“Why are you still here?”
“Because you told me to come talk to him!”
“I told you?—”
I leave. I can’t do it fast enough, hurtling through the doorway and up the stairs into the guest bedroom that was mine once upon a time. I manage to shut the door without slamming it, as much as I want to, but their voices still come through loud and clear.
Fuck. Fuck this. Fuckmefor letting this happen. I should have known he was up to something the minute he called me at one in the morning. I shouldn’t have come to Virginia Beach in the first place because I know it’s never good for me, being here, sleeping in my old bed. I used to keep pills in a cardboard box underneath it, and even after I’d gone to rehab and thenrelapsed that first time, no one thought to check the world’s most obvious hiding spot. After that it was the desk drawers, inside the mattress, taped behind a dresser drawer, behind books on the bookshelf?—
I sit on the bed, but that feels too dignified, so I slide to the floor next to it. They’re still shouting, the same old argument. I catalogue all the hiding spaces I ever used, think about rifling through drawers, looking under loose floorboards. My old desk has hollow metal legs, and I’ve got a sudden, hazy memory of opening one up. Did I ever clear that spot? Probably.
Downstairs, a door slams. A car door opens and shuts, an engine roars, a car leaves. Good. I take some breaths and wonder if meditating would help or if I’d just fantasize about setting fire to a field of wildflowers or whatever. My mom’s talking again, and I tune it out.
He’s right. They’re both right, or at least they’re not wrong. Getting a four-year degree and going to work for some defense contractor he knows is a strong, solid life plan, and so what if the thought of living with my father and following his playbook feels like red-hot worms wriggling under my skin? He raised me, he sacrificed for me, he worked hard to put food on the table, and here I am, an ungrateful asshole because he didn’t do it exactly to my liking.
Before I can spiral much more, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see that Bastien’s texted the sibling chat.
Bastien:Mom just called me and told me to try and talk to you but she wouldn’t tell me what happened
I shut my eyes and lean my head back against the mattress. I love my mom, but she has a tendency to escalate a situation.
Me:Jesus Christ
Bastien:Not sure the lord can help you now
Me:She invited Dad over to give me a talk about everything I’m doing wrong
Thalia:Oh what the FUCK
Thalia:Why is she like this?
Bastien:She INVITED Dad?!
Me:Yup. Then we all got in a fight, I went upstairs, and he left.
Me:Did you know it’s thanks to him and only him I’ve been sober for two and a half years?
Bastien:Holy shit, he didn’t
Thalia:She’s calling me now.
Thalia:HE SAID THAT?
Me:More or less.
Bastien:You want me to come over? I can be there in an hour probably
Me:No, it’s fine
Bastien:Doesn’t sound fine
Me:I don’t think you being here will make it more fine
Bastien:Just let me know
Thalia:Okay, she’s telling me that you’re very upset when all she did was ask you to hear Dad out and wants me to talk to you so you’ll see reason. I need a drink.
Javier:Just tell her you will
