The Girl Who Kissed a Lie

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

I don’t bring it up to my aunts. Not at first. At first it seems like too enormous a thing to say. Today I met a woman who knew Dad. I know that I don’t really have a father in the sense that other people have fathers, but my father, all that he is, has always been mine. There are no other people that my father knows. Other people’s fathers have old school friends and work colleagues; my father has me. And I guess that has always been what I could wrap around the sadness as comfort. Somehow, Matilda whatever-her-last-name-might-be knowing Dad has jolted me out of that, like the comfort has been torn away, and all that’s left is just being sad.

So, instead, I focus on the Salem Willows trip. We’ve worked out the details, so I feel prepared to bring it up with my aunts.

“Kelsey wanted to know if I could go up to Salem with her and some other people from school,” I say. I delicately leave out the fact that the other people are boys. I don’t know what my aunts would think about that. Homeschooling, and my preoccupation with Ben, has mostly saved us from awkward birds-and-bees conversations.

“Who is Kelsey?” Aunt True asks vaguely, knitting her sock in the enormous pair of bright pink socks that my aunts have been knitting together for as long as I can remember. These socks are at least as long as I am tall. I have no idea what my aunts intend to do with them. Maybe they think they know giants as well as gnomes.

“My friend,” I remind her patiently. “Who I work with.”

“Salem.” Aunt Virtue frowns a bit. “The town with the witches.”

“Well, yeah, but we’re going to this little park-type thing outside of town.”

Aunt Virtue and Aunt True exchange looks. “Do you really think that sounds like the best idea?” Aunt True asks me.

I knew they would be like this. I knew they would be hesitant over any sort of excursion. “It’s not a big deal; it’s just a quick little afternoon.”

“But I don’t know.” Aunt True manages to give the impression of wringing her hands while continuing on with her knitting. “It just seems like there’s so much potential for so much to go wrong.” She looks over at Aunt Virtue. “What do you think?”

“It’s a bad idea,” Aunt Virtue says without looking up from her knitting. “No.”

“But it’s only for a few hours,” I beg.

“Will you be taking the subway?” asks Aunt True.

“No,” I say. I almost say, Andy’s driving and then amend it to, “My friend is driving.”

Aunt True looks at Aunt Virtue. “At least there won’t be goblins.”

“You think the goblins are only on the subway?” says Aunt Virtue. “And, anyway, it’s not just goblins, is it? It’s everything.”

“That’s not fair!” I protest, and I am abruptly angry enough to really shout. I have never in my life asked to go anywhere, not a single outing, and it’s not fair. It’s not normal. “I never get to go anywhere.”

“Because most places aren’t safe,” Aunt Virtue says severely.

“There aren’t any goblins! There aren’t any gnomes! You’re making up things to be scared of in your heads!” I accuse. “You go to see Dad, and other than that you haven’t ventured past Beacon Hill in so long that you’ve forgotten that everyone out there is normal! They’re not like us! I’ll be fine!”

My aunts both stare at me. They look worse than angry. They look hurt.

I swallow and try to think of what to say.