Chapter Twenty-Two Show Up
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
Before they even made it to the driveway, Mal was already issuing apologies.
Maddie and their parents were still unloading the car, Mal’s dad carrying Maddie’s game bag, Mal’s mom a weighty look of disappointment, and Maddie her cleats, which were stained with damp earth and grass.
The green smell of it wafted up into the air, mixing with the scent of decaying leaves.
“It’s fine,” Maddie said, smiling. She looked tired, and also like a zombie. Mal remembered that plan now: a vague, forgotten thing that they’d sworn they would write in their planner but never did.
“I had—we hosted a zine fest at the Haint History thing in Mainstrasse, and—”
“Is that where you were?” their dad asked, still in his Glen’s polo shirt from work. “I stopped by the Haus to pick you up, but you weren’t there.”
The weight on Mal’s shoulders doubled. If her dad, who had worked today, had stopped for them beforehand, it meant he had been even later to Maddie’s game than he might have been otherwise.
“Yeah, sorry,” Mal apologized again. “I—we’ve been planning for it for a while, and I guess I got so wrapped up in it that I… forgot about the game.”
Mal had forgotten to tell their family about the festival too.
No, that wasn’t right. It was more a case of what Emerson had said once about it sometimes being easier to ask forgiveness than permission.
If Mal had asked permission, they were almost certain their mom would have given them a resounding no.
There was a small part of them, too, that still felt protective of the event—and of their space within it.
Still, guilt surged through them now. Mal said, “I’m really sorry, Maddie.”
“I said it’s fine,” Maddie said, her tone suspiciously light as she pressed the button to make the door of their mom’s minivan slide closed. She turned to walk toward the house, Mal close on her heels in the darkness. “How did your thing go?”
“Well, actually. I think we crushed it.” Mal smiled, if a small one. “Or were crushing it. I had to leave early.” The armpits of Mal’s ghost sweater were damp with the effort of booking it up Madison Avenue, the dregs of their shiny makeup now probably much closer to Maddie’s zombie look.
Maddie walked through the door, which their mom held open, and Mal followed. “Really?” she asked. Her smile, as far as Mal could tell, was genuine. “That’s so cool.”
For a moment, Mal thought they might be okay—that Maddie was right, and things were fine.
But they weren’t.
The Flowers family made it inside before Mal’s mom clicked her tongue. Whenever she did this, waited until they were inside, Mal knew things were going to be Bad. They went silent and as still as they could, shuffling on steps as quiet as the thick sole of their comfort Docs would allow.
Maybe—just maybe—they could make it up stairs before—
“You know what, Mal?” their mom said.
Maybe not.
Mal turned. Beside them, Maddie did the same.
“Amanda,” Mal’s dad said under his breath.
“No, Richard,” she snapped. “They need to hear this.”
“What?” Mal asked carefully.
“I’m disappointed in you,” their mom chided. “You shouldn’t be a no-show at your sister’s games.”
“They said sorry, Mom,” Maddie interjected as Mal shrank beside her. “And really, I don’t mind. We’ll win the next game.”
Mal’s eyes flashed to Maddie. “You lost?”
“My good-luck charm wasn’t there.” Maddie shrugged. “But it’s just one game.”
But their mom would not be dissuaded. She perched one hand on her hip, the other waving their dad through the hallway to the laundry room to drop off Maddie’s gear. She shook her head. “I expect more from you, Mal. We don’t ask much, but it’s not very sisterly of you to miss Maddie’s games.”
“Siblingly,” Maddie corrected, but their mom went on.
“I know you have your project now, Mal, but Maddie needs us,” she said. “There was no one there for the whole first half of her game. If she’s going to earn a scholarship, we need to show up to support her.”
“I mean, I still kick ass whether Mal’s there or not.” Maddie shrugged, her voice light, but Mal could see how her forearm tightened in their periphery. “I always do when you and Dad are at work.”
“I know, baby.” Their mom’s voice went soft. “I’m just disappointed in Mal. We’re a team, as a family. We need to show up for each other when we can—and, Mal, you can.”
Mal nodded, their stomach sinking down through the floorboards, where whatever little creatures were surely lurking in the crawl space gnawed on it. “Yes, ma’am.”
“All right,” their mom said. “It’s late. Maddie, why don’t you hit the shower?”
A beat passed, like their mom was dismissing Maddie first. Mal’s stomach sank further. This was never a good sign.
“Yeah, come on, Mal,” Maddie said. “Let’s go.”
If there had been more, their mom didn’t press it. Together, the Flowers siblings retreated up the stairs to their bedrooms. When they were safely out of sight on the landing, Mal turned around to face Maddie, who stopped with them.
“I’m really, really sorry,” they said again.
“No, I’m sorry,” Maddie said, her voice low but fierce. “God, I hate when she gets like that with you!”
“I—” Mal started and stopped. Whatever they had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “What?”
“When she—I don’t know, when she takes out whatever bullshit she’s got going on on you.” Maddie threw her hands up. It was rare that Mal saw her like this: angry, raw, unfiltered. “Like she wasn’t the one who was a full hour late today. Like, why can’t she say all those things to herself?”
Mal shrugged. “I don’t know? I’m easier to be mad at, I guess.”
“Ugh.” Maddie huffed a strange, strangled laugh. “I mean, you’re right, and I hate it.”
“I’m not mad at you or anything.” Mal felt like it was important to clarify. “I know it’s just—her being her.”
“But I’m mad, Mal.” A half a breath later (likely prompted by the look of horror Mal felt blooming on their face), Maddie clarified too. “At her, not you. At, like. Just—I always feel like the biggest asshole when she pulls this shit with you and I can’t stop it.”
“It’s not your job to stop it, Maddie,” Mal said, their voice quiet.
“And my soccer career isn’t your job either, and yet…”
Maddie trailed off.
For a moment, the two siblings were quiet. Mal worried they might get caught, venting like this on the landing, but then the familiar sound of a whispered argument drifted up from downstairs.
“This?” Maddie broke the silence with a whisper, her hands sweeping around the hallway. “This is why I am so glad we’re leaving. Just a little longer, Mal, and I am going to get you out of here. I promise.”
That promise should have made Mal feel better; it always had before. But tonight, there was still the faintest taste of coff-chocolate and peppermint lingering at the corner of their lips. Mal’s heart started to race.
“You don’t have to get me out of here,” they said, their voice small.
“I know you don’t expect—” Maddie stopped mid-sentence. Shook her head, sighed. “I know. I just—I’m going to hug you now, even though I smell like a field rat.”
Mal nodded. They stretched out their arms, wrapped them around Maddie. And Maddie gave them a very tight squeeze, just like she knew Mal liked. It tucked the bits of Mal that had shaken loose during their scolding back into place.
“Love you, duh,” they said into her shoulder.
“Love you, duh,” Maddie said back. “Now I am going to go shower for real. I stink.”
Mal had always liked how Maddie smelled after a game—sweaty and earthy and warm and like Maddie—but they shrugged. “Go on. But come find me if you need me, okay?”
Maddie nodded and went on, so Mal went to their room.
After changing into their warm pajamas—the high ceilings of their old house made for drafts, and it was far enough into fall now that Mal was really feeling them—Mal flopped into their twin-size bed and starfished out, looking up at the ceiling.
In the stark quiet of their room, their head became a different kind of loud—a hundred different yellings and scoldings and excited shrieks and swear words and worries and exhales, all bouncing off the inside of their skull at the same time.
For a while, Mal let everything wash around in there, pinning them to their bed.
Some of it was good—Sam’s smile, the feel of a freshly folded mini zine in their fingers, Maddie’s arms around them, the lingering taste of Burt’s Bees and coff-chocolate from Emerson’s lips.
Some of it was bad—their dad’s face falling, the distant rumble of an argument from the laundry room, the new worry that the way their mom treated them hurt Maddie just as much as them.
It all existed in the same space, at the same time, like the pages of MixxedMedia printing out onto one sheet of paper over and over, each page layering on top of the next, so they could see both all the words and none at all.
Mal wasn’t sure exactly when it happened—ten seconds, ten minutes, ten hours later—but one question finally made itself clear. On the page of Mal’s mind, it solidified in bold and caps lock, legible enough to cut through all the worry:
If it was important to show up for Maddie—if Maddie’s success depended on their support—then why didn’t anyone ever show up for Mal?