“I hope you’ll come back and visit us soon,” she says, not seeing it.
A wave of sickness washes over me. He’s going to melt down. Right here. Right now.
“Evan,” I say calmly. “It’s time to go, buddy.”
He turns to me, his face falling. “I don’t want to go.”
I dart a quick look at Cameron, but he doesn’t get it either. “Evan,” I say, walking toward him. “We have to go now. It’s time to go home.”
Evan stares at me, his crystal blue eyes welling up. “But I want to stay.”
Kendra’s posture changes. I kneel down in front of my brother and put my hands on his shoulders. “We have to go,” I whisper.
It’s almost immediate—his sobs. His violent, uncontrollable sobs. “No!” he yells.
I’m humiliated and angry with myself for putting him through this. I shouldn’t have brought him here. I shouldn’t have shown him this life. It isn’t ours.
“Come on,” I say, standing up.
He screams, sweeping the crayons off the table. I bend quickly, grabbing them and tossing them back on the table. My anger is bubbling up. Evan has to stop. To leave.
Kendra and Cameron stay out of it, and I’m glad. Most people don’t. They try to comfort him or tell me how to parent him, but they only make it worse. I take a calming breath, trying to stay in control of the situation. Evan’s cries and shrieks fill the room.
Marcel walks in from the living room to pause in the doorway, watching wide-eyed.
“Get up, Evan,” I say, even-toned, and take his arm.
“Not. Going. To!”
So I scoop him up as he kicks at me. I pin his arms, and without a word, I carry him all the way outside and wait at Cameron’s car. I hate restraining him like this. I hate other people seeing him like this. Because this isn’t him. This isn’t what he’s about.
I hug him to me, cradling him to my chest. Wishing he had a mom who could do this for him all the time. I whisper into his hair. “Don’t cry,” I say. “Please don’t cry anymore.”
“I want to stay,” he sobs.
“Me too.” I blink and lift my eyes upward. The front door closes, and Cameron walks out with his car keys, looking so sorry.
I stand by the car as Evan’s cries begin to soften. Cameron meets my gaze over the roof of the car. He swallows hard and unlocks the doors.
Evan lies in my lap, alternating between shaking and whimpering. My body starts to go numb. When this happens, I have to go numb. It’s too hard otherwise.
My father’s truck isn’t in the driveway when we pull up to the house. Thank God. I don’t want to have to explain where we’ve been.
After he cuts the engine, Cameron gets out and comes around to open the car door for us. He reaches for Evan, but I shake my head and instead let him hold my elbow as I climb out.
I shift Evan’s weight, feeling that he’s fallen asleep.
“Savannah,” Cameron whispers, but I can’t talk right now.
“Thanks,” I say, cutting off what he was going to say. “For dinner and everything.”
His mouth opens like he wants to say more, but he stops and nods instead. And I knew from the beginning that letting him this close was stupid. He doesn’t fit into my life. Evan needs too much from me. There’s nothing left for Cameron.
I start walking toward the house, tears waiting until I can be alone. The porch steps are steep as I try to support Evan’s weight.
“Good night, Savannah,” Cameron calls, sounding sad.
But I say good-bye. Because I have nothing left to give him.
