I’m the puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit, and I spent years whittling down my edges in an attempt to be part of thisfamily in any meaningful way—inadvertently becoming jagged and even less likely to connect. I love my parents, and I know they love me, but our relationship is surface level at best. And since the diagnosis, I’ve come to terms with the fact that we’ll never have an opportunity to change it.
Without fail, Jonas heads straight for the fridge to grab a can of root beer, then settles into the corner of the couch. Sticking to a promise for once, he entertains conversation with my mom about his last day of school.
“Where’s Dad?” I plunk onto a counter stool next to my sister.
Blair stretches her lean torso across the counter, and brown hair curtains either side of her face as she reaches for a wineglass balanced on the dish drying rack. “Outside cooking burgers.”
I should’ve known. It’s the one thing our dad can cook well.
“Is that all you guys eat around here?” I raise an eyebrow, watching my older sister give me a heavy pour of red wine.
“On the nights he cooks? Yes.”
The first sip slithers down my throat, instantly warming my stomach, and I cradle the glass in two hands like it’s a warm mug of cocoa on a wintry night. The heat continues through my bloodstream, pumping hard in my chest, when I overhear Jonas agree to do a puzzle with Mom.
“How was the school party today?” Blair stares over the rim of her glass.
I snort. “Splendid.”
“That bad, huh?”
“No shortage of nasty looks from the mom squad.”
Blair tilts her head at me with a questioning expression.
I stop to look over at my son, lowering my voice so Blair’s forced to lean in to hear. “He drew apenison his English test a couple weeks ago. No doubt all the parents heard about it.”
My sister seals her mouth with a flattened palm, muffling a small bout of laughter.
“I practically had to beg the principal not to expel him, Blair. What the hell am I supposed to do if they don’t let him go back next year or something?”
“They can’t do that, can they? There’s no other schools in the area.”
“I think they can do whatever they want.” The pads of my fingertips tap my tear ducts in a silent reminder not to cry.
If I cry, my parents will want to know what’s wrong. And if I tell them about Jonas’s incident, I’ll be a failure in their eyes once again. Mom’s lucid enough she’ll give me a speech about parenting, and how she handled situations like this one when Blair and I were younger, as if she were winning mothering awards. Dad will shake his head with stern disappointment, then promptly change the subject.
“At least it’s summer break now. Maybe he’ll be in a better place—a little more mature—when he goes back in the fall?”
“Yeah…” A shaky breath sends shivers down my spine. “I don’t know what to do with him this summer, though. If he stays home, I know he’s going to do nothing but play video games and argue with me.”
“Do they still have summer camps at the agriculture hall?”
Swallowing a mouthful of wine, I nod. “Not enough interest to run it all summer. But he’s there next week. Alex paid for it.”
“The least he could do.”
The very least.
“I’ll help as much as I can. You know I will,” Blair says. The mouth of the bottle clinks against the rim of her glass. “I’ll just…um, move some things. Maybe bring him to the clinic with me again? Or I’ll tell Cassidy I can’t babysit for a little while.”
“Blair, you don’t have—”
“It’s fine. I have no problem helping.”
“I asked Alex to spend time with Jonas this summer but apparently work is really demanding. I think he paid for camp to get me off his back.” I bite down on the inside of my cheek, gnawing away the emotion clawing at the backs of my eyes and top of my throat.
“I wish he’d quit being such a fucking sleaze.”
