Chapter 11: The Morning I Said It Was Mine
The morning light was gray coming through the big windows behind the sofa. It wasn't the warm yellow from the night before. It was thin and flat and it made the black leather look cold. The taped book was where I'd left it on the cushion. The tape shone a little where Dad had pressed it down. You could still see the tear right through the blue cover and the clouds.
Vanessa stood by the door with her bag on her shoulder. She hadn't left. She hadn't come farther into the room either. Her blouse was the same beige one from last night but now it was wrinkled. Dad stood between us, closer to me. He had his hands in his pockets. No one had said anything for a long time and the apartment was so quiet I could hear the refrigerator humming.
I kept looking at the book. My chest felt tight like it had when she pulled it. I remembered how my hands had held on and my voice had come out small. I hadn't planned what to say. I just knew if I didn't say it now I never would.
I picked up the book. The two halves shifted a little under the tape. I held it against my chest the way I had last night, but this time I stood up. My socks slipped a little on the floor. Dad looked at me and took a small step back. He didn't speak for me. He just waited.
Vanessa watched me. Her mouth was still in that straight line and her eyes were on the book, not on my face.
"That was my Mom's," I said. My voice cracked on the first word and I had to swallow. "You hurt me."
The words sounded louder than I expected. Vanessa blinked. Her chin lifted a fraction like she was going to answer right away, then she didn't. Dad didn't interrupt. He stayed where he was, but then he slowly knelt down so his eyes were level with mine. Not in front of Vanessa like last night. In front of me.
He put one hand lightly on the arm of the sofa to steady himself. His face was close enough I could see he hadn't slept. He nodded once, very small, for me to keep going if I wanted to.
I looked back at Vanessa. My hands were shaking and I pressed the book tighter so she could see I wasn't going to let go.
"When you took it I said please give it," I said. "That was me. I said please give it back and you didn't."
For a second her expression didn't change. Then something moved around her eyes. Her lips parted a little and her shoulders dropped, just a half inch, like air had gone out of her. She wasn't stern the same way anymore. She looked unsettled, like she hadn't realized I could talk back in a full sentence, like she had expected Dad to be the one talking.
"You tore it in front of me," I said. My throat hurt but I kept going. "It wasn't just a book."
Vanessa's hand tightened on the strap of her bag. She glanced at Dad, then back at me, and she didn't have a quick answer ready. The apartment stayed quiet except for my breathing. Dad kept kneeling there, looking at me, not at her. He didn't correct my words or make them nicer. He just let them hang in the room.
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"I heard you," he said quietly to me. "I hear you, Soph."
He didn't stand up or step between us again. He stayed at my eye level, and that made it feel like what I'd said counted. Vanessa swallowed and her gaze fell to the taped book in my hands. The stern look was gone, but she didn't say sorry either. She just stood there by the door, holding her bag, blinking fast, with her mouth closed tight, finally having to listen to what I had actually said that night.
