Chapter 10
I should have been asleep. Dad had tucked the blanket around me on the sofa and told me to close my eyes, but I didn't. I kept them open just a crack and watched the hallway light throw a long rectangle across the rug to where Vanessa's suitcase sat by the front door. It was packed and zipped, standing upright like it was waiting for someone to take it.
The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the heater. Dad was in the kitchen with his hands braced on the counter, not moving. I could hear him breathing.
Vanessa came out of the bedroom holding a roll of clear tape. She didn't look at the suitcase when she passed it. She walked straight to the coffee table where I'd left the two halves of my book.
"Look," she said. Her voice was suddenly bright, too bright. "Let's just fix this."
I sat up. Dad turned around.
Vanessa peeled off a long strip of tape. The sound of it ripping was loud in the quiet room. She pushed the two halves of the blue cover together on the table and pressed the tape down the middle right over the tear. She smoothed it with her palm, fast, like she wanted to be done.
I stared at it. The trees on the cover didn't line up anymore. One side was a little higher than the other, and the clouds got cut in half by the tape. There were air bubbles trapped underneath and a crooked wrinkle that caught the light. You could still see the white line of the tear right through the tape, a thick scar down the middle of the book.
It didn't look fixed at all. It looked hurt.
My throat got tight. Tears started again before I could stop them, quiet but hot. I didn't make a sound at first, just tears running down.
Vanessa looked up at me and her smile went thin. "Enough," she said. "See? It's fixed. You're overreacting."
She said it exactly the same way she had when she tore it. That same sharp word. My chest hitched and I pulled the blanket up to my chin.
Dad was beside the coffee table in two steps. He didn't raise his voice. He knelt down next to the table so he was level with the book, and then he gently put his hand over Vanessa's hand before she could pull another piece of tape.
"Stop," he said.
Vanessa blinked at him. "I'm trying to make it better. She needs to learn it doesn't have to be a big deal."
Dad carefully peeled his hand away and looked at me, not at her. His eyes were tired but focused on my face. He spoke to me.
"Sophie, do you want it taped like this?"
I shook my head. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. My voice came out small. "No. It's crooked."
Vanessa let out a short breath through her nose. "It's tape. It holds together. That's what matters."
Dad shook his head once. He lifted the taped book just enough to show the bubbled line. "It matters how it gets repaired," he said to her, still quiet. "And it has to be her choice. Not a performance so we can move on."
Vanessa stared at him. Her hand was still holding the tape roll. For a second I thought she was going to argue, the way grown-ups do when they don't want to be wrong. Her jaw tightened.
Dad didn't look away. He set the book back down on the table, scar facing up, and slid it a few inches toward me.
"This is yours," he told me. "We will fix it together when you're ready. How you want it. Not like this."
Vanessa stood up fast. The tape roll made a light thud when she set it down too hard on the table. She didn't look at me again. She walked back toward the hallway where her suitcase was, her heels quiet on the rug.
May you like
I reached out and touched the edge of the tape with one fingertip. It was sticky and bumpy. The scar was still right there, shiny and crooked under the plastic. I left it, but I didn't like it. I pulled my hand back and tucked it under the blanket.
Dad sat on the edge of the sofa by my feet. He didn't try to fix the book again. He just stayed there between me and the hallway, and the apartment stayed quiet except for my breathing slowing down.
