Page 55 of The Art of Drowning

NOW

Damien had barely been gone for five minutes when my phone rang. I hadn’t even had enough time to process that he’d been here to begin with or to bask in the afterglow of getting to wake up next to him. Not that we slept much. Mostly we talked, carefully avoiding topics like Sam.

But as he drove away, he took the bubble we were in with him and reality came crashing back down on me. I still had a life that was separate from his. I still had grieving parents who were calling me at the ass crack of dawn.

After a deep breath to fortify myself, I answered, putting the call on speaker phone. “Hello?”

Dad’s voice came through the speaker. “Cal? Son?”

“Yeah, Dad, I’m here. Is everything okay?”

“Your mother and I were talking and we wanted to know when you were going to come visit.”

“I—I can’t get more time off just now.” It was probably a lie. My boss wasn’t an asshole, which in itself was a miracle. If I asked for the time off, they’d probably give it to me or let me work remotely like they’d done for Travis after he broke his leg.

This conversation needed more coffee. “Is everything okay?” I asked again, topping up my cup and adding a little more sugar.

“Your mother isn’t coping well,” Dad whispered and I wondered if Mom even knew that he was calling me. “It’s a shame you couldn’t stay longer.”

“Sorry, I had to get back. We’re down a man at work and my absence was definitely noticed.” While that was technically true, I leaned into it and made it sound more dire than it was. The truth was that I hadn’t felt like their house was my home. Not in years. I’d gone from beloved son to the awkward house guest who was only around at the holidays he couldn’t get out of because his presence made everyone uncomfortable.

But that was all in my head. That’s what Dad had told me once when I tried to talk to him about it. It was a year or so after my college graduation, and I’d come home during the summer when there was no holiday to prompt me to be there. Just some vacation time I needed to take and the knowledge that outside of Christmas, I rarely went home.

My presence had felt like an inconvenience. Like me being there had upset their routine in some way that wasn’t acceptable. There were sideways looks and conversations that would stop when I entered a room. So I’d asked Dad about it, about why everyone was acting like they didn’t want me around, and he told me not to be stupid. That of course they loved me.

That wasn’t what I’d been upset about, but he’d been so adamant about it, that it didn’t occur to me until later that I hadn’t asked if I was loved. I’d asked if I was wanted.

“I don’t know what to do for her, Cal.” Dad’s breath shook when he inhaled. He was barely holding it together, and I felt guilty that I didn’t care more than I did. Yes, I loved my parents, but I’d been made to feel like an outsider and an afterthought for my whole adult life. It was hard to tear down all the walls we’d built between us.

“Get her into grief counseling. If you can’t afford it, let me know and I can help out.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and screwed my eyes shut. Too little sleep and too much stress were going to give me a killer migraine.

“She doesn’t want to go. I’ve asked her. She thinks… she thinks they’ll want her to forget about Sam. She’s not eating, Cal. And when she does, it’s the smallest amounts.”

My bed was calling my name. Screaming it. It would be so easy to crawl back under those covers and hide from everything and everyone until life went back to normal. I didn’t ask for this. Sam had been their emotional support child. The golden boy. The one they wanted around. Now because of the shittiest of circumstances, they were stuck with me.

All the air rushed out of my lungs, and I leaned on the counter, letting it bear my weight. The lack of sleep caught up with me all at once and a bone-deep exhaustion settled over me.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Dad. I mean… it sucks. Try to get her some protein shakes or meal replacement shakes or something. If she’s not eating, at least make sure she’s drinking something beneficial.”

“Where would I get those, do you think?”

Frustration surged through me, and I had to bite my tongue and pretend I was thinking while I quietly seethed.

“At a store, probably. Check the pharmacy; they carry that kind of thing I think.”

“Are they behind the counter? Do I need a prescription or anything?”

How my dad had made it this far in life was a mystery.

“No, Dad,” I tried to keep the exasperation out of my voice. He needed my patience, not my animosity. “But you should ask for help choosing so you get the right thing. Tell them you want a meal replacement drink. Get a couple different flavors.” I wanted this conversation to be over. I wanted my bed and oblivion and maybe some dreams of Damien to distract me from the nightmare that was my reality.

“I’ll do that, son.”

Dad sighed and I could tell that he was just as tired as I was. I doubt he and Mom had slept well since Sam died. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him how he was doing when he cleared his throat. He clearly had something else to say, so I stayed quiet and waited.

When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and hoarse. “Have you… the envelope Sam left you. Have you opened it?”

“No.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Sam and I weren’t close.”