Page 54

Surrender

Seventeen Years Old, Tennessee

I drive through sheets of rain with a suitcase in the Jetta’s trunk, my nerves frayed, hoping Isaiah will be home. I have to see him before I leave.

Marjorie answers the door, fighting for a smile. “Oh, you’re getting drenched,” she says, waving me inside. “Isaiah didn’t say he was expecting you.”

“He’s not,” I admit. “I hope it’s okay that I dropped by.”

“Of course.” Her eyes are red, puffy, and she’s got a tissue tucked into her sleeve, the way my grandma does before turning on a sad movie. “Today was a tough one,” she tells me. “He’ll be glad to see you. Go on up.”

Upstairs, I find Isaiah’s door closed. I knock lightly.

“Yeah?” he calls in a jagged voice.

“Hey. It’s me.”

It’s only a second before the door swings open.

He leads me to the bed, where I sit beside him. He folds forward, elbows to knees, face to hands, and heaves a sigh that sounds leaden. I’m rain-damp, but I pull him close. He breathes through his sorrow, thin inhales and shuddering exhales. We sit on his bed, sheltered by the walls of his home, until the storm sweeps eastward and the tension in his body eases. He sighs again, placidly this time because, I’m starting to realize, he trusts me to walk him through hard shit.

Straightening, he drags a hand over his face. When his eyes meet mine, he says, “Hi,” like I’ve only just arrived.

I glide my fingers along his forehead, his jaw, his heated cheek, wishing for an elixir or a charm, something to relieve his hurt. Now more than ever, I understand the meaning of the word bittersweet . Naya’s move home is an ideal outcome for her and her mom, while simultaneously an acerbic blow to her interim brother.

“I want to say something profound,” I tell him, “except…I’m not sure it’d help.”

“It wouldn’t. Jesus, it sucked to see her go.”

“You’re such a good brother.”

He gives me a desolate look. “Not anymore.”

“Yes,” I say firmly. “Don’t do that. Don’t dismiss the influence you had on her, or the effect she’s had on you. Losing someone doesn’t erase the imprint they’ve made on your heart.”

He nods, closing his eyes.

I think he understands; it’s not an empty sentiment.

But it’s getting late. I’ve got a ten-hour drive ahead of me, and a storm to overtake.

“I’m leaving,” I say.

His eyes snap open.

“For a few days,” I hurry to clarify. “Virginia. It’s something I’ve got to do, and if I don’t get on the road now, I’ll chicken out.”

“Wait—you’re driving? Alone?”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Lia… Your parents are cool with this?”

“They don’t know. They’re already on their way to Dulles. I told them I didn’t want to go, and now I’ve changed my mind. I just… I don’t fully understand it myself, but if I don’t go, I’ll regret it. I know I will.”

He tilts his head, regarding me with disapproval and sympathy in equal measures. It’s clear he believes I have no business setting out on a solo road trip in the middle of the night, but his empathy is palpable.

“I get that you’re chasing closure,” he says. “Believe me—I do. But closure is, like, six hundred miles from here. That’s too far to drive on your own. What if you get tired?”

“I’ll guzzle Mountain Dew,” I say, shrugging. I haven’t really had time to consider the what-ifs.

“What if you get lost?”

“Impossible. GPS.”

“What if you get a flat tire?”

“I’ll change it. My dad taught me how.”

His mouth lifts in a smile—he wasn’t expecting that. Still, he’s not finished. “I hate the idea of you going so far by yourself. There’re a thousand things that could go wrong.”

My conviction’s beginning to waver. I want to go to Virginia—I need to go to Virginia—but I won’t leave Isaiah to worry. I won’t put the burden of my welfare on him.

Please don’t ask me to stay , I think.

He says my name, beseechingly, and I brace myself.

“Let me come with you.”