I hear Liam storming up the stairs as I sit here like a child, staring at Dylan having a tantrum, so I move toward him with my arms out, offering to give him a hug. I just want to calm him down. He’s flailing his hands around as I wrap my arms around him, and I quickly realize how strong he is for his size. He’s elbowing me in the stomach and I try to pull him toward his bed while hushing him. “It’s okay,Dylan.”
Liam runs in, breathlessly. “What’sgoingon?”
“I think he played for too long. I asked him to shutitdown.”
Dylan is still screaming when Liam drops down in front of him, grabbing his hands and holding them tightly. “Dylan, lookatme.”
As a rule, Dylan doesn’t really look anyone in the eyes, but he will look at Liam’s face. He’s breathing heavily and groaning, still sounding angered. “I want to play,” hecriesout.
“What happens when you play for too long?” Liamaskshim.
Dylan starts rocking back and forth, unable to control whatever feelings are reeling through his small body. “Ithurts.”
“I know, Dylan,” Liam says to himquietly.
“Come on, I need your helpdownstairs.”
Dylan willingly stands up and Liam wraps his arm around his shoulders. “I have like ten different types of pasta, and I need you to put them in order for me. Can you do that while I unload the rest of the groceries?” He’s so good with him, and I’m such afailure.
We all head downstairs, and I silently shuttle the bags from the door into the kitchen and begin to empty them as Dylan rummages through the bags for the boxes ofpasta.
“I’m sorry, Dylan,” I tell him as Liam leaves for the caragain.
“Stop saying sorry. You don’t care. No onecares.”
“Dylan, I care. I promise you,Icare.”
“You don’t know me enough to care,” he spits back. “Noonedoes.”
“That’s not true,” I argue, knowing I should not be arguing with him after what just happened. I’m so frustrated. I don’t want to hurt him, but I want to help and I have no clue how to do that. Liam just has this magic touch, and I’m like the devil orsomething.
Once Liam closes the front door and brings in the last of the groceries, I walk over to him and nod to the living room. “You got a certified letter that I had to sign for. Just wanted you to know it’s on the coffeetable.”
He looks at me wide-eyed as if he were possibly expecting this letter, and of course, the guilt of just knowing a little about what the letter contains is dripping through me like black tar. I’m a terrible person, so, so horrible—and now this is going to eat me upalive.
“Okay,” he says, sounding winded. “Dylan, keep sorting. I’ll berightback.”
I’m wringing my hands around my wrists nervously, unsure of what the repercussions will be once Liam reads thatletter.
I hear the paper tear open, and I hope it was quick and that he didn’t notice the envelope had already been tampered with a tiny bit. The sound of the paper unfolding echoes around me as if it were coming from a bassspeaker.
Then everything goes quiet. All I hear is deafeningsilence.
I casually walk into the living room, finding Liam sitting on the edge of the couch, raking his hand through his messy hair as he holds the letter in the other hand. It looks like he keeps reading the same line of text over and over. “I hope it’s nothing bad,” I tell himquietly.
At first, I’m not sure he hears me because his focus is so strained, but after a second, he folds up the paper and looks up at me with no expression—neither happiness nor sadness. Instead, he stands up and jogs up the stairs, followed by the quiet clicking sound of his doorclosing.
I shouldn't have assumed Liam would be an open book, not with as little information as I have learned about himsofar.
Heading back into the kitchen, I find Dylan still arranging the items of food. “You’re doing a great job, buddy.” He looks up at me as if I said something offensive, and I think it’s easy to see he’s still not respondingtome.
I sit at the table watching him intricately debate his method of organization, which I find intriguing. If nothing else, I’m going to learn a whole lot about life this summer. Maybe Dylan can help me become more organized. That would begreat.
I pull out my phone and scroll through my emails, looking for anything interesting, but like usual, there’s nothing but bill reminders. This adulting crap is for thebirds.
As I shut down my phone and place it on the table, I hear a loud crash from upstairs, followed by shouting. What the hell? Dylan looks up at me with concern, like I should have an answer for what’s happening up there right now. While I may have a general idea about what’s going on, I don’t know specifics or how Liam is feeling about whateverheread.
“Can you take the groceries out of that bag and line them up by size on the table for me?” I askDylan.
