Carter
“Dude,” Bodhi says, in the voice memo he sent several hours ago, “I know you’ll probably say no to this, but you should come
out with me and Lizzy tonight. We’re gonna hit up that new ghost movie.”
I’m planted on the family room couch in front of the TV, which has become my regular Friday night routine. And my Saturday
night routine. And Sunday night. Really, all the nights. And some of the days too. It’s been about a month since that shitty
wedding, and, at least since school ended, most of that time has been divided between two locations: couch and bed. I don’t
have the energy or enthusiasm to be anywhere else.
My parents would prefer this wasn’t the case.
Not my problem.
Only five months till I loop away from all this.
It’s funny that I thought apologizing to Layla Banerjee might solve my situation. Obviously it was never going to do anything.
Even if she was the person I’d broken up with, it all sounds so ridiculous now. Which is why I won’t be apologizing to Vivian Spear either.
Can’t make it, I text Bodhi as I keep half my attention on this weird-ass Netflix show about the circus. A fire-twirling woman just cheated
on her muscular acrobat husband with the charming, androgynous ringmaster. Pretty fucked-up.
My bro’s about to come home, I type. Have fun buddy.
Lincoln is about to come home from his internship for a couple days to celebrate Dad’s birthday with us, but not till tomorrow. So it’s
a weak excuse. I don’t feel like being a third wheel tonight, though. Nor do I need to watch a movie about ghosts. That’s
already my life now anyway.
I’ve ghosted myself from everything. Because it feels better.
You put yourself out there, you try too hard, and you just get fucked over.
I also stopped going to therapy. Soren’s mustache was annoying the crap out of me.
And Maggie finally stopped texting too. For the best, really.
After her many messages over the weeks—and once even showing up at my house; I had Mom tell her I didn’t feel like talking—I
get how bad she feels.
But I hated how that all went down.
On the TV, the fire twirler and ringmaster are hooking up again, this time in a grunty, fully clothed sex scene in a grimy
dressing room. Seems like a ridiculous place to do that, they’re obviously going to get caught.
“What’re you watching, bud?” Dad says, appearing behind the couch. I race to hit the Pause button. He and Mom don’t mind if
I watch stuff like this, but I definitely don’t need to watch it with them. “Oh! Three Rings! This season was so good. Are you into it?”
“Um, yeah, it’s fine, I guess.”
“I was always obsessed with the circus when I was a kid,” Dad says. “So it was cool to see what’s actually going on behind
the scenes.”
“Uh. You realize it’s not a documentary, right?”
“Come on, Carter,” Dad says, ruffling my hair. “I’m old, but I’m not that old. I felt so bad for Stefan during this plotline.”
“Stefan?”
“The acrobat guy. Whose wife is humping someone else on-screen right now.”
“Dude!”
“What? I always find adultery plotlines uncomfortable!”
“No, just— Don’t say humping, Dad. Never say humping. We’ve talked about this.”
“I know, I know.” Dad pats my shoulder. “I was hoping it might make you laugh. It’s good to see you smile for a second.”
I shake my head and sigh. That wasn’t quite a prank, but it was close enough, so I gotta give him credit for that. I grab
a handful of Cheez-Its and a couple of Swedish Fish from the snack platter Mom kindly assembled for me.
“I see you’ve entirely given up on the Ayurvedic diet,” Dad observes as I turn my finger into a fishing rod and try to hook
the gummy fish chunk that’s just gotten stuck between my back teeth.
“Yeah,” I say. “Sorry, Dad.”
“I get it,” Dad says, coming around the couch and plopping down next to my legs. “But if you’re serious about wanting to solve
this, then—”
“Pete, let it go,” Mom says, shouting from her home office.
“I know, I know,” Dad shouts back. “Can I get out this thought, though?”
I hear Mom’s chair roll backward, and then she pops out of her office. “I think he’s heard that thought already. Many times. So have I. He doesn’t want to do the diet. So you need to stop bothering him about it.”
“Wend,” Dad says, standing up from the couch as Mom walks into the room. “It’s not like I’m bothering him about taking an
art class or playing lacrosse or something. This could make a genuine difference with his . . . condition.”
“I know,” Mom says. “But right now—not sure if you’ve noticed—he’s been in a bit of a funk. To say the least. And I don’t
think passing on two Swedish Fish will be the difference maker on finally cracking this thing.”
BOOM. I love when Mom has my back.
“Sure,” Dad says, “but—”
“If Cart’s forced to be stuck like this,” Mom interrupts, “we can at least allow him to enjoy himself occasionally.”
Amen to that. I hate being here when Mom and Dad argue about me, but I appreciate that I don’t have to be the one arguing.
Dad throws an arm in the air, huffs, and goes silent for a moment. “I know you’re enjoying yourself ,” he finally mutters. It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to Mom. “Maybe we can find a way to get Lincoln stuck
too; we’ll all live here together forever. That’s the dream, right?”
I get a queasy feeling in my stomach when I see the way this has landed with Mom.
She’s angry. Incredibly angry.
Her eyes get shiny, and she slowly turns and leaves the room.
“Wendy,” Dad says, following her. “I’m sorry, okay? That was too much. I know that was too much.”
I go to unpause the circus non-documentary, but I feel so tired.
I pull the blanket tighter around me and roll onto my side.
I close my eyes.
When I wake up the next morning, I’m still on the couch, and Dad has been replaced by Lincoln. He’s wearing a maroon hoodie and sipping from a mug while looking at his phone.
“Morning, bright eyes,” he says.
“Link,” I say. “You’re home. How’d you get here so early?”
“Well, first of all, it’s 11:12, so I don’t think it’s as early as you think. Also I caught an early train.”
“Oh. Cool.” I clumsily sit up and get my bearings. My tongue feels caked with Cheez-Its. I’ve been dreading seeing Lincoln.
He’s another bullet point on the list of People I’ve Decided to Ghost.
“Why are you sleeping on the couch?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I do it sometimes. It’s just easier, I guess.”
“I see.” There’s so much judgment packed into those two words. My little brother takes a long sip from his beverage, and I’m
tempted to smack the mug right out of his hands. “You haven’t been responding to any of my texts,” he says.
I shrug my shoulders. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Lincoln takes another sip. “I’m sorry about you and Maggie.”
“Are you?”
Lincoln raises his eyebrows and looks around the room, as if he’s saying Yeesh to an imaginary studio audience. “Yes, CT. Of course I am.”
“I know you were annoyed by us being together. And I also know that you were fully aware I’d already dated and dumped Maggie’s older sister, but I guess that never seemed worth mentioning
to me, huh?”
Lincoln groans and puts a hand over his face, looking pained. “I know. It’s . . . I’m just glad Maggie finally told you.”
“She didn’t! I found out by mistake.”
“Oh god.”
“You’re awake!” Dad says, peeking into the room from the kitchen. “The Cohen brothers, reunited!”
“That’s right,” Lincoln says. “Get ready for Fargo 2.”
“Can I make you something to eat?” Dad asks me.
His fight with Mom from last night rises to the surface of my brain. I push it down.
“Eggs? Pancakes?”
“I’m good,” I say. “I’ll get myself something in a minute. Also, happy birthday.”
“Thanks, bud.”
I’m weirdly jealous of how simple his birthday gets to be. He wakes up, he’s a year older. Easy. Dad goes back into the kitchen
and says something to Mom. Thankfully, the vibes between them seem pretty chill.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Vivian,” Lincoln says, tugging at both ends of his hood’s drawstring. “I wanted to, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Well, last summer with Maggie, when that first happened, I felt like, Oh man, Carter needs to know he dated her older sister. But then . . . I don’t know. You just seemed so happy.”
“Oh.”
“Like, happy in a way I hadn’t seen you in a long time. So I didn’t want to ruin that, you know?”
I nod, but I only feel more infuriated. I don’t need to hear about how happy I was with Maggie. “So what about this time?
Why lie to me this time?”
“I wasn’t trying to lie!” Lincoln stands up from the couch and paces away, then back toward me.
“I didn’t think it was my place to tell you if Maggie wasn’t going to, you know?
Maybe that was wrong. I don’t know! This whole time, CT, again and again, year after year, I’m trying to help you.
But it feels like whatever I do just seems to piss you off! ”
“How about trying to be honest!” I shout, rising to my feet. “It’s not that hard. Just say, Hey, bro, you actually dumped Maggie’s sister, Vivian, and then all this shit started, so maybe there’s a connection there!
Maybe apologizing could help all this! That would be a GREAT thing to say!”
“That wouldn’t do anything!” Lincoln shouts.
“You don’t know that,” I say. “It might!”
“I do know, CT! That’s not the reason you’re stuck.”
He says it so confidently, it’s almost confusing.
“How do you— What?”
“You’re not stuck because you dumped Vivian Spear.” Lincoln floats down to the couch, as if he’s just opened a parachute.
“You’re stuck because of me.”