He turns toward the door. "Come on," my dad growls, dissatisfied with me once again. What the fuck else is new?
My entire existence is a letdown for him.
He loves me because he has to, because it's hardwired. One thing I've learned though, is that while a person can feel love for someone, they can also feel a hundred other emotions, and absolutely none of them have to be good.
2
Jo
"Mrs. Abbott?"My shoulder lifts to hold the phone against my ear so I can use my hands to pour the wine. I don't usually tend bar, but Lulu woke up to a feverish kid, and my job as manager is to be able to do everyone else's job when necessary. I place the two glasses of cabernet next to the ticket at the pickup station and pull the three new orders from the printer. "Is everything okay?"
"I tried calling your mom, but she didn't answer. Travis got into another fight today." She is tired of him. She grew tired of him months ago, and he knows it. I'm not sure how much patience school guidance counselors are supposed to have, but she seems to operate on less than what I remember when I was in high school.
I uncork the champagne bottle and line up three glasses. Who's celebrating on a Monday at noon? And can I join them? It's been a while since I had something to celebrate.
"Is he okay?"
A disapproving sound. That's what I get in answer to my question.
"Travis is fine. The otherchildis not."
I deliver the drink order and refrain from reminding her we're talking about high school freshmen, not kindergarteners. "Please put Travis on the phone." I finish the next two tickets while I wait.
"Hey." Travis's voice travels across the miles, sullen as all hell but also defiant. He is not sorry for what he did.
"Stop fighting at school," I hiss, ducking my head to make my own sliver of privacy.
"I didn't start it."
"What happened?" I don't have time for this right now, but I can't afford to push this aside. Travis needs someone to listen to him. God knows nobody else does.
"I had a presentation in class today, and I was really nervous. And…" His voice trails off, and my heart breaks a little. He doesn't need to say anything more. I see him in his favorite jeans, standing in front of all those pimply, expectant faces. I hear the snickering from behind cupped hands the first time he stutters. No doubt it only gets worse from there.
"Oh, Trav…" My arms ache to hug him.
"I tried to ignore it, Jo. Really. But they wouldn't stop teasing me after class. And I had enough."
The ticket machine screeches with another order. I round the corner of the bar and pull it up, reading. "Travis," I say calmly, taking a deep breath as I gather my glassware. "You can't solve your problems with your fists."
What I want to say is that the little shit who teased him had it coming, and maybe next time he won't have to learn his lesson the hard way.
"Thanks,Mom,” he says in a petulant, sarcastic voice.
I sigh and keep pouring wine for other people.
"Sorry," he mutters.
"It's fine. I need to get back to work. Are you going to be okay?"
"You mean when Mom finds out? She probably won't even care." My heart breaks a little more. He's not completely wrong. She'll care, just not as much as she once would've. She's too in love to see straight, her eyes, judgment, and attention clouded by Henri, her French pot farmer boyfriend. Such a far cry from those cultish religion days, although not so far out of the realm of her personality. My mother is a person who wants something fantastical, something immersive, something so few others are doing. Still, Travis has had a good life with her, and I wonder what would've happened if I'd chosen to leave with her when I was eighteen. No sense looking in the rearview mirror, I guess. It doesn't do any good.
I just wish my mother was better for Travis now, when the years are so important. She's taking her eye off the ball when the game is getting intense.
"She cares, Trav," I promise him. "I care."
"You're the only one who does."
"You're wrong."
