Chapter 2

In the evening, my mom came to get me for dinner. "Emmy, come eat. Mrs. Goodman told the kitchen to make your favorite ribs."

I looked in the mirror.

My face was pale, but my eyes were sharp.

I followed my mom into the dining room. The long table felt quieter than usual.

Vivian had already left.

Helen sat at one end of the table, sipping her soup elegantly.

Charles's father was always traveling for work, so Helen was the one who ran the household.

Charles sat in his usual chair. The yogurt I bought for him that afternoon was sitting right there, but he didn't touch it.

I pulled out a seat as far from him as I could get.

My mom set a plate in front of me and then went back to her spot behind Helen, ready to pour a drink or serve food like she always did.

Right then, it felt like something squeezed my chest so tight that I couldn't breathe. It hurt in a way I can't describe.

Charles kept looking at me across the table.

It was the third time that night. This time, he didn't glance away.

He stared with a look I couldn't read. It had curiosity in it, along with confusion, and a little bit of panic that was hard to notice.

I didn't look at him. I kept my head down and ate in silence, moving the food to my mouth slowly. Honestly, I couldn't taste any of it.

Helen seemed pleased with how quiet dinner had been. She set down her soup and spoke in a casual voice, "Emmy, you're a senior this year, aren't you? Any plans after graduation?"

I tightened my hold on my fork.

My mom rushed to answer before I could, her voice full of pride. "Emmy wants to go to grad school. She's always worked so hard at her studies."

Helen nodded without really agreeing or disagreeing. "Grad school is fine, but a girl still needs to marry into a good family in the end."

She gave Charles a meaningful look. "Charles, what do you think of Vivian?"

Charles looked away from me. He picked up the yogurt in front of him and peeled off the lid slowly. "Mom, let's not talk about this at the dinner table."

His voice was flat, so I couldn't tell if he was annoyed or not. But I knew one thing. He didn't say no. He didn't reject the idea of being with Vivian.

All of a sudden, I lost my appetite.

I put down my fork and stood up. "I'm done. Enjoy your meal."

My mom got worried. "Emmy, why are you eating so little?"

Helen frowned too, clearly not happy that I was leaving the table like that.

I didn't look at them. Instead, I turned to Charles and gave him the same polite, proper smile I had given him that afternoon. "Please enjoy your meal too, Mr. Goodman."

The moment I said "Mr. Goodman," I saw his hand tighten around the yogurt cup.

Yogurt spilled out of the opening and dripped onto his clean white shirt, leaving a small mess.

Without staying any longer, I turned and walked away.

Back in my small room, I started packing.

There wasn't much to pack anyway.

I didn't own a lot of things. One suitcase was all I needed.

I took everything that wasn't really mine, like the things Charles had given me and the things Helen had bought, and laid them out neatly on the table.

My mom walked in with a plate of ribs. Then she saw what I was doing and froze.

"Emmy, what are you doing?" she asked.

I folded the last piece of clothing, put it in the suitcase, and zipped it up. Then I stood and looked at my mom.

"Mom, I'm done with school," I said. "I want to get my own place and find a job. I want to... make it on my own."

Tears welled up in my mom's eyes. "Did someone hurt you? Tell me, baby."

I shook my head and tried to smile. "No. I just feel that I'm not a kid anymore."

Being grown-up meant knowing where I really stood.

A figure moved past the open doorway. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Charles stood behind me.

"Emily, you're leaving?" he asked, his voice carrying a kind of panic I had never heard from him before.

He stood in the doorway, his tall figure blocking out almost all the light. He was blocking my way out too.

Without turning around, I kept packing the things on my desk.

I put a pen, a book, and an old picture frame into a cardboard box.

Inside that frame was a photo of us from when we were kids. Now I was taking that photo with me too.

"Why? Emily, tell me why." Charles's voice sounded rougher than before. There was something like begging in it, something I don't think he knew was there.

I stopped what I was doing and turned around.

I looked at him calmly. I looked at that face I had seen every day since I was little, a face so familiar that it felt like part of me.

It was handsome and untouchable. But right then, it was full of pain and confusion I didn't understand.

Suddenly, it all felt ridiculous.

I couldn't believe he was asking me why.

I smiled. It was that same sweet, distant smile.

"Mr. Goodman, you want to know why?" I shot back. "Because I've grown up. It's time I learned my place.

"My mom is your family's housekeeper, so I'm the housekeeper's daughter. This was never my home. I should have left a long time ago."

Every word I said hurt, not like a sharp cut, but like a slow, deep bruise.

I was hurting him with every word, and I was hurting myself too.