Two weeks to the day after I agreed to stay in La Push for the school year, Dad, Coy, and Jade's eldest brother, Orion, show up at my stepdad's house with an enclosed trailer.
Coy is the first to jump out of the truck, his long strides eating up the driveway until he swallows me in a hug. I hug him back tightly, eyes closing as I rest my forehead on his shoulder.
His skin is scorching, a sharp reminder of their abnormal body temperature. I should probably be used to it by now, had I been around enough. That changes now, I remind myself.
I glance around my half-brother then freeze, eyes widening in surprise.
Apparently, everyone had kept me out of the loop on a very important detail. A very… large secret, I should say.
Orion has shot up to well over six feet tall, his stature hulking. It's a stark contrast from when I last saw the Heron family over Christmas break six months ago. His hug comes next, and I gasp at the heat radiating off of him, shaking my head when we pull apart.
"You guys must be roasting in this Cali heat. Holy shit."
Dad laughs from where he's opening the trailer doors.
"Our temp runs hotter for the first few months, and this guy is only two months in," Coy says, jabbing an elbow into Orion's ribs. The two of them start shoving each other around.
"They let you leave the reservation after only two months?" My shock is clear in my tone.
"More like we were too worried he'd phase and chase after the truck anyway," Dad deadpans.
Coy and Orion had been inseparable since we were kids. It was rare that Jade was over without her brother, or vice versa when I went to her house. He had become just as much of a brother to me as Coy was. Hell, maybe even more so.
There were always little things Coy said that made it feel like he thought he was more valid, more grounded in everything we shared. And some things? He didn't like to share at all. Which, to be fair, was mostly understandable.
He'd say things like "My Uncle Jake" or "My cousin Andre," who was his cousin on his Aunt Kim's side. All completely valid; his family wasn't my blood family, with the exception of our dad and our paternal grandparents. He didn't want to share those aspects of his life.
I didn't want to share my mom with anyone either, but here we were, on husband number two. And unfortunately, this one seemed like he was going to stick around a lot longer than I'd bet on three months ago.
"Are these all the boxes, or just the start of what you've brought out?" Dad asks, walking over to give me a quick side hug and a kiss on the temple.
"I have a few more boxes inside, and then I wanted to measure and see if there's room for my vanity," I murmur, twisting my fingers together.
Mom had made it very clear that I wasn't just packing up my entire room and moving out. But while I had a bedroom in La Push, there were things I just couldn't leave behind. My vanity was the priority.
It had been with me through every stage of my life so far. I remember sitting at it as a kid, playing dress-up, feeling like a real grown-up princess. Then, years later, learning how to do makeup, take care of my hair, and even pierce my nose at home in middle school. That last one git me grounded for an entire month. A small grin pulls at my lips as I remember it, touching the small hoop in my nostril.
This new chapter wasn't going to be an exception.
Clothes for all seasons, books, camera equipment. Small things like my favorite stuffed animal or the snow globe I watched being made in San Francisco three Christmases ago. The past week had been overwhelming, trying to figure out my must-haves and getting them into boxes.
It didn't help that the most support Mom offered was buying the boxes, packing tape, and markers.
She wasn't happy about this. Not at all. And while she tried on her good days to show some semblance of support, it was painfully obvious that she didn't like this decision.
"Okay. We should grab the vanity first," Dad says. "We can stack boxes on it, but we can't stack it on boxes."
"Oh." I nod, slightly numb. "Right. Yeah. Good point."
With four of us on deck, everything is packed up and tied down snugly within the hour.
I don't expect my mom to cry, and she doesn't.
But there's a hesitation in her step as she comes out onto the walkway, a tightening around her mouth. There's something pushing at her usually rigid lines. For a second, I think she might actually say something real.
Something that isn't just a final dig or a reminder that I don't have to do this.
But instead, she exhales sharply, like she's letting go of something she doesn't want to voice aloud.
She wraps an arm around me for no more than two seconds before stepping back, arms folding over her middle.
"Text me when you get there."
No wave from the door. No watching us pull away. Just the soft click of the lock sliding into place.
It stings. More than I want it to.
It's not until Dad touches my shoulder that I snap out of my stare at the front door.
My chin wobbles as I swallow audibly.
Okay then.
Orion is stuck in the backseat with me, his long legs bent awkwardly as he slumps against the door, a tub of Red Vines between us.
The day is a brutally ling twelve hours on the road. We stop several times: for lunch and dinner in fast-food lobbies, bathroom breaks, even at a well-known metaphysical store in Sacramento to pick up a gift for my stepmom after my dad spotted a billboard for it on the highway.
It's only when we're an hour into Oregon that we finally stop for the night at a hotel where Dad had reserved a room.
It's hysterical watching Orion and Coy try to get comfortable while simultaneously keeping as much space as possible between them on one of the king-sized beds.
Coy had spent the last two hours of the drive ripping Red Vines into tiny pieces and pelting them at us in the backseat. Until—after an especially well-aimed shot—Orion let out a sharp, guttural sound that immediately halted the goofy mode.
The rest of the drive had been eerily silent except for the radio.
Now, I'm bone-tired as I stash my toothbrush and face wash back in my toiletry bag, barely managing to stumble across the room to the bed Dad and I are sharing. Orion is already snoring, mouth wide open. Coy has a pillow over his head, deadweight with a leg sticking out from under the covers.
Dad sits at the edge of the bed, rolling his shoulders and stretching like he's trying to shake off the long day of driving.
"You doing okay?" he asks, glancing back briefly before turning to roll out his neck.
"Yeah, I think so." My voice is just above a whisper, not wanting to disturb the rather moody boy just a few feet away. I still don't know if that sound he made was a snarl or a growl, but I do know it's not something I want directed at me.
I'm fairly certain I'm already in the first stages of sleep by the time my head touches the pillow.
"Big changes aren't easy," Dad murmurs, "but you're right where you need to be, Junie."
I smile at the nickname I haven't heard since I was running around with sticky hands and pigtails. I hum softly in agreement, but my eyelids are too heavy to open again.