Assuming he’s joking, I turn my back to him. “Just go. Tell your dad I’m not hungry.”
“He’s insisting we eat as a family tonight. I don’t know why. Maybe he’s going to tell us he’s leaving again.”
“Trystan, I can’t.” I sniffle. “Just tell him I’m sick or something.”
“She looks just like you.”
I turn back and see Trystan holding my phone. I yank it away from him. “Don’t.”
“I just wanted to see her.” He pauses. “Do you look at those a lot?”
“No,” I say, more tears falling. “I can’t.” I sniffle. “I can’t look at her. I want to, but I can’t.”
“But you were just now.”
“I was looking for something else. And then I saw her and—” My breath stutters as more tears fall. I turn away from Trystan, not wanting him to see me cry.
“I know it’s not the same, but I can’t look at pictures of my mom either. Braden said he told you about her.”
I nod, sniffling and wiping my eyes.
“She used to be an awesome mom. She did everything for us. Dad said she spoiled us, and she did, but she was there for us. She didn’t take off and leave us, like he does. She was the opposite of him. He’s only focused on himself, but she made everything about us. Her only job was being our mom and then . . . she was gone.”
“But she’s not gone,” I say, turning to him. “You can still see her.”
“If you saw her now, you’d know why we don’t go over there. She’s not my mom. She’s some crazy person who screams and yells and throws things at us.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
“Last Christmas. Braden didn’t want to go, but I made him. I wanted to see her, but I didn’t want to go alone.”
“And what happened?”
“She went fucking nuts. She thought Braden was Dad and told him she wished he was dead.” He pauses. “Then she saw me and . . . she didn’t know who I was. I told Dad and he said it might be because of her meds. She takes all these pills that make her forget stuff.”
Trystan swipes through his phone, then turns it toward me, showing me a photo of his mom. I never met her, but I saw her on TV when I was growing up, standing next to Brock at award shows.
“This is the only one I keep on my phone,” Trystan says. “It was taken right after I was born. Dad said that was the happiest he’d ever seen her. She had her two boys, which is all she wanted out of life. She loved kids. She had tons of money but all she wanted was to be a mom. And now she doesn’t even recognize her own kids. Or remember us.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He gets up. “I’ll tell Dad you’re sick.”
“Thanks.” I walk him to the door.
He stands there, not leaving.
“Aren’t you going?” I ask.
He looks nervous, his eyes bouncing all around me.
“Trystan?”
He yanks me into a hug. And it’s a real hug, not a groping hug like Braden would do.
After a few seconds, he lets me go, seeming anxious and uncomfortable.
“It’ll get better,” he says, stepping back. “I promise.”
