“My dad has a late shift at work. My mom always makes my favorite.” He backpeddles towards his trailer, holding my backpack hostage, forcing me to follow, but truthfully, hepulls me easily like a magnet.
“Mom,” he announces as he enters the door. “Liv is coming for dinner.”
“Hi, Mrs. Hayes.” I’ve come across her a time or two when she’s called Hayes in for dinner after we’d been sitting on the playground all afternoon.
She’s always been kind, but I’ve also noticed the deep sadness that weighs down her shoulders. Today, she smiles, and a small part of it touches her eyes, and I watch as Hayes mirrors it.
He loves his mom. It makes him softer, and it’s the sweetest thing ever.
We end up doing our homework in the kitchen while his mom cooks, which is mostly me doing my homework while Hayes talks to us. He’s incredibly intelligent, but no one gets to see it.
He does well on tests when he bothers to show up for class, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s not enough. He’ll graduate next month by the skin of his teeth.
“Dinner is ready.” Mrs. Hayes serves us beef enchiladas, and they’re plated with love, garnished prettily on ceramic white plates that have finely painted blue flowers around the edge. They’re not fine china, but they are definitely special, and I start to ask about them when the front door blows open, hitting the wall with a bang.
Hayes jumps from his seat as his dad walks through carrying a 12-pack of beer.
“What the hell is that smell?”
“Dinner,” Mrs. Hayes says hurriedly, grabbing the case from him and taking it to the fridge.
“Smells like shit,” he grumbles, kicking off his boots. He’sstill wearing his police uniform. He’s a veteran at the local department, although you’d never be able to tell from his demeanor.
“I thought you were working late,” Hayes says through gritted teeth.
“A mailbox ran out in front of me and wrecked the front of my cruiser. They let me leave to heal up before my shift tomorrow,” he chuckles, gruffly.
“Wonder why,” Hayes scoffs, sneering at the beer his mom hands him.
“You got something you want to say in front of your girlfriend, boy?”
“No.”
“What was that?”
“No. Sir,” he grinds out.
He hates that word. He doesn’t like it when teachers push the respect rule, either, but I thought he just couldn’t stand authority.
I’m still gripping my fork in my hand, and I haven’t been able to move. I’m not used to being around angry men. My stepdad is a stoner. He hardly strings sentences together, and I never have to worry about him yelling at my mom or me.
“I’m sorry, Liv. You’d better go.” Hayes peels the fork from my hand, noticing my rigid posture.
“You embarrassed of me, boy? Nah, you just don’t want your girlfriend around a real man.” He barks a laugh, and I feel Jensen go from a simmer to a boil.
“Of course, I’m fucking embarrassed,” he yells, throwing the fork that he took from me across the room so hard it dents the wall before clattering to the carpet.
“What did you say?” His father launches up from hisrecliner and yanks Hayes’s head back, gripping his hair in his meaty palm.
Mrs. Hayes must’ve expected it because she’s lifting me from my chair and out of the way before I get shoved in the commotion.
“Liv, go,” Jensen grumbles under his breath, staring into his father’s bloodshot eyes.
I can’t make my feet move. His mom’s hands under my arms try to shove me towards the door, but she’s a small woman, and I’m a foot taller than she is.
I can’t stop looking at my only friend’s face. The anger and disgust he has aimed directly at the man in front of him.
And the strength he has to be able to put up with it.
