“A morale-boosting shout?”
I nod. “I don’t know what they yell on Bubba’s football games, but the players always seem hyped. Come on, don’t leave me hanging.” She places her hand on top of mine, but she’s still giving me a judgmental glare, like if I do something stupid she’ll never let me hear the end of it. “On three. One, two, three …” I didn’t think of what to shout ahead of time, so I’m feeling a bit daft, standing here with my arm in front of me, at a complete loss for words.
“Ezra? Are you having a stroke? Papaw had a stroke and he died in front of us. Are you going to die in front of me?”
I close my eyes and sigh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“That’s what Papaw said when Daddy asked if he should take him to the emergency room. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ You’re gonna die, aren’t you? Oh, God. Are you gonna poop your pants when you die like Papaw did? There was something sticking up in his lap, but when I asked Daddy about it later, he told me to shut my mouth when I’m talking about Papaw’s election.”
“Election?” Did the man run for state senate?
“That’s what Daddy called it. He told me not to ever look at no one’s election again, because it’ll make me go blind.”
I gag, and then I have to focus my attention to keep myself from throwing up. “Sweet mother of God.” Scrubbing my hand over my face, I groan. “Listen, as much as I’d love to unpack this little mid-morning picnic you’ve just laid out in front of me, there’s a time and place for discussions about erections and elections. This is not the time for either.
The truck door opens, then closes, and I lock eyes with Maybelline, who takes my hand and squeezes tightly. “I like you, Ezra.”
I squeeze her hand back, and there’s a strange, unfamiliar warmth spreading through my chest. “I like you, too, Maybelline.”
“Let’s give them a show, okay?”
I nod. “Three, two …”
I click play on my phone. I’ve got the speakers as loud as they’ll go, but with the wind, it’s not very loud at all. As we twirl from around the school bus, I realize Maybelline must be having trouble hearing the music, because her moves are a step faster than mine. I don’t let the misstep ruin the moment, though. I’ve waited too long for my Daddies to come back for me, I don’t give a shit about us dancing out of step.
While Annie laments her car crash of a life, I twist my hips at impossible angles, making my cheeks clap here and there. Through it all, I don’t look up. I can’t. If I look up, they might be laughing, and then I’ll never get through this. So, we continue. Maybelline and I twist and turn like no tomorrow, our steps now perfectly in sync. Honestly, if we ever get our acapella band back together, I think she’d be a fabulous addition.
The song slows down, and I approach the truck, still not looking up, mouthing about walking on, walking on broken glass. When I finally reach them, I look up, and then my heart stalls, because Bubba and Johnny aren’t here. My parents are.
Paul Edwards is just as regal as ever, standing there with his shitty three-piece suit, staring at me with a smug smirk, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He’s not just sneering, he’s seething. Disgusted. The way my father is staring at me, I have no doubt if Barrett released the hold he has on him, my father’s hands would be around my throat in seconds.
My stepmother is somehow both at his side and standing in his shadow all at once. Her lot in life, truthfully. It’s all she’s ever been, and it’s probably all she’ll ever know. A life of nothingness. Her eyes are older now, and her hair is graying at the roots.
“I don’t understand.” I look to Ladonna for answers, but she’s too busy glaring at my father to notice.
“What the fuck was that filth?” my dad asks, staring at my unnecessarily slutty overalls. “And what the fuck are you wearing, boy?”
I wince. I don’t want to hear this again. I don’t want to see them again. It hurt enough, last time. But I’ve moved on. I’ve let them go. They’re supposed to stay gone.
Warmth bursts in my heart, but it isn’t warm enough to keep me steady, and I stumble back, falling down on my ass.
“They’re clothes,” Ladonna answers for me when it’s clear I can’t speak. “He’s wearing clothes. Those are the prettiest pair of overalls I’ve ever seen, and he stitched them himself.” A lie at best. She’s the one who did the sewing. I just sat there beside her chair, telling her about my life while holding her thread. “You hurt him. Now, you’re going to pay.”
My father looks at Ladonna, one accusatory eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?”
“Are you hard of hearing or something?” She turns her attention to me. “Is he always this slow on the uptake?” She must see how badly I’m struggling, because she positions herself between my father and me, then snakes an arm around her back, pulling me flush against her, and I bury my eyes between her shoulders.
I was expecting happiness. I was hoping my daddies would be here, but all I got is a dad who never gave a damn about me, and a stepmom who never liked me at all.
“The way I see it,” Barrett chimes in, reaching down and grabbing my wrist to help me up. “You’ve both been accused of assholery and general motherfuckerdom.”
“Goodness gracious,” Ladonna says. “Where in the world did you learn to talk like that?”
He smiles at his mother. “Casablanca. It was playing on that big glass box they had in their living room.” He glares over at my parents,and every trace of kindness fades from his expression. “Y’all are lucky Johnny ain’t here, You’re even luckier Bubba’s MIA. I’m pretty sure he’d saw your head off with a handsaw.”
“Is he a queer too?” Dad asks. “I’d like to see that fuckin’ fairy try.”
Pete looks over at me. “Fairy?”
