“Don’t you dare,” I cut in, shoving Liam a half step toward the table. “You gottaearnembarrassing story privileges, and you’re running fourteen years behind.”
All four of us laugh. I don’t look to check, but my mother’s chuckle is somewhat wet sounding. The knot in my stomach twists a little tighter.
I feel like I’m living in upside-down land.
“I’ll take the luggage upstairs,” Ely says. “Let you all have some time to reconnect.”
Oh god.
“No, let me,” I jump in before anyone else can agree. “They’re heavy.”
I can’t help glancing at Mom when I turn around, though. Her face is slick with tears. And I can’t decide if that makes me want to cry myself or punch a wall.
“Your bedroom’s ready for you, Wyatt,” my mom says. She doesn’t use my deadname. My real one seems tremulous on her lips, like she’s still testing it out. “We…I—I kept it, after you left. In case you ever came back.”
“Dad wanted to turn it into a poolroom,” Liam offers.
“And why didn’t he?”
The words come out harsher than they should. Or maybe exactly as harsh as they ought to be.
I know what it must have cost her to fight my dad on this. But it just feels so…Like, Jesus, okay, stand up to him when it’s about a bedroom but not when it’s about your son? Cool. Priorities, I guess.
“Sorry,” I say. Liam looks shocked. My mom, stricken. I feel guilty, even if I shouldn’t. “Long trip. Uh. So…yeah, let me get that luggage.”
And I get the fuck out of there before this can blow up any worse.
At the top of the stairs, though, I’m faced with a fresh problem: With Liam staying in the house, there’s just the one bedroom left for me and Ely to share. One bedroom, one bed.
Shit.Maybe I should have explained the wholenot-my-girlfriendthing to my family after all.
I’m still hovering in the doorway, staring at my childhood double bed, neatly made with faded dove sheets, when Ely comes up. My mom must have changed this. The room used to be all pink and glitter and bows. Now the coral throw pillows are a muted green, and the curlicue white furniture has been replaced by solid wood pieces. Cheap ones, probably from the thrift store, but it puts a lump in my throat.
I cough and move into the room properly, giving Ely room to come in after me and pull the door gently shut.
“You okay?” she asks. She’s noticed the bed—I saw her gaze linger on it for a second as she looked the room over—but she hasn’t said anything. Even though she surely realizes there’s not a fourth bedroom hiding in this tiny clapboard house. “That seemed…tense.”
Understating it, frankly. “Do you think I was an asshole?”
Both of Ely’s brows go up. “What? No. No, of course not. You could’ve laid into them harder, honestly. They would have deserved it.”
“But they changed their minds. It was all my dad in the end. He scared them.”
“Was it?” She shrugs. “I mean…maybe. I wasn’t there. I don’t know what it was like living around him.”
I do. I remember the fear. It still got me even years after I’d left the state. I remember hearing a familiar-sounding voice on the subway and feeling the floor vanish from underneath me, reeling through space and memory until I realized I was nowhere near him. I wasn’t a little kid hiding scared in his childhood home. I was just another dope fiend scaring tourists off public transit.
So, yeah. Maybe I can see it. Maybe I know exactly why my mother never even tried to call me, all those years. If she really did send that book, it would have taken all the courage she could save up. She probably sweated the whole rest of the week, waiting for someone to mention seeing her in the post office around him.Say, Mrs. Cole, what were you mailin’ off the other day, anyhow?
But understanding doesn’t seem to make me feel better. Resentment still curls its vine tight around my insides. Those thorns stick in deep.
The funeral isn’t until tomorrow, which means we’ve got a long night ahead of us. I should have thought of that when I bought the plane tickets. We could have landed later, spent less time here. Could have flown out tomorrow night instead of the next morning. Shortsighted.
“Sorry for dragging you down here,” I manage eventually.
Ely shakes her head. “No. Don’t start with that. I’m glad you did. You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”
You’re such a good friend,Ely said the other week. I replay that in my head very intentionally, over and over again. Goodfriend.
