I’m not trying to be the crappy half of every relationship, but maybe I am. Not all the time, but when I’m like this? When I stop treating people like they matter? When I take them for granted and assume they’ll still be waiting whenever I’ve finished doing whatever ridiculous thing I’m doing?
I’ve lost all the friends I care about, and my family may never forgive me.
Hermione Granger used a Time-Turner because there weren’t enough hours in the day to do all the things she wanted. But me? I’d use a Time-Turner to do everything over.
I’d take back the mean things I’ve said. I’d tell people I cared about them more. I’d try harder to make other people as happy as I want myself to be.
Because maybe that’s the point I’ve been missing. Maybe happiness doesn’t mean anything at all if I’ve hurt other people to find it.
Vas was right. Chloe was right. They were all right.
It’s funny—when I was wrong, I was so certain I knew exactly what I was doing. But now that I want to do the right thing, I have no idea where to start.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Eventually I find the courage to talk to Mom and Dad. I tell them both how sorry I am. I tell them I don’t expect them to forgive me, but I hope they at least believe me when I say I wish I could take it all back.
They don’t hesitate for even a second. They tell me they forgive me, and that there’s no need to feel guilty anymore. I get the feeling they wanted me home more than they ever wanted the apology.
I’m lucky to have parents who love me unconditionally. I realize that now more than ever.
But this destination I’ve arrived at—it shouldn’t have taken hurting them both to get here. I should’ve been better.
I’m going to try to be better.
I tell them it’s not just that I feel guilty about what I did to them—I’m also humiliated. Because despite all my hard work, I still failed. I couldn’t be a trapeze artist, even though I tried as hard as I possibly could.
My parents knew this would happen all along, but I didn’t want to believe them.
And the truth is, I feel lost without a dream. Empty.
Maybe it’s a good thing they’d never supported me. Because at least this way, they didn’t waste anything.
They didn’t have to set their hearts on a dream only to watch it break because their daughter isn’t good enough.
Dad tells me people don’t always get what they want, even when they try their hardest. He says that’s part of life, and that people aren’t entitled to things just because they tried.
Mom points out that this is exactly why she wanted me to have a backup plan, and that I should think about starting school in January if I can sign up for classes late.
Bitterness crawls through me. Because a part of me wants to flinch at their words, to point out that after everything, they still don’t get it.
But then I remember that I failed. I came home.
My parents were right about everything, and I need to accept it.
I tell Mom I’ll think about college.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
I ask Chloe to meet me at our local Starbucks. Despite everything, she agrees. It makes me think our friendship is going to be okay. That I’ll be able to repair what I’ve broken.
I offer to buy her a Pink Drink, but she insists on paying for her own.
I guess it should’ve been a sign of how the conversation was going to go.
Because when I tell Chloe how sorry I am, she doesn’t forgive me the way Mom and Dad did.
She says she told me she was afraid of us drifting apart, and that I let it happen anyway. She tells me I wasn’t a good friend to her, that I moved on as soon as something better came along, and that I hurt her.
She says she doesn’t know if things can go back to the way they were, because we haven’t been friends in months.
She says she’s already had time to get used to that, and maybe we’re better off doing our own things.
It’s a breakup I didn’t realize was coming.
I cry at home until my cheeks feel tender and my eyes are swollen, and when I’m staring in the mirror wondering how the hell I got here, I realize it’s my fault. I brought this on myself.
Because even if I hate that he said it, maybe Vas was right about the way I’ve been treating people I claim to care about. I never stop to think how other people feel until it’s too late.
I try to remember if I’ve always been this way, or if I changed the more desperate I became to chase my dreams. And the truth is, I don’t know.
I have no idea how many people there are who I need to make amends with. I don’t know how far back a list like that would go. I was never keeping track before, because I didn’t even realize I was doing it.
But there’s one person I do remember. One person I know I hurt by accident.
And I know exactly what I need to do to fix it.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Teatro della Notte feels like a friend I haven’t seen in years. I’m searching its building for quirks and details that will remind me it’s the same friend after all, and that nothing’s really changed.
But I can’t find them. Everything looks different. The black is grayer, the gold paler. Even the smell of the air is different, like dust and asphalt.
It’s changed.
Or maybe I’ve changed, because I can’t help thinking how much I miss the smell of popcorn.
The doorman at the back is a stranger, with short blond hair and stern eyes. “Entrance is just around the front, ma’am.”
“I’m Kenji and Delilah’s daughter,” I say, and it feels unnatural.
“Do you have some ID?” he asks, arms folded at his chest.
I start to dig through my bag. “Where’s Billy?”
“Who?”
Maybe a lot has changed since I’ve been gone. “Never mind,” I say, holding my ID up to him.
He nods, pulling the door open for me.
I find Tatya in her dressing room, still applying her makeup for tonight’s show. When she spots me in the mirror, she flashes her megawatt smile, before her eyes seem to hint she remembers what happened the last time we spoke.
“I’m sorry,” I say before she gets the chance to talk first. “I should never have talked to my parents about what would happen if you left—not even figuratively. It was a garbage thing to do, especially to a friend.”
Tatya turns in her chair, her shoulders relaxing. “Oh, Harley. I forgave you weeks ago.” She stands up and holds out her arms, and I crush myself against her because I’m just so relieved.
I sit with her while she gets ready, and she asks me all about Maison du Mystère. I tell her all my stories, despite the fact that so many make my heart hurt.
“A little bird told me you were doing incredibly well over there,” she says, tracing her eye with black liner. “I was really happy for you, chasing your dreams like that. You’re so brave.”
I frown. “A little bird?”
Tatya laughs. “I used to work at another circus with Jin Thompson, years ago. Did he not mention it?”
I press my lips together. “No, he didn’t.” So that’s how Maggie found out who I was. And then I frown. “Did you tell my parents? Is that how they knew where I was?”
Tatya shakes her head. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t even know you were keeping it a secret from them, and they never asked.”
I frown. I’ve been so consumed by my own feelings that I still haven’t managed to find out what brought them to the circus. I never told Popo I was performing. In fact, I didn’t tell anyone.
So if it wasn’t Tatya, then who?
“I’m glad you’re back,” Tatya says, smiling in the mirror. “The circus isn’t quite the same without you.”
“I’m glad to be back too,” I say, but as soon as the words leave me, I realize they’re not true.
I barely thought about Teatro della Notte the entire time I was away. And it’s not because I don’
t love it, because I do—even now. Even though it feels different.
But I fell in love with Maison du Mystère. I fell in love with the people. I fell in love with the way their magic was different.
The way their circus life was different.
I miss it so much, it feels like there’s a knife in my stomach and someone is twisting and twisting and twisting until I want to keel over.
I hope one day I’ll love something that much again.
I guess that’s one benefit to having a heart that’s full of holes—there’s a lot of room to love something new.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Dad’s standing in his office, his violin against his chin, the warm sound filling the room.
There was nothing warm about the way Vas played. His sound would grab hold of your heart and clench hard, making you ache. It was whispers and graveyards and longing for the past.
Dad’s sound is friendlier. Softer.
He catches me staring, concern taking over his brow. He drops the wooden instrument to his side. “Is everything okay?”
I take a breath, like I’m coming back to life. “Yeah, fine. Sorry, I was… remembering someone.”
He nods. This is usually the point he’d turn back to his music, a look on his face that says he’ll forgive the interruption but would prefer if it didn’t happen again.
But Dad’s eyes are still on me. “Did you want to talk?” The words sound strange leaving his mouth. They must taste strange too, because he flexes his jaw and rolls his tongue to the inside of his mouth like he’s not sure what to make of them.
“It’s okay,” I say quickly, starting to retreat. “You’re busy.”
“No.” He sets his violin carefully on his desk, holding a hand toward the small couch against the wall. “I can make time.”
Make time. What a strange thing to say. Nobody can really make time—they can only offer the time they have.
But Dad’s never offered his time before. Not to me.
I take a seat, my hands fiddling with my pajama bottoms. He sits in his chair across from me, his hands on his knees like he’s ready to give a lecture.
And it makes me smile, how obvious it is that Dad has no idea what he’s doing.
But at least he’s trying.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, looking self-conscious.
I shake my head quickly. “You just… look like you’re about to yell at me for something, that’s all.”
He looks down, crosses his arms, uncrosses them. Then he’s laughing too. “Now I don’t know what to do.” I laugh harder, and Dad beams. “It’s nice to see you happy.”
I feel my face falling, but try to hold a smile up to make him feel better. Because “happy” isn’t exactly the word I would use to describe myself. Far from it, actually.
Mom and Dad don’t understand how someone can laugh but still be depressed. How someone can stop being depressed for a period of time, but still suffer from depression. How someone can appear to be functioning in a way they think is normal, but still be struggling with their mental health.
But I’m so tired of fighting people—even myself—that I don’t want to fight about this, too.
So I let him have this one, because some conversations can’t happen in a single day.
“I’m sorry about the set list,” I say.
“You’ve already apologized—” Dad starts.
“I know. But it was always when Mom was around. It was never just to you.”
He breathes out of his nose, nodding.
I look down in my lap. “I know if it were up to you, you’d probably still be mad. And I’d deserve that, so it’s fine. But I want you to know how sorry I really am. If I could go back in time, I wouldn’t do it.”
His face doesn’t change. “You’d stay here? Go to school?”
I freeze like I’ve been caught.
Dad smiles gently. “That’s what I thought.”
“I wouldn’t steal the music, though,” I point out. “But… I don’t think I would’ve gone to school.”
He sighs, leaning forward so he can rest his elbows on his knees. “You were great up there, you know. Your mom and I haven’t said that to you yet, because we didn’t want to upset you, but it’s true. I was so proud of you. The proudest I’ve ever been.”
The ache in my chest grows.
“Look, if you could go back in time, I wouldn’t want you to steal the set list either. But not joining the circus? I don’t know if I’d want that. Because something’s changed in you. You’ve grown up. You’ve learned lessons—the kind you can only learn by going out and really living. And I think it’s been good for you.” He holds up a hand. “I’m not saying I’m happy about you running away and ignoring your mom and me for months. But I think it was a good experience for you. I really do.”
I’m too stunned to think, so I say the only words I can manage. “But you hate Maison du Mystère.”
Dad laughs. “I dislike Simon Tarbottle.” He pauses. “Well, I hate him now, after what he did to you.”
A smile tugs at my mouth. “Thanks, Dad.”
“So.” He claps his hands. “Since we’re in here talking and all, do you want to tell me who that boy was that ran after you into your trailer?”
I lean back and rub my temple, face crumpled. “Not really, no.”
“Oh, come on. I can talk about boys with you,” he says.
“You’re even making that sound weird,” I point out.
Dad’s quiet for a second. “Well, I hope he’s nice to you. That’s the important thing.”
“He is. Was.” I drop my hands into my lap. “We aren’t in touch.”
“I see,” he says. “He’s a very talented aerialist. I was tempted to offer him a job—poach a performer from Tarbottle and see how he likes it.” Dad grins.
“Don’t feel like you missed your opportunity. Vas wouldn’t have taken it anyway,” I say. “He was only performing because of me. He’s actually a musician—a really good one. He wrote that song, you know. The one we performed to.”
“Did he?” Dad looks genuinely impressed.
I nod. “And if it makes you feel better, he was very against using your set list. He wanted to use his own stuff.”
“Now I like him even more. Are you sure you don’t want to be in touch with him again?” Dad asks.
“Okay, you’re really pushing it now,” I warn, even though I’m smiling. I stand up. “I’ll let you get back to work. I know you’re busy.”
Dad stands too. “Not too busy for you. Remember that, okay? I’m trying to remember it too.”
My eyes start to well up, so I turn for the door quickly. “Oh,” I say, stopping myself. When I turn around, Dad is already reaching for his violin. “I almost forgot. I wanted to ask you—who told you and Mom I was performing?”
Dad blinks, feigning confusion.
I raise a brow. “I didn’t tell Popo. I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Huh,” he says, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes I haven’t seen in years. Maybe ever. “It must have been a little bird.”
I roll my eyes. “Honestly. You circus people and your little birds.” I start to turn, but Dad’s softened gaze makes me pause.
“It was your mom,” he says gently. “The circus is a small world. She made some calls, asked around, and found out you were going to perform.” His face wrinkles into a tired smile. “She wanted to be there. We both did.”
The knot tightens in my throat. “But… why? Neither of you approved of me joining the circus. You wanted me to go to school.”
“We do want you to go to school,” he corrects. “But we’re your parents, and we don’t want to miss the big moments. Even the ones we don’t agree with.”
I nod, and my emotions flood through me.
Dad looks down at the floor and clears his throat. “You know, your mom told me what you said to her. About me being a ghost.”
“I didn’t mean that—” I start.
He hold
s up his hand. “It’s okay, Harley. I know why you said it. I guess sometimes I get so caught up in my work that I forget to be present. I don’t even realize I’m doing it, but I can see why that wouldn’t have been fair to you. I hope—I hope I didn’t miss out on too many moments with you. I hope I was there for some of them.” His eyes well up, but he blinks the tears away quickly. “Maybe if I’d been the dad you needed, you wouldn’t have been in such a hurry to run away.”
“It wasn’t your fault. I made that choice on my own,” I say with a shaky voice.
“It is my fault.” He gives me a weak smile. “At least a little bit. Because you tried to tell us you weren’t feeling supported, and I didn’t want to listen. And so I don’t blame you for wanting to leave. I really don’t. The rest of it, I’ll accept your apology for, but that part? That was me failing as your father.”
I let my eyes fall to my feet because seeing Dad cry is making me want to burst into sobs.
“There should have been another way to handle everything. For both of us,” Dad says. “I don’t want anything like this to happen ever again. So the next time you need to talk, I promise I’ll listen.”
There should have been another way.
It’s the lesson I needed to learn most of all. Because feeling hurt is never an excuse to hurt the people I care about.
Maybe family means trying a little harder to understand one another.
Maybe family means there’s room to compromise.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say, lifting my eyes. “And, for what it’s worth, I promise I’ll never break into your filing cabinet again.”
Dad lifts his brow. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. I’ve already changed all the combinations.”
I roll my eyes, half embarrassed and half amused.
When I close Dad’s office door, I can still hear him laughing behind it.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
I keep expecting to one day wake up happy again. But when my dream of the circus died, it left a hole in my chest. A hole that grows and grows, spilling black onto everything around it.
I don’t know how to close it up, or make it stop. So my heart continues to bleed, a little at a time, every day until the world starts to feel too heavy for one person to hold up.
Harley in the Sky Page 24
