Page 24 of Dear Love, I Hate You (Easton High)

I still remember it like it was yesterday.

It couldn’t have been more than two days since Ashley had won first place. Dad, Ashley, Mom, and I were about to leave California, where the show was taped, and waiting for our delayed flight in a ridiculously expensive suite—courtesy of the show’s network.

That’s when Mom pulled out her brand-new camcorder and told my sister to sing something. My mom’s name should’ve been Esther Overachiever Harper because it took her under ten minutes to create Ashley’s YouTube channel and post a video of six-year-old Ash nailing “No One” by Alicia Keys.

Twenty-four hours later, she had ten thousand subscribers.

Forty-eight hours later, fifty thousand.

On day three, one hundred thousand.

Then, ironically, by the time Ashley’s seventh birthday rolled around, she had seven hundred.

Mom pulls out her phone to order dinner. She doesn’t cook anymore. Says she’s too busy since she made assisting Ashley in her musical career a full-time job. She now spends her days locked in her “office”, aka my dad’s old trophy room, on her computer doing only heaven knows what.

I can’t recall the last time we were allowed in there while she worked. She’s kept the door locked since Dad left us.

Ashley has never so much as batted an eye at Mom living on the Rising Voices million-dollar prize and her YouTube channel ad revenue and sponsors. I asked my sister about it once, and she said she could only be grateful Mom believed in her so much she quit her job as an accountant.

“What time do I have to pick her up again?” I ask before exiting the room.

“Rob will be giving her a ride home tonight,” Mom says, eyes glued to her phone. “He flew into town this morning to accompany her.”

“Okay.” I swivel to leave but…

Something keeps me in place.

A long-forgotten memory.

At least, by everyone but me.

“Mom?” I glance at her over my shoulder.

“Yes, honey?” She continues to scroll on her phone.

“D-Do you know what today is?” I falter.

She pauses to think. “Monday?”

She could rip my heart out and it would still hurt less than what she just said. Anything would hurt less than her ignorance.

“No, the date,” I choke out.

It’s as if the heater broke down when the words trickle out of my mouth. The room grows cool, the air as frisky as the heart I’m not sure she has. I’m the tiniest bit relieved at the streak of pain ripping across her gaze.

She knows.

Even if she’d rather die than talk about it.

She clears her throat.

“I picked up some of your clothes from the dry cleaner. Put them on your bed.”

I didn’t know it was humanly possible to be this disappointed. I want to scream, “That’s it? We’re going to go one more year pretending like nothing happened? One more year acting like our world didn’t end on this day nine years ago?”

But I can’t find the courage. So, instead, I storm out of the house, climb inside my car, and sink my teeth into my bottom lip to keep the tears at bay. I’m almost out of gas, but I don’t care. I have to do this.

For him.