Final Girl by Michelle Schusterman (beach books .TXT) 📕

“Hello? Who’d you think you were sharing a room with? Please don’t say Sam,” I added in a feeble attempt at a joke. Neither of them laughed.

Grandma slipped out of her jacket, hung it neatly on the back of the desk chair, then turned to Dad. She crossed her arms. “We talked about this in the cab, Jack,” she said gently. “I told you, I’m done making excuses for her. I know you are, too.”

My chest suddenly felt shrunken and tight, like it was caving in around my heart. Dad and Grandma just stood there, having a silent conversation with their eyes like they’d forgotten I was even in the room.

“Are you talking about me?” My voice shook a little, and they both turned to me at the same time.

“No! Oh, KitKat . . .” Grandma hurried over and put her arm around my shoulders. “I’m so sorry. Here, come sit down with me.” She guided me to the bed by the desk. Dad spun the chair around and sat facing us. He had that look again. The defeated look I was getting tired of seeing.

“What’s going on?” I asked nervously. Dad swallowed, then smiled sadly at me.

“We kept the fact that Edie was coming a secret from you because we wanted it to be a surprise,” he said. “But the surprise was supposed to be . . . bigger.”

“What do you mean?”

Dad’s eyes flickered over to Grandma before meeting mine again. “Your mother was supposed to be here, too.”

A short burst of laughter escaped me, and they both looked startled. But this had to be a joke, right? The idea of Mom here in Seoul, hanging around the Passport to Paranormal crew . . . it was like trying to picture Captain America in Arendelle. Didn’t fit. Different worlds. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Wait, seriously?” I asked. “Why?” As soon as I said it, the answer hit me. Because Dad thought I’d torn up his contract. Because he thought I wanted to be with Mom. I opened my mouth to argue, but Grandma spoke first.

“Because I pushed her to,” she said. “Your mother left almost a year ago, Kat. Since then, you’ve seen her once—at Thanksgiving, when you and Jack visited. And you agreed to come to her shower in March, too. You shouldn’t be the only one who . . . who makes an effort.”

I didn’t respond. I had absolutely no idea what to say to that. I didn’t even know what Grandma meant.

“So when I told her last month that I was joining you in Seoul,” Grandma went on, placing her hand gently on my back. “I asked her to come. She said yes. I bought her plane ticket and made all the arrangements . . .” She sighed. “Then yesterday, she called and said there’d been an emergency. A wedding planning emergency, nothing serious,” she added quickly when my eyes widened in alarm. “Something about the caterer, I don’t know . . . but I do know it couldn’t possibly have been so urgent it couldn’t wait a week.”

A strange new mix of emotions started churning through me. The same hurt I always felt when Mom did stuff like this. But also, relief. Grandma’s disappointment in my mother was obvious. She blamed Mom, not me. It didn’t lessen the hurt, but it was weirdly comforting.

Dad shifted in his chair. “I’m sorry, Kat,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t sure about telling you, but your grandma insisted.”

“We’re being honest,” Grandma told him. “I don’t need you guilt-tripping yourself anymore, either. I swear, between the two of you—”

“What do you feel guilty about?” I interrupted, staring at Dad.

A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Talking about your mother like this with you. Ever since she left, I’ve . . . I never wanted you to feel like you had to choose sides. I didn’t want the fact that I was upset with her to upset you.”

I blinked. “She’s the one who left. Why would I be upset with you?”

“No, I mean later,” Dad said. “When she moved back to Chelsea. When I’d invite her over to see you and she wouldn’t come. When she told me she’d gotten engaged and asked me to tell you, instead of doing it herself.”

My throat felt dry and scratchy. “I didn’t want to talk to her then, though. I wouldn’t, when she called.”

“I know.” Dad smiled sadly at me. “But, sweetie, she could have tried harder. Six months was a long time. I can’t imagine going that long without seeing you . . . you’re my daughter. I would’ve found a way. I think I put that burden on you, when it was really your mother’s fault the two of you weren’t talking.” He wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, see? I feel guilty just saying that. Father of the year, like everyone’s saying.”

I barely heard what he said after your mother’s fault. Dad blamed Mom, too. He blamed her for how long we’d gone last year without speaking. And he was right—I had thought that was my fault. I’d thought Grandma and Dad thought that was my fault, too. Mom called every few weeks, and I’d refuse to talk. That was it.

It had never dawned on me that maybe she should have tried harder.

“Well, I don’t feel guilty at all about saying this to both of you.” Grandma paused, sitting up straighter. “I love my daughter. She’s a beautiful, talented woman with many wonderful qualities. But she can also be very, very selfish.”

We were silent for a moment. I kept waiting for tears, but I was . . . okay. Not happy. Not sad. But okay.

“And,” Grandma added, “Shelly Mathers better hope she never meets me, because I have a thing or two to say to her about that father of the year business.”

“What father of the year business?” I asked, looking from her to Dad.

Dad rolled his eyes. “Her review of the Beijing episode. She had a few unflattering opinions about me using my daughter as a publicity stunt. Or putting her life in danger by exposing her to a deadly doppelganger,” he added dryly. “Whichever it is . . . she’s not sure. Either way,