Chapter Seventeen
Family is always there to remind you where you came from. -Asher
Asher
“Paging Dr. Asher Cannon! Paging fancy-pants Dr. Asher Cannon!” The shouting and knocking on my door continue, until I finally pull it open. Sunshine spills in through the opening and I blink.
I send my sister a bleary-eyed glare. “What the hell are you doing here this early and why are you harassing me so loud the neighbors probably called the police?”
Chelsea looks down at her watch and then at me. “Why are you so damn grumpy? It’s after eight in the morning. You should be rockin’ and rollin’ at this hour. Aren’t you the one who always used to wake me up for school bright and early?”
I step aside so she can enter. “Late night at the hospital.” Plus, I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking of Lyla’s disappointed face from yesterday. She wants what that older couple has, and I can’t blame her. But am I capable of that? Do I want that? I scrub my face with my hand. Before Lyla, I never thought of it. I thought I would die a cranky old perpetual bachelor. During my thirties, I’ve watched most of my friends get married and have kids. That future never seemed like mine. But the thought of Lyla pregnant doesn’t feel like a turn off. It makes me excited.
“What’s up big brother? What’s got that deep line coming out on your forehead?” She munches on some cereal she pulled from my cabinet and tries to talk around it. “That line usually only comes out when I do something bad. Uh oh, did the school call?”
I glare at her. “No, should they be calling?”
She gives a guilty gulp. “Um no, of course not.” She waves me off with a sheepish look on her face and then catches her bottom lip between her teeth. “I, uh, maybe flunked a couple of classes.” She sighs and sits down. “But I’m working on it.”
I sit down with a thud. Chelsea has been going to community college forever. I’m paying for her to attend since my deadbeat dad doesn’t care to. She has changed majors more times than I can count. She’ll major in one thing, flunk a few classes, then start on another major…it’s been a pattern for the last three and a half years.
“Chels, you have to decide what you want to do and stick to it. And buckle down and study.”
She waves me away and sits down across from me. “I’ll figure it out. You know I always do.” I send her another glare because no she doesn’t. “But what’s wrong besides that? You seem stressed.”
Fuck a duck. Should I mention what’s going on with Lyla? I study my younger sister. Her long brown hair is done up in one of those messy buns that women like to wear and her green eyes twinkle with the mischievousness my younger sister has always displayed. It hits me again as I look at the delicate features of her face: she’s an adult now. She’s no longer the kid that used to follow me around from place to place with her stuffed teddy bear in her arms.
“I, um, started dating someone and I think it’s getting serious. I’m just not sure I want it to, though. Or that I’m capable of you know…all that.” I spread my arms wide. “Marriage, kids, all the rest.”
Chelsea arches an eyebrow. “All the rest? You make it sound like some disease.” She takes one final crunch of her cereal and then sits back with her arms folded. “I assume your cautiousness has to do with our parentals and their lack of care when we were growing up?’
I snort. “Lack of care? Is that what you call it?”
Chelsea examines her fingernails. “Probably better to say that then, “are your concerns related to the dickheads who were supposed to raise us?” which is what I really want to say.”
As the youngest, Chelsea saw the worst of our parents’ behavior, but I could remember the years before, before the fighting, before the affairs…it was a small time in history, but it was there.
I sigh. “They tried, Chels.” Well, they did occasionally. When they felt like it.
Her eyes swim with tears. “You mean they tried when they weren’t too busy hating each other to love us?”
This is why I have doubts. This is why I can’t trust marriage or kids. My parents caused so much pain in their wake. Why would I do that to some helpless kid?
I slowly nod. “Yeah, pretty much. See why I have my doubts about whether I’m capable of marriage and all that stuff?”
Chelsea shrugs. “Our parents may be douches, but I do remember one bright spot in my life growing up.”
“What?” I ask curiously. The bad times far outweighed the good.
I was twelve when I first started noticing my dad’s frequent overnight trips. When I noticed my mom crying in corners, and when I finally saw the cracks in the foundation of my parent’s marriage. Once the crack started, it just split everything in half. Anger was the one constant in our household. My dad once told me that men weren’t meant to be with one woman, especially as he put it, one who turned into a “raging bitch” on frequent occasions. And that was one of the nicer things he called my mom. As for my mother, she checked out when I was a teenager, not long after Chelsea was born. Chelsea was five when she checked out for good and started a whole new family. Our visits to her new family and our new stepdad were very infrequent and we were always made to feel like outsiders. And mom and dad still argued every time they saw each other. Birthdays, graduations, you name it…there was a Cannon fight for the occasion. It was tiring.
What happy memories could Chelsea have? I tried my best to shield her, but war is hard to shield children from, especially a war in their own house.
She points at me. “You. You were my bright spot. Every sports event, every play, every event I ever had, you were there. And you made time for me, even when I know there were better things to do than hanging out with your little sister. You were my parent, not them.”
I feel emotion well up in my throat. I tried for her. I tried to be there. Was trying good enough?
“I didn’t want you to feel alone, little sis. I wanted you to know you had someone in your corner.”
She reaches across the table for my hand and pats it. “You did a great job. I always knew you were there if I needed you. And I’m sure whatever kids you’ll have will know it too.”
The pit in my stomach still doesn’t go away. Being a big brother was hard enough. Being a father, being a husband…those seem like impossible jobs.