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I don’t really know why Dad stopped caring
as dramatically as he did. I think it started off as depression from his and Mom’s marriage troubles, and then it just spread from there. Dad never said anything, never acted like he was any different than he used to be, and I didn’t have the courage to ask. So it was just that: a mystery.

I
give him an annoyed look as I pour the water into the macaroni noodles, add cheese from the packet, and microwave both bowls. Dad doesn’t look at me; he never looks at me. It’s like the sight of his own son is too much “work” for him to undergo, and so he ignores my existence altogether. When the microwave beeps, I pull out the bowls, shove one toward him without meeting his gaze, and then bring my bowl to the corner of the kitchen as far away from him as I can possibly get. On today of all days, I am not getting into it with him.

We eat in peace for a few more min
utes, neither of us saying a word—thank god—until Dad finally throws his spoon against the bowl and jerks back in his chair. “This sucks,” he says and slams the bowl against the table.

I roll my eyes. “That’s i
nteresting, because you seemed to enjoy the exact same thing
just fine
last time.”

“I was
being nice,” he says, tossing his newspaper aside. Finally, I look at him. Dad is tall, unshaven and thick-jawed, with a hard face, dark brown eyes, and a thin smile. He looks sad and rugged, his once jet black hair now thick and gray. In a way, I kind of feel bad for the man. He’s clearly lost, and whether or not that’s because of Mom’s death or his own stupidity, I have no idea and nor do I care.

“
Wow, so generous of you,” I mutter. “If that’s the case, then maybe you can try being a normal grown-up for once in your life and—I don’t know—make your own dinner.”

“
Are you calling me lazy?” he says, sipping his coffee cup which we both know is just hiding more beer.

“No, I’m just calling you useless. There’s a difference.” I take an
other bite of my macaroni, sighing to myself. I don’t like that this is what Dad and I have become, this empty, lifeless trading of insults, but what else is there? It’s better than screaming, right?

Even screaming, though, means we care. It means we’re fighting to find a way to be father and son again, for real. But this? This is like we’ve both given up, and I guess, in a way, I have. 

“You’re a complete waste,” he mutters.

“Of what? Your precious free time?” I push my bowl to the side and hop off the counter. I’m suddenly not hungry anymore.

I can feel his gaze on me, dark and calculating. “You better shut the hell up and show me some respect, West. After all,
I’m your father
.”

I laugh lightly
and walk toward the door. “Yeah. My father and respect aren’t words that seem to go well together.”

“They work fine
for me. Much better than ‘my son,’ at least,” Dad says without looking at me. I can see his fists, though; they’re curled around his coffee cup. Tightly. It looks like he’s trying to squeeze the ceramic until it breaks.

I shake my head
, wanting to punch him in the face right then and there but holding the feeling down instead. “Good to talk to you too,” I mutter, hop off the counter, and walk into the family room. I sit down, slamming the door shut behind me, with a bad taste in my mouth and a sick feeling in my stomach. The family room is a small room adjacent to the kitchen, complete with fading gray walls, a small sofa, and a TV sitting in the center. We used to spend so much time here, my mom and I, but now it appears to be more of a storage room than anything else, with bin after bin of random supplies stacked all around it.

As soon as I sit down,
I turn on the TV to some random station, but I don’t pay attention. I just stare blankly at the screen, my eyes glazing over. Fuck. This is really what I’m reduced to. Running and hiding from everyone I know, and retreating to… what? The TV? To my own misery? I have no one now—not my dad, not my mom, not even Cat—and it’s all my fault: because I’m an idiot, because I keep telling myself that if I try to love anything else ever again, they’re just going to end up like Mom—dead, along with my heart. I can’t take that anymore.

For a minute, I just sit there and
I think about Cat, who is probably off and making new friends and totally forgetting about me. I can’t push her away, not over something this stupid. I can’t screw up my life any more than I have.

Then, it hits me.
I need to fix this.

Before I know
what I’m doing, I reach for my computer, click over to my email, and begin typing. I click send without reading it over, and proceed to constantly refresh my inbox until I get a response, afraid I won’t even get one.

from:
West Ryder

to:
Cat Davenport

subject:
(no subject)

Dear Your Highness of All Things Chocolate,

It has come to my attention that your subject, West Ryder, has been temporarily banished from your chocolate kingdom due to his “asshole behavior.” I’ve recently been in contact with said criminal, and it seems he can’t stop thinking about how stupid he acted and now all he wants is to get you back. So he wishes for me to deliver you this real apology. He says that even if you don’t accept, Your Highness of All Things Chocolate, he wants to thank you… for everything you’ve done for him. Anyway, here it is:

Dear Your Highness of All Things Chocolate,

I am sorry for insulting your chocolate-centric palace and for leaving you so abruptly. I am sorry we fought over which chocolate is best—obviously dark chocolate—and I’m sorry it’s come to this. But more than that, I’m sorry for disappointing you. You needed me, and I… I wasn’t there for you. I regret it. I want to come back to your Chocolate Palace, but more than that
, I want you, Your Highness. I want to be with you again. I want to be your friend. I don’t want to push you away any further.

I want to fix this.

With lots
of chocolate,

West

(Seriously, Cat. I need you. I don’t care what anyone thinks.
I need you
.)

When I read over the email, I know deep down that I mean every word of it.

It feels like the longest time before Cat responds, but in reality I don’t think it’s much more than thirty minutes. I
keep refreshing my inbox, though, my pulse pounding, wondering what Cat will think. Will she ignore me? Will she even respond?

Finally
, my email dings, and I swear it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. I rush to click on it, and I take a deep breath. My stomach is tight as I start reading the email, and I swear I’m
expecting
to be disappointed, to be turned down and pushed away for good.

from: Cat Davenport

to: West Ryder

subject: (no subject)

Dear Servant,

First of all, it was my direct order for you never to email me again. For this offense, you shall be beheaded tomorrow at dawn. Be there, or we’ll just behead you elsewhere. I can wait. I have plenty of chocolate in this palace to last me.

Second, however, I am glad you sent me this email from
that West Ryder character. (Though yes, you’re still going to die. You are incredibly needy. You say you “must have food and water every few days or else you’ll die?” Seems very rather greedy of you.)  I remember him quite well; we used to be close, and I hope we still are, but we just… disagreed about something, and that was all. I banished him from my Chocolate Palace because I was angry in the moment, but I do hope he can return to the Palace soon. Point being, tell him this before you die:

West,

I need you too.

Without pity,

Your Highness of All Things Chocolate

By
the end of the email my heart is in my throat and my whole body feels so light inside. I let out a breath of relief.

I need you too.

They’re just four words, but they’ve already sent my body into an episode of muppetflails, internal screaming, and excited jumping-and-down. The knot in my stomach disappears, and the sinking feeling in my gut is gone. In that moment, all I want to do is run around the house and jump for joy. A huge, lopsided grin spreads across my face.

Cat, we need
each other
,
I tell myself as I start typing a response.

from: West Ryder

to: Cat Davenport

subject: (no subject)

Your Highness,

I am sorry to hear that. I will be at my beheading tomorrow. But before I die, West would like to know: what does this mean for him? Will you two stay friends and let him move back into the Chocolate Palace?

As soon as I send it, my fists clench. I half-expect her to say no, to say that this friendship is over and then never respond to me again

But she doesn’t.

My email dings a minute later, and I click on it, swallowing hard.
Cat’s response is two words:
We’ll see.

Chapter 9

I don’t talk to Cat after that. Instead, I close my computer, watch a victory episode of Law & Order, flail some more, and eventually make my way back up to my bedroom. I sit on the edge of my bed for a while, just staring out the window at the dried leaves swirling in the air and spiraling down to the ground below, thinking about Cat. I hope this means we can go back to being normal. I hope we can just stay best friends, and I’ll have at least one constant left in my life.

But how do I tell? Am I just supposed to wait? I can’t wait for Cat, I can’t just wait and see.

I get up and walk to my window, pressing a sweaty hand to the cool glass. My eyes wander to the empty street in front of me. Neither cars nor people pass by my house, and it’s not like I can blame them. Every house in my neighborhood is either falling apart or too small to fit a family of more than two, and some both. This area is not exactly a sight to see. In the distance I can see the tops of much larger, much nicer houses—Cat’s neighborhood. For an instant, a pang of regret comes over me. I wish I could be there with her, laughing and debating about random things and having ice cream eating contests like we used to. But instead? I’m stuck here.

I try not to think about it.

Beyond Cat’s neighborhood lies the lake she and I always used to go to, which is located off to the right side of town. The lake is about a quarter mile long with a small, one-house island located in its center, and its water shimmery and calm. Every week in the summer when I was kid, I used to kayak across the lake and out to that mini island with my mom and dad. Most of the time we capsized, or spent more energy into random splash wars than we did actual kayaking.

We used to have a competition to see who could kayak to the island first, and the winner would receive bragging rights until next time.
They would also be called, “Your Highness” by the two losers, and let me tell you, it’s pretty freaking awesome to be called “Your Highness” by your own parents, especially in public. So one can say I had some pretty serious drive to win.

The best part of the competition wasn’t the prize, though, but how serious we were about it. We would trash talk each other, try to knock each other’s kayaks
overboard, and we seemed to find every possible way to beat out the others. I remember how Dad once capsized Mom’s kayak with his paddle when they were racing to the island, and she totally flipped out at him, swam to catch up with his kayak, then pulled him from his seat and dragged him into the water with her. The two of them started fighting and laughing and splashing each other and I just kayaked by, smiling, not realizing how lucky I was to have my family so strong and intact, not realizing how all that love I felt at the time would only come back to haunt me.

I
return to my bed, fighting back tears. I miss Mom. I miss Dad. But more than that, I miss us. I miss those simple times back on the lake, when we didn’t need to worry about anything, when we could just enjoy each other’s presence and that’s all there was: enjoyment. No catch. No fear. No nothing but each other.

We
were such a tight-knit family back then, and now we’re nothing. It still doesn’t feel real, honestly, like this is all some elaborate dream and we’ll go back to being normal soon enough. But in my heart, I know that will never happen. It’s as if the tighter we were, the harder we were ripped apart.

I don’t want that to happen to Cat and me.

I remember what my mom once told me: “If you care about someone, no matter what, fight for her.”

My fists clench, and I take in a long, deep breath.

I care about Cat.