Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

new guy and move to Greece to be closer to your dead husband?”
She gasps as I say it. I know that was pretty harsh, but it’s the
truth.
“Phoebe,” she begins, and I know she’s serious because she
uses my real name, “what your father and I had was very special.
Nothing—not his death, not my remarriage—will ever change that.
Damian understands.”
Well, I don’t understand. Mom may think it’s fine to snag a new
husband, but I don’t need a new father. And being in Greece will
never make me feel closer to the one I had.
Sure, I’ve been thinking more about Dad since we got to Serfopoula
than I have in ages, but that’s because of the stepdad thing.
Mom is probably going through the new husband thing. It’s displaced
guilt or something because she feels bad for remarrying.
That’s her baggage.
Dad was perfect and now he’s gone. I can’t get him back and
don’t want to replace him.
“Fine.” I stalk into the kitchen, wiping at the tears I don’t want
Mom to see, and refill my glass of water. “You stay here and become
Greek. I’ll send you a postcard from USC when I graduate.”
With a satisfying slam, I shut myself in my bedroom and fling
myself on the bed. I can picture Mom watching me storm away,
shrugging at my infantile behavior, and going back to planning
her wedding.
It’s like I don’t even matter anymore.
Rolling to the edge of the bed, I reach over to the desk to grab
my Physics II book. If it’s like everything else at this school my
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