I raise my eyebrows in question. Not about this. Wonderful. I’m pretty sure he means Liam.
“That’s later. Mom and dad first.” He tells me.
“Okay. You first.” I had no idea he felt this way.
“I hated getting in the car with them. Driving to hockey games with them was the worst.”
“Why? I mean that was your bonding time.” Walker gives me a weird look.
“Did you even listen to our conversations, Mads?”
“Of course....”
“Really?”
“Uh, I guess, not that much. Okay, hardly ever. It drove me crazy that it was always about you all the time and I’m sorry but I didn’t want to listen. I had that iPod thing, so music andaudiobooks became my escape.” I finish lamely. Why do I feel like I let him down somehow? I mean, he was the golden child.
“So basically you missed them tearing apart my game the entire drive home. Zero bonding was happening. It was just nonstop hockey critique.” How do I not remember that?
“Wait. What? You loved talking hockey with them, right? That was your whole sports bonding things you guys did.”
“It wasn’t like that at all, Mads. Those car rides were brutal. Mom would just go off on me - how I needed to fix this, how I didn’t skate fast enough, or pass enough, or do anything enough. And if we lost? It would turn into a full-on lecture about how I was a total screw-up who couldn’t play hockey and how was I going to get into a college, not to mention the NHL. It sucked donkey balls.”
“Jesus, Walks, I had no idea. I just remember they would start talking about the game and I would tune out. I genuinely thought you liked talking to them.”
“I really fucking hated it. There were a couple of times I almost quit ... except I love hockey too much. That and Liam were the only reasons I keep playing. I mean Mom was relentless. It sucked so bad.”
“I felt like you were the perfect kid and I was extra baggage they needed to carry around because they couldn’t leave me at home by myself.”
“You don’t even know how many times I envied you. It felt like they were consistently grinding me down and picking me apart. And you? You just got to be ... you. You got to read, listen to music, basically do your own thing while I got torn apart. There was a stretch there where I was so pissed at you, even though I knew it wasn’t your fault.”
“Oh God, Walk, I remember.”
“Well, I never said it back then, but I’m sorry, Mads. I’m sorry I took it out on you.”
That hits me hard. My eyes get teary, and there’s a lump in my chest, heavy and full of regret. Because somewhere, on some level, I always knew I was taking it out on him too. Not once did I take the time to look at it from his perspective. Damn, that’s shitty.
“I’m sorry, too. I should have been a better sister to you. It was easier to take my frustrations out on you. Even now.”
“Because I’m alive and they’re not?” he asks with far too much perception.
The tears are running down my face in a steady stream at this point. When I look up, Walker’s eyes are red-rimmed and glassy. I move forward and grab his hand. We are in this together, perhaps for the first time in our lives.
“Yeah.” I say. “Wow that’s so messed up.We’reso messed up.”
“I don’t want to be. Not anymore. I don’t want them fucking us up any more than they already have.”
The guilt, the sorrow. It’s all too much, and it’s hard to keep inside. Because that’s me. I’m the calm one. The responsible one. The adult. But I’m tired, and I don’t have any fight left in me today, so the tears just keep flowing. Walker grabs me, pulling me into a fierce hug, and it’s exactly what I didn’t know I needed. Then we’re both bawling, and it’s messy and snotty and gross, but I don’t care because I can’t hold it in any longer and he can’t either.
Finally, we pull back a bit.
“You got snot on my shirt.” He says with a teasing grin. “Gross, girl cooties.”
I burst out laughing.
“Oh yeah?” I say as I wipe the tears away, looking around for a tissue. When I don’t see one, I make a big show of wiping my hand on his shirt, and I give him my evil grin.
“If anything you need more cooties not less.” I quip.
