The Good Son by Carolyn Mills (best novels for teenagers .txt) 📕

for me. I heard footsteps on the stairs and his concerned voice, calling out gently. “Zoe? Are you up here, Zoe?”

“In here,” I called back weakly.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m not feeling well,” I said. “I’ll be fine in a minute.” But I wasn’t fine. My imagined future was imploding with every shaking breath I took. I couldn’t keep anybody safe. I didn’t even know if Leah was safe. I wanted to grab Erika — who hadn’t been invited to the party on account of Brenda — by the shoulders and scream in her face, “Don’t let him see her!” But of course, Erika had no reason to think that her six-year-old daughter might not be safe with her own father. I had no reason to think that. I was losing my mind. Leah was fine. Richard obviously doted on her — just look at this party.

I got up from the bathroom floor and wiped my face. I found a tube of toothpaste in the drawer and used my finger to smear a dab of it over my teeth before rinsing out my mouth. I made my way back downstairs and joined the others outside, mouthing the words to “Happy Birthday” as everybody sang and Leah’s cake was presented. I clapped along with everyone else when she blew out the candles, but through the whole charade, I was an empty shell standing in the sun just waiting to shatter.

I BROKE OFF OUR ENGAGEMENT two days later.

At first, Amir refused to accept what I was saying. He suggested I was having cold feet, asked if I wanted to postpone the wedding to a later date, pleaded with me not to be irrational. I didn’t offer much by way of explanation. After three days of awkward silences and gentle entreaties to please tell him what was going on, Amir told me he was moving out to give me space. I didn’t argue. I didn’t ask him to stay. I don’t know where he went during that last week, but at the end of it, when I hadn’t changed my mind, he left town. He transferred to a different bank and his aunt wouldn’t tell me where.

Mom was furious with me, and when I refused to elaborate on what had happened between us, she began to suspect Amir, throwing out one wild accusation after another. Finally, in a fit of anger, I came as close to telling the truth as I could.

“It had nothing to do with Amir!” I screamed. “It was me. I changed my mind, okay? Would you rather I’d gone through with it and then done to him what Ricky does to all the people he marries? I couldn’t drag him into my sorry mess of a life. You don’t need to understand, but for god’s sake will you let it go?”

“Zoe,” she said in her maddeningly calm way. “You are nothing like Ricky. Is that what this is all about?”

I didn’t answer. It was too complicated for me to figure out. At Leah’s birthday party, something in me broke. I couldn’t keep trying to outrun my past, and if it was going to devour me, I didn’t want it taking down Amir, too. Amir and his kind soul. Amir and his laughing eyes. Amir and his big, open heart. He deserved so much more than me and all my demons. Ricky being prime among them.

And if Amir still hates me for letting him go, he’s in good company. Although, this morning, Amir did not strike me as someone consumed by hatred.

With Jason, everything is different. We didn’t go into things with any kind of wide-eyed innocence or reckless enthusiasm. Also, and I think this is important, Jason doesn’t necessarily want more children. That alone makes things so much safer. With Jason, I thought I had left my demons behind. Until I turned on the news and discovered they’d caught up with me after all.

I finally cave in and call Ricky because I can’t handle not knowing what’s going on, but since he doesn’t pick up, I end up leaving a distracted message on his voicemail. Then I burrow into my bed again, hoping that sleep will stop me from thinking. I don’t want to think any more tonight. About anything. What I crave right now is oblivion. Maybe it’s what I’ve always craved.

CHAPTER EIGHT

•

I TRIED TO FIND AMIR once. It was a month after we’d broken up and I filled my car with gas and drove to St. Catharine’s. I had no plan. When I pulled up in front of his parents’ house, the air was still, as if it, too, was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen. I stared at the house, blood roaring in my ears. I wanted to scream Amir’s name, but instead I released a pitiful, strangled, choked-out sound that was more whimper than shout. I sat there for five minutes, maybe less, waiting for something to happen. Then, I swung my car around and drove back to Dunford.

This is the kind of inaction and indecision that has defined my life. I see myself floundering about, unable to love fully, unable to hold onto anybody or anything, but am seized with helplessness even in the face of that knowledge. That night, after my road trip, I dreamed about Amy Nessor again. She was standing in front of me, holding her detached braid out to me, pleading with her dead eyes for me to help her, and when I tried to speak, my lips wouldn’t open, and I could only mumble incoherent nonsense that even she turned from in disgust.

The next morning, I was filled with relief that the worst I had done was park in front of Amir’s parents’ house. What would I have said if his parents or even Amir had seen me and come outside? What could I say? That I’d made a mistake and wanted everything to go back to the way it was before? Because that wasn’t quite true, was