23. Jonah
TWENTY-THREE
Jonah
11:47 AM
The phone breaks the silence with, "I'm Sexy And I Know It."Normally, that makes me smile. Today, it grates on my nerves. I pick it up and glance at the screen, expecting a work notification, but my chest tightens when I see the name: Mom .
Why the hell is she calling me, now? I've got enough on my plate to have to deal with her feigned care for one of her kids. Both of my parents are good at playing the concerned parent when things go sideways, but there is nothing solid to back it up.
And I wonder why I'm so fucked up.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, forcing my tone to stay light.
“Jonah,” she replies, her voice softer than I remember. “Hi. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”
It’s a terrible time, but I can’t exactly say that. “Not at all,” I lie. “What’s up?”
There’s a pause, long enough to feel awkward. “About the gambling debts, and... well, the trouble she’s in. I wanted to call and see what you think Dad and I can do.”
There it is—the hollow offer. Too little, too late.
I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “How did you hear?”
“She called,” she admits, her voice quieter now. “Yesterday. She didn’t say much, just that she’s staying with you and... that she’s in some kind of mess. I didn’t push her for details, but she sounded scared, Jonah. Really scared.”
I let out a slow breath, leaning against the counter. That tracks. Lila wouldn’t give Mom the full story, not when she barely opens up to me. “She’s dealing with a lot,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “Gambling debts. Bad decisions. It’s catching up with her, and I’m trying to help, but it’s not exactly straightforward.”
“She mentioned something about money,” Mom says hesitantly, and I can hear the guilt creeping into her voice. “Jonah, I didn’t realize how bad it’s gotten. Why didn’t you tell us as soon as she showed up there?”
I bark out a short laugh, unable to hold it back. “Tell you? When’s the last time you and Dad wanted to hear about Lila’s problems, or anyone’s for that matter? The first thing she’d tell you, you’d write off as her fault and stop listening.”
“That’s not fair,” she protests, though there’s little heat in her voice. “I’ve always wanted to help, Jonah. We just didn’t know how.”
“Funny how that worked out,” I snap. “You didn’t know how, so you just... didn’t.”
She’s quiet on the other end, and I know my words landed harder than I intended. But I can’t take them back. And deep down, I’m not sure I want to.
“I don’t understand,” she says, her voice tinged with frustration. “How did it get this far?”
I let out a slow breath, gripping the counter. “Because we weren’t there for her, Mom. She didn’t think she could call any of us for help. And, honestly? I don’t blame her.”
Her silence on the other end feels heavy, weighted with unspoken guilt. “I keep thinking about how we handled things back then,” she says quietly. “Or how we didn’t. Maybe if we’d done things differently…”
“Don’t,” I cut her off, sharper than I mean to. “There’s no point rehashing all that now.”
“But I’ve failed all of you,” she presses, her voice trembling. “We practically pushed her out when she needed us the most. And you?—”
“Let’s not do this,” I interrupt, my jaw tightening. “We all made choices, Mom. Lila included.”
She exhales shakily, and I can tell she’s holding back tears. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, Jonah. But I’ve been thinking a lot about Dell, even before Lila called me.”
The name slams into me like a fist. My grip on the counter tightens. “That was a long time ago,” I say, my voice quieter now.
“I know,” she says gently. “But it broke us, Jonah. All of us. You, Eddie, Lila, your dad, and me. We all fell apart in different ways, and I don’t think any of us ever really put the pieces back together. And that falls on us as parents, not you kids.”
Her words stir memories I’ve spent years burying. Dell’s laugh. The fear in his voice when he slipped. The silence that followed.
“I shouldn’t have made him come,” I say before I can stop myself. The words feel foreign, as if they belong to someone else. But I've never admitted that out loud, and for some reason, I feel compelled to say it.
“Jonah,” she says firmly, “you were a kid. It wasn’t your fault.”
“That’s not how it felt,” I reply, my throat tight. “Not then. Not now. The whole town blamed me, and maybe they were right. He died. I lived.”
“You survived, but barely,” she says softly. “You were broken, Jonah. We all were.”
I don’t respond. The silence stretches between us, heavy with the weight of the past.
“Eddie moved away to escape it,” she continues, her voice gentler now. “You went to Alabama to try to put it behind you. And Lila… she was just a kid, Jonah. She lost you and Eddie, and she was left alone to navigate it all. I wish I had seen that then.”
I rub the back of my neck. The familiar pang of guilt sinks deeper. “Why are you bringing this up now?”
“Because I don’t want to keep making the same mistakes,” she says, her tone resolute. “I know I can’t undo the past, but I can do better now. I want to show up for Lila. She deserves that. You all do.”
Her words catch me off guard. I lean against the counter, trying to process the shift. “This isn’t going to be a simple fix, Mom,” I warn. “Lila’s got a lot to work through. Financially, emotionally, and possibly legally. It’s not just about showing up this time. She needs solutions.”
“I know,” she says, her voice steady. “But I’m ready to do whatever it takes. Your dad is, too.”
A lump forms in my throat, but I push it down. I’m not ready to let hope creep in—not yet.
We fall into silence, but it feels less strained than usual. Almost... familiar.
I give her the details about Lila’s medical stuff and what I know, which isn't much. She says they’re driving down today and will see me later. I don’t know if they’ll follow through, but for once, it feels like they might.
Her unexpected ownership of all the shit we went through because they didn't know how to parent through a crisis is new, so maybe she means it. That remains to be seen.
The truth is, the damage was done long before now. When everyone in our town turned on me, when they whispered behind my back and acted like I pushed Dell off that tower, my parents should’ve been the ones standing up for me and beside me. They weren’t.
They didn’t wrap us in a cocoon or try to shield us from the fallout. They held their heads down like they had something to be ashamed of. They didn't have to say it, I knew they felt the same as everyone else. They blamed me.
In the process, everyone in our family was neglected, and we eventually all fell apart.
Lila was only eleven when it happened. She lost her entire childhood.
The truth is, it could be too late to fix any of us. I’m not sure there’s anything left that is fixable in me at this point. But maybe it’s not too late for Lila. Maybe if she knows they care—if they show up for once—it’ll be enough to help her pull herself together and get the help she needs.
When the call ends, I set the phone down and stare out the window. The weight of it all is still there, but so is something else—something I’m not used to. Hope. Small and fragile, and a little bitter around the edges, but there all the same.
Friday, March 6
X ? Downtown BHAM
7:41 AM
I needed to get out of my place and burn off some of this energy. I’m halfway through my run, sweat dripping down my back, when I spot her.
Harper.
She’s over by the free weights, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail, a look of focused determination on her face as she does bicep curls. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since our conversation at the hospital on Wednesday, and the sight of her sends a flicker of guilt through me.
She's been trying to be there for me, but I've given her as little as possible to avoid letting her in. I've been a dick.
I slow the treadmill to a jog as my thoughts circle back to the call with Mom yesterday. The way she admitted her failures, the regret in her voice—it stuck with me.
And now, watching Harper, I can’t shake the parallel. How I pushed her away and snapped at her when she was only trying to help wasn’t so different from what my parents did to me after Dell’s death. Shutting out compassion because it's easier than facing the reality.
I step off the treadmill and grab a towel to wipe my face. My feet carry me toward her almost on instinct.
“Hey,” I say, my voice loud enough to catch her attention over the music but more timid than my norm.
She looks up, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Jonah. Hey.”
“You’re here early,” I say, nodding toward the clock. “You worked last night, didn't you?”
She sets the weights down, brushing her hands on her thighs. “Yeah. I got off at seven and figured I'd burn off some gas before crashing. Are you going in today?”
“No, I am off today and will be on call this weekend,” I admit, leaning casually against the rack. “Figured a run might do me good.”
She nods, but there’s a guardedness in her expression that wasn’t there before. I can’t blame her.
“Look,” I say, exhaling slowly. “About the other day. I'm sorry I've been checked out. I shouldn’t have snapped at you when you offered sane advice about how to handle this.”
Her brow furrows, and she crosses her arms, waiting for me to continue. “You were frustrated,” she says. “I get it.”
“No, it’s more than that,” I say, shaking my head. “You were right, Harper. About Lila. About me. I'm not used to being so open with another person. Worrying about my sister, wanting to help her somehow, knowing I couldn't fix it—it was just a lot. And instead of dealing with that, I took it out on you.”
She studies me for a moment, her expression softening slightly. “Jonah, I wasn’t trying to tell you what to do. I just—” She hesitates, searching for the right words. “I just want what’s best for you. For both of you.”
“I know,” I say, my voice quieter now. “And I appreciate it. I mean it.”
There’s a pause, and I feel the weight of everything unsaid hanging between us. The tension, the history, the pull I’ve been trying to ignore.
“Do you want to grab a coffee or something after this?” I ask, surprising myself with the question.
She tilts her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Are you asking because you want coffee or because you think I’ll say yes?”
“Maybe a little of both,” I admit, a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth.
She laughs softly, and for the first time in days, the knot in my chest loosens. “Alright,” she says, grabbing her water bottle. “But I’m picking the place.”
“Deal,” I say, following her toward the exit.
As we walk out, I catch the faintest flicker of something easing inside me. It’s nothing I can put my finger on, but for the first time in a while, the load I'm carrying doesn’t feel quite so heavy.