorrow.

  Chapter 3

  After an epic shopping trip, thanks to Dad’s credit card, and best friend time, thanks to Tatum, I somehow felt both better and worse. Better because I was equipped for my trek into the wilderness, in regard to gear anyway, and worse, because our limited time together reminded me how I was going to be far from home and far from Tatum all summer.

  When I’d put away my stack of shorts, T-shirts, new backpack, reusable water bottle, and hiking boots, I came downstairs to find both of my parents seated at the kitchen table. My father had a glass of red wine in his hand; my mother sipped on club soda with lime. Family dinners generally only happened on holidays around here, so naturally I was a little confused.

  “Sit down, Ashlyn,” my dad said, gesturing to an empty chair.

  I sat.

  “Your mother and I just want to make sure you understand how this summer will go. Everything is under control. We don’t want you to feel like you’re unsupported.”

  I almost laughed out loud. Too late for that, Dad. “Okay,” I said, quietly, instead.

  Dad sipped his wine. “We’ll all be leaving tomorrow morning.” Tomorrow? I’d been home for less than forty-eight hours. I thought I’d at least be here a week. I shifted my gaze to my mother, who was staring at the lime floating in her drink, and then back to my dad, who was eerily calm for someone about to have a massive lifestyle change. “You need to have everything packed tonight. There will be a car coming for each of us and then we will go our separate ways.”

  It sounded like he was breaking up with me and Mom. My stomach churned and bile rose in my throat. I swallowed hard. “Who leaves first?”

  “Me,” my mom whispered.

  Dad set his glass down on the table with a thunk. “We will all be fine,” he said, sensing the panic rising around us, as if he could just make it all disappear with a word. “We’ll do what we need to do and then everything will go back to status quo.”

  A flicker of hope lit in my heart. Was this the right moment to ask if I could come home at the
end of the summer? Surely Mom would be better by then. I ran through my mental list of things I wanted to remind them of from the last year at Blue Valley Academy. My grades were perfect. I was captain of the Quiz Bowl team, which was unprecedented for a new student. I got a gold medal on the national French exam. I wanted to add that I hadn’t dated anyone or gotten one single demerit the entire year but decided that might work against me. I looked from my dad to my mom and back again. It was time. I inhaled and opened my mouth to speak, but my dad was quicker.

  “And, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that senior year at Blue Valley is all arranged and paid for. Since I’ll be gone and your mother’s treatment is still up in the air, we can all be assured that you’re well taken care of and that your future is secured. I think all three of us can feel relieved knowing things are managed, don’t you agree?” He smiled at me, like a cat with canary feathers sticking out of its mouth. Smug, even. Did he know what I was going to ask? Sometimes I wondered if my father could read my mind and spent time thinking of ways to divert my plans. Like it was a game, ruining my life.

  Rage bubbled up inside me like the carbonation floating to the top of my mother’s glass of club soda. I wanted to scream so many things at him. I didn’t need to be managed. Mom just needed some help, and she wouldn’t be locked away forever. If anyone needed to be watched or supervised, it was him. I deserved better than being sent away for his mistake. But of course, I said nothing and popped the rage bubbles, leaving me feeling warm, tender, and raw.

  I looked at my mother. Had she heard the screaming inside my head? Her eyes, huge and blue like mine, bore into me, full of what looked like panic. I wordlessly pleaded with her, my face begging her to ask me the question I desperately wanted to answer. She shook her head—at me? At my coming home? Did she not want me here? Mom’s voice was void of all emotion. “This is for the best. Your father will be gone, and I just can’t think past today right now, sweetheart. Okay?”