How to Make a Wish by Ashley Herring Blake

Author:Ashley Herring Blake
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Chapter Nineteen

THAT NIGHT I CAN’T SLEEP. WHEN I GOT HOME AFTER logging a few more hours on the piano at the Book Nook, Mom and Pete were arguing about how much of his beer she’s been drinking lately, and then they disappeared into their bedroom, dinner be damned. They haven’t emerged since, and, honestly, I really don’t want to know why. I feasted on a bowl of maple-and-brown-sugar instant oatmeal. Jay had some of his miscreant friends over until long past midnight. And while he did offer a pretty human-sounding invitation to join them, I declined and locked myself in my room. By the time the house quiets, it’s nearly two a.m. and I still haven’t slept.

Nights like these, when Mom is totally unavailable—​either physically or emotionally, which, let’s be honest, is a lot of the time—​I actually miss my father. I don’t know what I miss, exactly, because I literally have zero memories of him. It’s just him. The other half, a presence to help me with Mom, to take me out for ice cream, to have some sort of healthy litmus test when dealing with guys and my suddenly temperamental best friend. Then again, if Dad were here, my mother would be a very different person. I would be a very different person. Maybe we wouldn’t even live here; I wouldn’t know Luca; I’d never have met Eva; I’d be cute and sweet and easy to trust and love.

Sometimes I wonder if Mom glosses right over me because of the way I look. I have her coloring—​the same blond hair and pale eyes and freckles spilling over my cheeks, but that’s it. My mouth and nose and ears, the shape of my face, even the arc in my eyebrows, are all James Glasser. When Mom looks at me—​really looks at me—​I always get the feeling she’s looking at a ghost. And maybe, if Dad were still here, I’d be flesh and blood to her instead of a memory. I’d just be her daughter.

I let out a shaky breath and turn over on my side, facing the dark expanse filling the window. Thoughts finally begin to still, and my eyes are just starting to grow heavy when I hear a plink against the window. I prop myself up on one elbow, barely registering what I’m seeing when the window begins to lift, a brown hand curling under the sill and pushing it up. Cool, briny air blows in as Eva squeezes herself through the opening and lands on my bed with a soft Oof.

“Of all the bad habits to choose from,” I say, “sneaking in through people’s windows is a poor choice.”

“I don’t know,” she says, closing the window before tucking her legs underneath her. Moonlight paints my room silver, and I can see her smile. “Keeps you guessing.”

“Trust me, I’m always guessing. I’ve got enough of that.”

Her smile fades. “What do you mean?”

I swallow hard. “Nothing. Just . . . you know. Life.”

She nods, then turns her head away to look around my room.

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