What about my dad, indeed. “We’re closer now, I guess. But he was kind of…out of my life for a while. He only started coming back around a couple of years ago, and he’s been great, really. But, I don’t know…it’s complicated.”
Brody looks like he wants to ask more, but he bites his tongue. I think he’s afraid I might become skittish. I’m afraid he’s probably right.
But for some reason, because he doesn’t press me, the words just slip right out. “He used to drink.”
Brody’s eyes narrow.
“Not often. But when he did, he would change. He was…violent. When I was ten, he got drunk and he—uh…he hit my mom. He’d done it before. To my brother, too. But this time, Sammy, he hit him back. He was only thirteen, but he made our dad leave.
“And, well, he did. He left, and never looked back. I didn’t hear from him for years. And then, two years ago, suddenly I find out he’s in AA, five years sober, and he and my mom are secretly dating behind my back like freaking teenagers.” The bitterness in my tone surprises me. I was nothing but thrilled to get my dad back, and I thought I’d moved on…So why do I feel resentful now?
“Did he hit you?” Brody asks, deathly quiet.
“Never.” It’s the truth.
Brody nods once, contemplatively. He seems deeply connected to my history for someone I just met, and I wonder at his own. He said he never really knew his dad, but I wonder if he had a stepdad or some other relative who suffered from similar issues. But I don’t ask. Because I don’t want to talk about my father anymore.
“Do you have any siblings?” I ask.
He hesitates. “Only child. Well, actually that’s not true, but not in the normal sense. I didn’t, like, grow up with brothers or sisters or anything like that. But I did start to get to know my half-brother recently.”
I can’t help but think of Sammy, and how lonely it would have been growing up without him.
“What about your brother? Are you close with him?” Brody asks hastily, like he’d rather get off the topic of himself and change the subject back to me.
I nod. “We’ve been close since we were kids. He kind of took over the protective role after my dad left. Actually he was pretty overprotective of me before, too. It’s kind of who he is,” I shrug. “We never really did that brother-sister fighting thing. He’s always kind of indulged me.”
Brody’s smile turns wistful. “Well, then you’re lucky. He sounds like a good guy.”
I nod emphatically. “He really is the best. And he has this group of close friends he grew up with. They kind of became de facto big brothers, too. You know, looking out for me, threatening boys not to bother me. Of course, they and I had different definitions of what was a ‘bother’,” I admit.
Brody laughs. “I bet.”
I sigh. “But they mean well,” I concede. The waitress brings over my second cup of coffee, and I tear open three sugars and add them to my milky latte. “So do you go home to see your mom a lot?” I ask.
Brody looks down at the table and takes another sip of coffee. Black, one sugar. “That was the plan.” He sets his mug back on the table. “I moved half my shit back home, the other half in the dorm, planning to spend enough time here to keep up with my course work, but to be there for her as much as possible. The doctors said it would be a long road, you know?”
Another cursory nod. I don’t know anyone who’s been sick like that.
“Anyway, the cancer progressed faster than they expected. Multiple myeloma. In the bone marrow.” He swallows thickly. “She was gone before summer was out.”
My lip trembles as I try to think of what to say. “That’s fucked up,” I breathe. God, and he’s the one with social problems?
But his eyes flash to mine, and he doesn’t seem offended. He seems…impressed. “That’s exactly what it is,” he agrees.
Suddenly I understand Brody a little more, and my heart aches for him. I guess that tends to happen after you spend—I glance at the clock—holy shit, two plus hours talking to someone.
He must feel so lost. “I’m glad you stalked me, Brody,” I whisper. “Otherwise we might never have been friends.”
* * *
Chapter Seven
David
When I pushed Beth to come out to the bar tonight, I expected more of a fight, especially since the last party I pressured her into ended with her storming off pissed. But when she not only agreed, but told me she was inviting a new friend, I felt relieved. Lani’s cool and all, but Beth needs more than one fucking friend.
Toolies is the bar close to campus known for being lax with IDs. It’s one of the few freshmen and sophomores can drink at without having to worry, and a girl who looks like Beth? They probably won’t even card her.
