“Now, don’t you feel better?” Everett asks as he stops in front of my apartment.
No. “Sure.” I eye the building, not wanting to go in but not wanting to stay in the car. Everett tried even harder today to cheer me up, but I feel more detached.
And he realizes it. “Ivy, tell me what you need.”
My mom. A time machine. The impossible. So how do I give him an answer that makes sense? I can’t. “I don’t know.”
“Are you going to practice tomorrow? I can give you a ride.”
“No. I’m not cheering this year.”
“It’s senior year. You won’t get another chance. Don’t miss out and regret it later.”
“I won’t.” Chanting silly phrases while jocks throw around a damn ball is the last thing I’m worried about missing out on.
Everett shifts in his seat and turns to me. “Ivy, your mom wouldn’t want you to be miserable and punish yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.”
“I’m not punishing myself. I just don’t want to do bullshit that doesn’t make a difference. Track, cheer, swim—who the fuck cares if I do any of it? I don’t.”
“So, the plan is to do nothing for the rest of your life?”
“My plan is to make it through the rest of the day. Why the fuck does it matter what happens tomorrow or the next day? It’s not like we have control over any of it.”
“Yes, we do. You have some control over things. And I really want to look over at the sideline and see you cheering me on when I score a touchdown.” He gives me a playful smile as he holds his arms out in his famous I-just-added-points-to-the-board touchdown pose that he does every time he scores. He’s trying to offer me levity, but it pisses me off. I get that football is important to him. But it’s also a trivial game.
“I want to walk into the apartment and see my mom curled up on the couch, reading a book because she can’t watch TV since Zachary is playing his game. So, I guess neither of us are getting our wishes granted.”
“Ivy, I—” Before he can finish, I yank the door open and step out of the car.
He’s on my heels, following me to the door. “Just give it some thought. Please. She would want you to be happy again.” He tugs me into a hug, and I move my arms around him, but it doesn’t seem natural or comfortable. And I pull away quicker than I normally would.
“Call me if you change your mind. I’ll swing by and get you.”
“Okay.” I won’t change my mind. But I don’t have the energy or headspace to try and convince him of that.
I walk into the apartment and immediately look to the sofa. Zachary is doing his part, playing whatever game he’s obsessed with today. But Mom is missing from the scene. I want to be sad, but I feel empty.
Dropping down in her favorite spot. I stare at the TV screen filled with Zachary’s never-ending game.
I don’t know how long I’d been sitting there when the front door swings open and Dad singsongs, “I have some great news!”
I hear him saygreat, but my mind only interprets the opposite automatically.
Zachary stands but doesn’t stop pressing the buttons on his controller as he asks, “What is it?”
Dad moves in front of the TV as Zachary shifts to the side. “I can’t see.”
Clapping his hands together, Dad exclaims, “You aren’t going to be worried about that when I tell you my exciting news. I can’t hold it in any longer.”
Why do I feel dread at his excitement? The last time he was this thrilled, we were supposedly going on vacation, but it actually turned out that he was running drugs for some dude he owed money to and only brought us along as a cover.
With a big grin, Dad holds his arms up and shouts, “I won the lottery.”
Not what I was expecting.
Zachary actually stops playing and looks to Dad. “Really?”
“Yep. I’m gonna buy you that new system you keep asking for plus everything else you want to fill up your new room in our big new house with.”
