“But the point was,” Jack continued, unbothered, “to demonstrate to the world that they were grieving. To wear their grief openly, out in public. So thateveryone knewthey lost someone.”
Mom made a strangled sound, like a whimper.
Dad tossed his napkin on the table, seething now. “Are you satisfied? You’ve upset your mother.”
Jack ignored him and forked a green bean. “So I got to thinking. As a kind of project for history class—extra credit, if you will—I’ll wear black for an entire year. Because even though it was seven years ago and I’m not a widower, it’s never too late to do the right thing. You know?”
My father stood up now, his eyes black, and leveled a finger at Jack. “You shut your mouth. You shut your goddamn mouth. I’m warning you…”
“Not to mention, Dia de los Muertos is just around the corner. Another tradition in which the living honor the dead, because it’s theright thing to do.”
I sat frozen, watching as my dad moved toward Jack’s chair. Jack jumped up and skirted behind Mom. My father and brother stared each other down, circling the table.
“I’m going to wear black for an entire year,” Jack said loudly, all traces of humor gone, his eyes shining now. “And people will ask me why.”
“Jack,” Dad bellowed, chasing my brother as he moved behind my chair.
I flinched, my heart clanging.
“And you know what I’ll say, Dad?” Jack cried. “I’ll say, ‘I’m in mourning for my brother, Grant.’ I’ll say his name! I’ll scream it from the fucking rooftops! His name was Grant Nathaniel Wallace, and he was here!He was fucking here!”
I watched in a kind of detached horror as my brother knocked over my dad’s chair to create a roadblock and then raced upstairs. My dad stopped as the slam of Jack’s bedroom door reverberated so hard, the delicate plates in the china cabinet rattled.
Slowly, with measured breaths, Dad righted his chair and sat back down. He smoothed his napkin over his lap and resumed his meal. My mother, still covering her eyes, lifted her wine glass to her mouth with a shaky hand.
“Emery,” Dad said, jolting me from my shock. “I’m sending your application to Brown this week and putting in for a conditional acceptance. This means we should hear back much sooner.”
I struggled to find my voice, dizzy with the change of subject. “But I haven’t…I haven’t written the application letter.”
“I’ve taken the liberty of doing it for you. I know what they want to hear and what they’ll be expecting. I also don’t trust that you will show the proper enthusiasm.” He turned his gaze to me. “I understand you have a calculus midterm coming up?”
I nodded.
“And SATs are in a few weeks. Given the number of tutoring sessions you’ve had with that Xander person, I expect nothing less than stellar results on both. Am I clear?”
“Yes,” I said, barely a whisper.
“And how are things with Tucker?”
My head shot up. “Um, okay, I guess. Why?”
“Because the election is in a few days, and we need to keep a united front with the Hill family. No turbulence.”
“And what if…?”
“Don’t mumble, Emery,” Dad said. “What if what?”
“What if I don’t want to be with him anymore?” I managed. “What if I don’t have feelings for him…at all?”
What if I never did?
Before he could answer, my mother abruptly pushed her chair back and stood up. “I’m going to bed.”
When she was gone, my father stared straight ahead to my mother’s empty chair. “Jack’s upset her greatly,” he said. “Your brother is treading on thin ice. Very thin ice.”
“I think he’s just in pain, Dad,” I said quietly.
We all are.
