3volve (3 page)

“Thank you.” I take a deep breath and kiss them on the cheek, my anger quickly replaced with pity. “We need to get you home.”

“Why? Mom and Dad aren't home,” Jeremy sighs, grabbing his backpack.

“I know,” I reach for the folders and open the door for them to pass. I nod to the counselor and walk after them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The drive home is quiet with plenty of stifled sobs in the back. When we get home, there is a car in the driveway. I turn around and hold my hand out to stop them from getting out, “Wait here while I see who it is.” It had better not be Aunt Marie; she’s such a Nosy Nancy.

They both nod and lean their heads on their own windows.

I walk slowly up to the house to check the door. It's already open. I yell, annoyed, “I’m not in the mood!” into the main hallway.

“I thought you could use some company, and food,” Charlie smirks from the kitchen. “Where are the boys?” he asks, looking behind me.

“I told them to wait in the car. Wait, I thought you were in a meeting?” I ask, looking at his suitcase and duffel on the kitchen table.

“Meetings can be cancelled,” he says, putting away his luggage, “I was leaving the airport when I called you.”

“Thanks for being such a good friend.” I clasp his hand in mine.

It feels like he winces slightly but recovers quickly, “Well go get them already!” he laughs. “I’m sure they could use a pick-me-up.”

I smile gratefully at him and wrap my arms around him. “Thank you for being you.”

“Always,” he whispers in my ear.

I squeeze him tightly before I run out to the car.

“Guys, Charlie has food for us. Let's eat, okay?” I tell them opening the car door.

“When are we going to see Mom and Dad?” Jeremiah asks, pulling on Jeremy’s hoodie to pull his head off the window.

“Soon. Okay?” I ruffle his hair.

Charlie ordered Chinese and he tries to occupy our thoughts, but it’s all still too fresh in our minds. The boys hardly touch their food, excusing themselves to go to their room. I haven’t even been in town for five hours and already I’m doing a horrible job.

“You’re doing fine, you know that right?” Charlie hands me a fortune cookie.

“Yeah right.” I break it open and read my fortune:
Circumstance does not make the man, it reveals him to himself.

Well great, I’m not a man. Stupid fortune cookie.
I throw it back down on the table.

“I can’t stay long because I have a work thing tomorrow.” He breaks open his fortune cookie and reads the fortune silently, then places it in his pocket.

“I know. Thanks for coming; you didn’t have to.”

“Oh I had to. Have you ever kept anything alive longer than a week?” he asks, biting into his fortune cookie.

“I object! Of course I have.” I scramble my mind to think of examples before he can battle me.

“Really?” he laughs. “Name one.” He picks up my fortune cookie and eats it.

I’m still thinking of all the pets and plants I’ve had over the years. Oh, I know! “The plant Nessa gave me when we graduated high school. That thing lived for like months in our new place,” I smile proudly.

“That’s because I watered it for you.” He shakes his head.

“Liar,” I say, hurt, crossing my arms.

“I’m not! I totally watered it every time I went over. Then I left for winter break. After I came back it was dead.”

I scrunch my face, “Oh yeah, it did die on winter break.” I shake my head stubbornly, “It doesn’t prove anything though.”

“You killed a cactus for crying out loud. Are you sure you can handle two teenage boys? You know you have to feed them and keep them away from sharp objects, right?” He laughs again at my predicament.

“Hardy, har, har.” I throw my spring roll at him, but he dodges it.

He pulls me into a hug instead, “I know this is hard, but if there’s anything I can do, will you let me know?” he says into my ear. The heat from his breath tickles my neck, and I forget to answer his question.

“Cris,” he whispers hoarsely against the nape of my neck.

“I will,” I finally answer him, backing away.

“I have a few things to take care of tomorrow at home before I can come back for the funeral, so I should go.” He kisses the top of my head. “Make sure to call Nessa and let her know what’s happening or she’ll end up worrying.”

“I’ll do it tonight,” I assure him. I walk behind him to the front door. “Be safe,” I tell him, our usual goodbye—a goodbye we started when I started drinking. Now I think we say it out of habit more than safety.

He turns around, smiling. “Be safe.” He walks back to his car and drives away.

I look at the clock on the mantle. It’s not late, but I feel exhausted. Instead of calling Nessa, I text her a short catch-up before grabbing my laptop from my bag and walking to the dining table.

My mom’s place setting is screaming at me, her voice echoing in the background. She would cut roses from her garden; the petals always looked overgrown on our small wooden table, as if her loved filled them up to capacity—reds and whites exploding over the table in between her baby angels.

Suddenly I can’t look at them. I can’t hear their voices. So I fill my arms with the angels and roses, locking them away in the hallway closet. I peel off the tablecloth to reveal a bare hardwood table—a table removed of distractions. I put my laptop down and start booting it up.

I still have the laptop from my first year of college. Dad did extra construction jobs to buy me my first laptop. He said it was a rite of passage, buying his baby girl her first computer. The old thing still works, even missing three keys. I dump the contents of my purse on the table, scattering everything to search for my wallet, phone, paper, and pencil. I make a list of what I need to do for the funeral.

I search Google for numbers and arrange for a low-key service. I send out a blast email to my relatives to notify them, keeping it short and concise. God I hate them all. My parents didn’t like anyone anyways, so why bother having anyone here to disturb their peace. But I know what Mom would say, ‘We may not like them, but if we don’t tell them, they’re just going to bring it up for the next ten years.’

Three hours later, I’m finished with preparations. My savings is cleaned out with each mouse click. So, I’m going to need to get a job if I expect to feed us. I pick up my bag to put it in my room. The boys have been quiet; I hope they’re okay. Should I have checked on them sooner? I don’t know! I feel like they should have their space. Or should they not have space now?
Ugh.

I peek my head in their rooms and they’re empty. Empty! I search frantically around the house until I find them in my parents’ room. They are fast asleep in their bed. They look so small and childlike—not like the tall boys they’ve become recently. I don’t bother changing clothes; I get in next to them, pulling them close.

Today finally hits me in full force. I break down, quietly sobbing, tears rolling down my face onto the pillow. This is the last time I will allow myself to cry in front of others. The last time I will let this get the better of me. I’m a surrogate mother now; mothers don’t let their children see them sad.

I fall asleep worried how I will be able to pay for back-to-school clothes, food, utility bills and eventually college.

God sure is playing a cruel joke on us. All I can say is,
Bring it on bitch.

Chapter 3

I engaged my autopilot the next morning, walking through the motions. I pressed the boys’ suits for them to wear. I pulled on my most conservative black dress and cardigan.

The wake and funeral went by too fast. It’s all blurs and images. We all went up to talk about how great our parents were—wow…“were”.

Vanessa and Charlie came down to help me deal with people. Vanessa prepared food and watched the boys while I handled the new motherly duties of pretending to like people who never cared to visit. Charlie handled all important questions for me so I could keep a brave face. My job was to reign in my feelings and keep it all together long enough to cry myself to sleep when alone.

All five of us are sitting at the dining room table, exhausted and unmoving. I don’t know how I’m supposed to take care of them, especially since I don’t even know how to take care of myself. What do I even want to be when I grow up?

“I’m tired, can we be excused?” Jeremy asks solemnly.

“Me too,” Jeremiah adds.

“You two aren’t hungry? I can make you something to eat.” I pick my head up, more alert.

“We aren’t hungry,” they shrug. Their usual height and prowess is even more distinguished by their newly adopted seriousness. Their shoulders are slouched and pulled back, heads down, eyes blood-shot red. It pains my heart to see them like this, knowing they aren’t the cute toddlers running away from me after painting my room in my lipstick and eye shadow.

“Okay. Well, I’ll go up and check on you later,” I say reassuringly, touching their cheeks.

“Yup.” They wave goodbye to Vanessa and Charlie, and go up to their rooms. They look more gray than brown at this point. Their skin is losing its spark. I sigh, slumping my shoulders forward and banging my head on the table.

Nessa slings her arm around me, “So what’s the plan
chica
?” she asks.

“Hell if I know.” I turn my head on the table to face her. I can feel the table etching into my cheek.

“Job wise, I mean. I hope you know you have to buckle down and get one now.”

I growl into the wood, “I know.”

“I can lend you some money while you look for a job,” Charlie tells me from across the table.

My hurt boils to the surface and before I know it, I’m yelling at him. “You don’t think I can do this! I can. I can get a job. It’s not like I’m a fucking failure, ya know! You both always treat me like I can’t do anything right.” I rush up to stand in front of the kitchen sink. I hang my head in shame, “Sorry. I just…I don’t need you two to bail me out all the time. I have to do this,” I insist.

“Cris, we didn’t mean it like that.” Vanessa gets up from the table and walks over. She reaches over and grasps my hand.

“I don’t want you stressing more than you need to,” Charlie says, softly walking towards us.

“I appreciate you both looking out for me, but I
have
to do this,” I insist once again.

They both nod in agreement and place their heads on my shoulders. We stand there looking out of the kitchen window.

I remember one night Nessa and I snuck out of the house, and Dad locked every window in the house to teach us a lesson. We had to shimmy through the kitchen window. I still have a scar on my wrist when I snagged a crucifix on my way down: a mark to remember that night.

To lighten the mood, I ask, “So boys have to eat more than grilled cheese right? Like can I just give them each a box of cereal and tell them to go to town.” I wiggle my eyebrows back and forth, “because, I should probably learn to cook.”

“I can teach you a few things before I have to get back,” Vanessa jumps in. “We wouldn’t want you to burn the house down,” she laughs.

“Har har. Obviously, I’m not using the stove. Far too much commitment,” I say, knowing very well it’s going to be the microwave from here on out. I’m replacing my best friends with an unanimated object,
whoopee.

Vanessa shows me nothing but recipes with chicken. Chicken tacos, chicken enchiladas, chicken this and that. God I feel my life becoming Chicken Soup for the Soul. I don’t even know if the boys like chicken enough to eat it every day. But there’s no turning back now.
Alla chicken!

Charlie is spending all his time upstairs playing video games—such a guy thing to do. Boys and their video games.

“Do you think they are ever coming down?” I ask, trying to make out sounds from upstairs. I think I hear laughter, but I can’t be sure. Laughter is a good sign; it means I haven’t broken them yet.

Vanessa shrugs in response. “It’s good for them. All that testosterone and what not. Besides,” she winks. “It’s good they get along so well, right?” she says, her voice giving of that sly kick at the end.

I snort, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hellooo!” She points upstairs and then stabs me in the chest, as if it’s the most obvious thing since the Cumberbatch sensation swept the nation.

I pretend it hurts, rubbing the spot. “Hellooo! I think the chicken is getting to you, and frankly, it’s getting to me. What the hell am I supposed to do with all this damn chicken? Huh?” I take a whiff of the oven and gag for effect.

“Don’t change the subject.” She flicks my forehead. “You know
exactly
what I’m talking about
mensa
.”

“Trust me, I don’t need to fake ignorance.” I cross my arms and lean against the oven.

“Let me spell it out for you: you plus Charlie equals destiny, chica.”

I shake my head. “I was never good at math, but I think you have that equation all wrong.” Her mouth is moving and words are coming out, but it’s like she’s speaking another language.
It’s not destiny. Bitch is cray cray.
I love her and everything, but she’s losing it here, and I should be the hot mess right now.

She clutches my arms. “Destiny.” She waves her hand like some glittering sign above our heads—more like a dim-lit convenient store sign with dying batteries.
Hmph destiny my sweet ass.

At that moment, Charlie walks in, “What we talking about?” he asks, poking at my first attempt at chicken enchiladas. He promptly spits it back out, “Mmm so good,” he lies, swishing water in his mouth.

“Destiny.” Vanessa does the whole imaginary sign again and winks her eyes repeatedly. I laugh. She totally looks like Shannon from Superstar. Next thing we know she’s going to break out in dance.

“Are you having a spasm?” Charlie places his palm on her forehead to check for a fever. “Maybe you’ve been cooking long enough, eh,” he jokes.

“You two are so blind!” She throws her hands up in the air and stomps out of the kitchen.

“I feel like I missed something,
something important
.” He looks to me for an answer.

“She thinks we’re fated for destiny.” I wave my hands, copying her, “Isn’t that ridiculous?” I laugh, looking over at him to second it, but he just stands there looking at me.

“You seem to think so,” he says quietly.

“Well yeah, because it is.” I wait for him to join in, but he still doesn’t. He looks more serious now than he has before. He opens his mouth to say something, but then he thinks better of it. “I need to get home. Nessa is here so you’ll be fine,” he says all business like.

“You’re leaving already? You can’t stay a little while longer? I’m sure your parent’s aren’t expecting you yet.” I feel like a child asking her parents why she has to leave the party so early.

“I have a life,” he blurts out, hurting my feelings in the process.

“Fine. Go have your life,” I point at the door. I’m trying my best to hold back tears I didn’t even knew I still had.
I’ve cried a river goddammit!
And I will not break my “no crying in public” oath.

He runs his hand through his hair, and his look softens. “You can call if you need anything. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose on your busy life,” I choke on the words.

He nods his head without saying another word. Then he walks out, remembering to touch the altar before leaving. Just then, the timer goes off. I pull the dish out of the oven and angrily plop it down on the counter. Stupid chicken, it’s your entire fault.
Why did I have to say that? I know he has a life. I know he has to get back to work.

“What’s up with him?” I ask, hurt. I walk over to the kitchen table, pulling back the cellophane on a Bundt cake.

She laughs. “Seriously? You really don’t know?”

“No. I mean he just got all serious and left. I thought we could all share this cake and watch some Tim Burton movies like old times. But he left,” I say, taking a huge bite of cake.

“Of course he did. You trampled over his feelings. What man would stay around for that?”

I roll my eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“She thinks we’re fated for destiny, isn’t that ridiculous,” Vanessa says, mocking me.

              “It is ridiculous!”

              “Not for him.” She starts in on the cake.

              “I don’t get it.”

              “He loves you, you idiot. God only knows why,” she says, smiling wirily.

              “Wow. It only takes a few bites of cake for your real feelings to come to the surface huh.” I smack her hand away from the cake.

              “I love you Cris. I do. But you are oblivious to that man’s feelings. Think about it. When you see him, think about it. Okay?”

              “Okay,” I tell her, so she can stop hounding me. But I think she’s way off base here. A man and woman can be friends without the other being in love. “So chicken?” I ask, pushing the dish to her.

              “I like living, thanks,” she laughs, and my face falls, not missing another beat. She immediately regrets it, waving her hands around frantically. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that. Agh. I’m so sorry!”

              “No, no. You didn’t mean it. I know you were joking.” I force a smile to cover up my hurt. I really do know she didn’t mean it, and I don’t want to hurt her feelings.

              “It slipped out,” she says on the defensive.

              “Nessa, really I get it.” I lay my fork down and cover the cake back up. “I’m exhausted. I should go upstairs and check on them.”

              “Oh yeah, of course. I should probably go too. My parents…” she stops herself, her hand shooting up to cover her mouth. Like it’ll physically stop her words from escaping.

              “I’m fine. Really–really fine. Your parents are expecting you. Go be with them,” I say, hugging her. “I’m really fine. Just fine.” A tear slides down my nose, and I wipe it before she turns her head.

              “Okay. I’ll call you.”

              “Drive safe,” I tell her, closing the door.

I put away the leftovers. And my cooking was all a wasted effort because at the end of the night no one eats any of my damn chicken. Ingrates the lot of them!

After cleaning up, I walk up to check on the boys, and I see them fast asleep slouched over the bottom bunk. Their legs are too long, hanging over the edge. I grab a throw blanket from the closet and cover them both, then push their beanbags underneath their feet for support.

I lean against the frame, looking around their room. Trophies and medals are scattered in every nook and cranny, constant reminders of how we really grew apart these last few years.

Their bathroom door has the etchings I engraved for them when they were growing up. I glide my fingers over the rough markings; they continued doing it even after I left for college. Heck I didn’t even think they still did this when I was in high school, but these markings don’t lie. I see the big jump in height from this past summer, when they grew five inches in such little time.

I pat the doorframe and turn around to leave. However, something is keeping me here longer. I hang back, leaning against their bedroom door, watching them sleep. They aren’t little boys anymore, they are growing up, and I missed it all.

I exhale, overwhelmed. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with me. I’m sorry we don’t know each other better. I should have been a better sister, but I can still fix this. Fix us,” I whisper, closing the door and walking into my parents’ room.