Page 20 of Give Me Strength

Her expression softens slightly, but the wariness remains. “Mr. Greenfield has a massive crush on you, and you feed into it. When are you going to put the poor man out of his misery?”

“Lynn!”

I disguise a snicker under an ill-timed cough, and Bonnie’s piercing gaze turns on me.

“You know I’m right,” Ashlynn continues. “He’s not your type, and it’s not nice of you to keep leading him on.” Bonnie’s lips part as if to admonish her a second time, but she quickly adds, “If you three were really discussing ‘paperwork’ about me,” she puts air quotes around the word paperwork, like her aunt does, “shouldn’t I be present for it? One minute, you say I’m an adult; the next, you treat me like a child. You can’t have it both ways, Aunt Bonnie.”

“She has a point,” I chime in.

As enlightening as it is to watch Bonnie squirm under her niece’s discerning eye, Ashlynn seems open to having this conversation now. It could be weeks before an opportunity like this comes along, so it is best that we not get sidetracked.

Bonnie looks between us, her brow furrowed as she weighs her options. “Fine,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “We’ve been discussing how to make this situation work better for you. Your mom’s wishes are important, but so are your feelings on the matter. Our goal is to find a balance that honors both.”

Ashlynn’s eyes flicker with uncertainty, but there’s a hint of relief in her posture. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because we care about you,” I offer, trying to keep my voice steady. “Bonnie and I want to support you in a way that respects your needs. Also, Ballet will always come first. Everything else will be shuffled around it.”

She turns to me. “Does this mean I have to live with you?”

“I’m afraid so,” I say sincerely. “Tell you what? Give it a week, as a trial. If you absolutely hate it, we’ll try something else.”

She worries her bottom lip as she looks between us, the conflict in her eyes clear. Finally, she sighs and nods slightly. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

8

ASHLYNN

“Why can’t I move in with you?” I call out the question to Aunt Bonnie as I pull some more of Dad’s books off the living room shelves and stuff them into boxes earmarked for donation.

The physical activity is a welcome distraction, but it’s only temporary. It doesn’t change the fact that I am surrounded by half-packed boxes and the echoes of a house that no longer feels like home. Sunlight streams through the lace curtains, casting delicate patterns on the floor. Over half of the furniture in the house has been covered in white sheets, and it shouldn’t take us long to finish the rest.

It will sit empty for now, until I decide to sell or keep it. Either way, it makes no difference; this house hasn’t felt like mine in a long time. It did when Mom was alive, emptier without her, and all that remains now are echoes of Dad’s fleeting presence. Without Mom, I always felt like a stranger here. This house has always been his, even if he was hardly around to truly appreciate it.

Aunt Bonnie is in the kitchen, carefully wrapping dishes in newspaper. The clinking of ceramic is the only sound breaking the silence — aside from my unanswered question, that is.

I poke my head into the kitchen and she’s watching the entrance. Watching for me, that is.

“How does pizza sound?” She suggests as she picks up her phone.

My nose scrunches, an involuntary reaction she doesn’t take offense to. “I don’t eat pizza. Too much grease. Why can’t I move in with you?”

“And why would you want to change schools a few months into your senior year? Because that’s what would happen if you do.”

“I won’t have to. Homeschooling is still an option; that way, I can fully focus on ballet.”

She gives me one of her we-already-had-this-conversation look — which we did, and revisit every year. Legally speaking, Dad would’ve been responsible for filing the homeschooling curriculums and making sure I stayed on track. Kinda moot for someone who could never be bothered. Aunt Bonnie has always been transparent about the fact that she doesn’t have the bandwidth to take it on. Her job requires travel, though not nearly as frequent or as long as Dad’s did.

“You already focus on ballet,” Bonnie counters as she taps away on her phone. “And that’s on top of maintaining a perfect GPA. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I had tutors.”

“One tutor for your AP classes. Didn’t she graduate last year?”

“She did. And before you ask, the answer is no, I don’t want another one. Kristen knew her stuff, worked around my schedule, and didn’t treat me like an ATM. What more can a girl ask for?”

“Your standards are shockingly low,” she quips, her tone dry and humorless. “I thought you liked it at Bluegrass High School.”

I shrug, tucking both hands in my jeans pockets. “I like it enough, but you know how it is.”

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