Jordan jumps out of his seat and approaches me, widening his eyes and nodding toward the door, letting me know this is probably a good time to leave.
I know I should go with him, but I don’t want to leave Mikey right now. I feel like he needs someone to be here for him.
“No one else go anywhere,” Mikey says. “I’m outta here.”
“Mikey!” Jordan calls after him as he heads through the walkway between the dining room and the den toward the front entrance. He’s out the door, slamming it behind him. “Looks like he’s on the run.”
Kirk waves his hand through the air. “Let him go!”
“I’ll go check on him,” I say.
“You sure, man?” Jordan asks. “I already feel bad enough that we dragged you into this. He just… He gets weird like this sometimes.”
Jordan doesn’t realize that I know why he gets weird, that he isn’t freaking out over nothing, that his dad hurt this family so much, and that it was too much for Mikey.
Surely Jordan and Kate can understand that a little bit.
“I’m dragging myself into it,” I tell him. “It’s not a big deal. I think it might be better if someone not involved talks to him right now. I’ll see how he is and text you, okay?”
“Thanks. I don’t think he’ll talk to me if I go.”
“He just does this sometimes, Scott,” Dara explains.
Kirk shakes his head. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll blow off his steam and be fine. Then he can go back to Los Angeles and pretend his family doesn’t exist like he always does.”
I acknowledge his comment with a nod, stifling every urge in me to defend his son from his dismissive attitude before I head out to find Mikey.
He’s already made it down the road a bit, walking downhill alongside the curb of the similarly designed suburban homes as he makes his way to a cul-de-sac at the end of the road.
I jog to catch up with him. I don’t know what I could say to make this better, but at the very least he could use a break from his family.
With his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, he powerwalks, his gaze fixed ahead of him. The sun’s still up, and judging by its position near the horizon, I figure we have about an hour until it sets.
When I catch up with Mikey, I slow my jog until I’m walking alongside him, moving rapidly to keep up. I don’t say anything because I’m not trying to make things worse. And I really want him to know that if he needs someone here for him, he can turn to me. But if he wants me to keep my mouth shut and pretend nothing happened or get my ass back to the house, I’m fine with that, too.
He glares at me with a look that nearly makes me back off, but I remind myself he’s hurting right now.
Why can’t anyone else seem to understand that he needs sympathy right now?
“They think I’m fucking overreacting,” Mikey says.
He’s not wrong. Jordan didn’t seem like he could help because, if anything, he was just annoyed. He had this expression on his face that said:Why is Mikey starting shit again after all these years?
“I understood what was happening,” I tell him. “Trust me, I know a father’s power to get under his kid’s skin. Sometimes I think mine is trying to win an award for it.”
I was trying to make him smile or smirk, or anything other than the rigid expression that’s on his face, but it doesn’t change.
He stops in front of a driveway two houses from the cul-de-sac. “Look, I know you’re trying to be help me out, and I appreciate that, but I need some space right now.”
He turns and continues down the road.
I should go. I should let him think this through on his own, but something possesses me and I pick up my pace again, catching up to him.
“You have a problem understanding what I mean by alone?”
18
Why is he bothering me right now? He knows I don’t want to talk about this.
