I knew it was.
The night he took his life, he asked me to hang out with him, but I was too busy with my old friends. I told him we could hang out the next day. If I would’ve hung out with Rian the night he took his life, he might’ve still been here. If I would’ve noticed how sad he’d been, I could’ve helped him. Then maybe our parents would’ve still been in love. Then maybe the family room would’ve still been used. Then maybe we would’ve still been happy together.
I ruined this.
I ruined us.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I choked on my emotions. “This is my fault. I did this. I’m sorry, Maa. I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry,” I cried, feeling the heaviness of the situation fully settled in. They both wrapped their arms around me and kept telling me that it wasn’t my fault, but it was hard to believe them. They kept saying they loved each other and me, but it felt like empty promises that would lead to nothing good. Because if there was one thing they seemed certain of, it was them going their separate ways.
What did that mean for me?
What did that mean for us?
Was Dad just going to live in the basement? Was he going to move out? Was Maa moving? Did I have to go back and forth between two homes on the weekends? Did I now have a part-time mother and father? Did they only get to see me every other week? Why did it feel like I was losing both of them as they lost each other?
They kept comforting me the best they could. Maa cried; Dad didn’t. I couldn’t recall the last time I saw my father cry. He didn’t even shed a tear at Rian’s funeral, at least not in a place where I could’ve seen him.
We went to bed that night, but I wasn’t sure if any of us were able to sleep.
I missed Rian.
I missed Maa.
I missed Dad.
During the night, I got up to get a glass of water, and I heard the strangest sound. I walked toward the door that led to the basement, opened it, and walked down the steps to see Dad standing in the hallway of the basement, sobbing into his hands.
His body bent over as he choked on his emotions. Every single feeling slammed full force at him. For a long time, I didn’t think my father knew how to cry. I figured he was built with a different toughness scale than the rest of our family.
Until now.
His back was to me. I couldn’t stop staring at him.
I walked over to him, and wrapped my arms around him, pulling him into a hug.
“I’m so sorry, Dad,” I said, holding him tight. He held me tighter.
I cried with him, because it didn’t feel right to have himcrying by his lonesome. He told me he was sorry, too, and that Maa would need me. She’d need me to be strong for her. She’d need me to look after her. She’d need me to be there for her. And he said that I’d need her, too, to help me through the hard days.
But didn’t he see it? Couldn’t he tell? I needed him, too.
16Karla
Ash didn’t show up for first period. When I texted him to see where he was, he told me he woke up late and that he’d see me at lunch. When lunchtime came, though, I could tell something was wrong with him.
Mrs.Rivers sat at her desk wearing her headphones. Sometimes, she liked to listen to and read her books at the same time. She called it immersive reading.
Ash was quieter than normal.
“You OK?” I asked.
He smiled, but it wasn’t warm.
“Ash?”
“My parents officially told me they’re getting divorced. So it’s real now.”
“Oh...”
