The One Without Words

❀ chapter six | separation ❀

If you told me a week ago that Jack and I would be here now, standing together in the pouring rain, I wouldn't have believed it.

Pink paint streamed off us. Swirled around out feet, then drained into the ground. Jack had the look of an angry wet puppy as he glared at me. If he could talk, he'd probably be telling me off for having read his journal. And honestly? I had no regrets.

I ran my hands through my hair to rinse the paint. It probably had a million and one carcinogens, but I could live with it if the bill to clean it from our new shop came from Grace's bank account. Raindrops spattered on my face. Who would've thought "mute boi" could be the top entertainment of the week. I hadn't laughed with someone—at someone—this much since juvie.

"Are you two clean?" Danielle called out from the driver seat of her car. "Jack, get the blankets from the trunk."

The woman had literally made us stand in the pouring rain so we wouldn't make pink masterpieces of her car seats. If I knew I'd get soaked anyway, I really would've rather taken the bus.

Wrapped in blankets, Jack and I climbed into Danielle's car. Jack in the passenger seat, staring out the window, arms crossed tight over his chest. And me in the back, paint still streaked over my clothes, very much looking forward to what Danielle would make of this mess.

The rain slowed. Night fell and blanketed the surrounding buildings in shadows as she drove.

"Thanks for the ride," I said to break the silence. "Where's Talia?"

"Her car broke down," Danielle admitted. Then she went as quiet as her son. But what if she secretly saw this as a good thing? What if a pink monster Jack wrestling his equally pink co-worker on the flower shop floor could be interpreted as a lesson in him developing his nonexistent social skills? Either way, Jack's sheer embarrassment radiated so intensely it almost made me think something was wrong with me for thinking the whole situation was hilarious. Something told me he wasn't one to rebel against mommy's orders.

"Romy, about your mother."

I froze at Danielle's words. Was she trying to break the tension by asking about Grace? Really?

"I know how difficult it must be for you," she continued, turning to give me a gentle smile. "You can talk to me anytime. I understand that times like these can be difficult for—"

"Is there a reason you're telling me this?"

"I... well." She paused. Glanced at Jack. "Jack's dad and I are also divorced. It was hard for a time. Sometimes it still is. Especially when he lives abroad."

"Better living abroad than rotting in prison."

Danielle's posture tensed. "I don't mean to offend you. I just thought... I'd offer some support."

"I see a psychologist every week. Pretty sure I'm good."

Not that I ever talked about Grace with Psychologist #4. The sessions mostly consisted of me twisting and exaggerating the events of my life, saying the most contradictory, outlandish shit imaginable, taking Mr. Know It All doctor for a spin as he tried to give a narrative to my story. A medical, neatly diagnosed explanation for the shoplifting, the school suspensions years back, the incidents where I "violently lashed out" at my dad. I'd actually been ditching the appointments for weeks. He'd call my parents soon enough, and we'd move onto Psychologist #5. Rinse and repeat.

"Jack also sees a psychologist," Danielle said. "It's been very helpful."

I tugged on my blanket. "Wild."

"I know what you're probably thinking about my son. I know how much of a challenge it can be. But all I ask... please give him a chance."

"You don't need to speak for him," I said as Jack sunk into the seat, probably ten times more mortified than he already was. "If he wanted a chance, he would've asked for one."