So Much Closer Read Free

to flop on that same couch, exhausted from his long day at work and hectic commute home. It’s still so weird to be in the same house with the same stuff, without Dad.
    I had too much nervous energy to sit. I stayed near the coffee table, swaying a little.
    I couldn’t remember the last time I talked to Mom without feeling all tense. Ever since Dad left, it’s like we can’t even watch TV together without Tension cramming in between us like an unwanted guest who says they’ll only be staying for a little while and then never leaves.
    “If you don’t feel like talking ...” I said. Not that she ever felt like talking anymore. But I should have known better than to try talking to her when she got home from work. She hates her job. Personally, I don’t think there’s any job she would like. Mom didn’t work when Dad was here. She was a much happier person. Then he left and she turned all bitter and miserable.
    “Now’s fine,” she said.
    “Because we could talk later.”
    “Brooke.” Mom rubbed her temple. “What is it?”
    The grandfather clock in the corner ticked. The ticks sounded louder than usual.
    “Okay, there’s this thing I want to do and I’ve already planned it out so you don’t even have to do anything. All I need from you is permission.”
    “For what?”
    There are two topics that infuriate Mom: school and my dad. I avoid these topics as much as possible. But if I wanted to make this happen, I had to bring up both of them.
    “It’s nothing bad. I um ... I want to live with Dad for a while, is all. Just for senior year.”
    Mom barked out a laugh. “Why would you want to do that after everything he did to us?”
    “Basically? I’m not challenged enough at school. And you’re always saying how I need to apply myself more and how I’m not working to my full potential and everything. But I can’t work harder unless I’m motivated. My school sucks. The school in Dad’s neighborhood is excellent.”
    “How do you know?”
    “I researched it. There’s a lot of money in that area. More money means better schools.”
    “Is that really why you want to live with him? To go to a better school?”
    “Yes.” I was totally lying again, but I didn’t care. There’s no way she’d let me move to the city and live with Dad just to follow some boy. “I have to show colleges I’m serious about improving my grades. Plus, I can write about my transfer for application essays.”
    Mom was skeptical.
    “He said I could live with him if I wanted to—”
    “I know . What he said .”
    “So ... can I?”
    “Absolutely not.”
    “Why not?”
    “Is living with me so bad that you have to go running off to that manipulative bastard?”
    Didn’t Mom realize that anger was destroying her life? The Mom I used to know was so different. She used to plant flowers in the front yard every spring and play cards with the neighbors and volunteer at the senior center. She would even surprise me after school sometimes with fresh-baked peanut butter cookies. Those were always my favorite afternoons, sitting in the kitchen doing my homework at the table while she started dinner. It felt really safe, like nothing would ever have to change.
    I was so naive back then.
    Over the last few years, Mom gradually stopped doing those things. Sometimes I don’t even recognize her.
    My leg banged against the coffee table, as if suddenly my brain couldn’t control it anymore. The remote control jumped. I wished it had a button for RESET CONVERSATION.
    “He’s not—”
    “You only have one more year left. Then you can go anywhere for college.”
    “Well, I can’t exactly get in anywhere , but—”
    “Why are you doing this to me?”
    So irritating. It’s always about her.
    “This isn’t about you, Mom. It’s about me.”
    “Well, you can forget it,” she retaliated.
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “I’m not trying to be confrontational. You always think that, but I don’t want to fight with