Chapter 37
AS I STAND AT THE bottom of the stairs watching my parents move around the kitchen the next morning, I try to remember all the little details that I’ve never taken the time to notice before.
The way my dad leaves the sugar canister open for my mom when he’s done and shuts every cabinet door behind her.
The way my mom closes her eyes and hovers over her WORLD’S BEST MOM mug before she takes a sip of her steaming coffee.
The way they move around each other, hands dragging across each other’s arms and backs so they orbit and never fully collide. I don’t ever want to forget that.
“Oh shit,” my mom curses as she bangs her mug on the corner of the countertop. Another green-and-white ceramic chip breaks off and falls to the floor.
“I think it might be time for a new one anyway, Mom,” I tell her, making my presence known as I walk into the kitchen.
She drops her jaw dramatically.
“You wash your mouth out with soap! This is the perfect mug,” she replies, clutching it tight to her chest like it’s really something that was worth holding on to for all these years.
“If you say so,” I say as I force a smile and swallow the tears that have been scratching behind my eyes all morning.
“I’m headin’ out,” my dad announces, slipping on his boots behind me.
I’m not sure that I’ve even hugged him once since I woke up in the hospital, but before he has the chance to turn and leave through the front door, I run over and throw my arms around him.
“I love you, Dad,” I whisper.
He tenses up at first, surprised I’m sure, but then his strong arms settle around me as I turn my face into his coveralls.
I’ve never liked the way the smell of the garage follows him everywhere he goes, but this morning I find some sort of comfort in it as my fingers rub against the peeling vinyl letters across his back, spelling out GREEN’S AUTO REPAIR.
“All right. I’ll see you tonight, kiddo.” He kisses the top of my head.
An I love you too would’ve been nice, but my dad’s never been particularly great when it comes to feelings.
It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love me. I know he does…
well, for now, at least. After he reads my letter tonight, he might feel a little different, so maybe it’s best that I don’t have to hear it from him now and imagine him regretting it.
He lets me go and turns for the door at the same time.
I blink the tears out of my eyes, doing simple math problems in my head to think about anything other than this. To force my emotions down somewhere deep.
“Here’s your coffee, Stevie. I’ll see you tonight,” my mom says from behind me as I watch my dad climb into his truck out the front window.
Wait. She wasn’t supposed to leave so early. We were supposed to have more time.
I try to calm my breathing.
21 x 3 = 63
128 ÷ 2 = 64
7 + 5 = 12
“Where are you going? The farmers’ market doesn’t open until nine. I was thinking we could have breakfast before you go,” I say, keeping my back to her, knowing what will happen if I have to look at her.
“Anne wants me there at eight to help set up,” she says.
A tear rolls down my cheek.
32 x 6 = 192
47 - 28 = 19
Her hand settles on my back and my dad’s truck is nothing but a blur as it disappears around the oak tree that the three of us planted together when I was a kid.
74 ÷ 3 = two, carry the one… shit.
“Stevie, what’s wrong?” my mom asks. Concern fills her voice as she spins me around, her dark-brown eyes meeting mine.
“I’m just…” I could tell her. Right here. I could tell her everything and hope that things would go differently this time. “… I wish every night could be like last night,” I finish lamely, the rest of it getting stuck in my throat.
“Oh, sweetie.” She wipes the tear off my cheek and sets the coffee she poured for me on the kitchen island behind her. “We’ll have more. Okay? I promise.”
I nod even though I know how wrong she is.
“Maybe we can watch a movie or start a campfire when I get back.” She offers me an encouraging smile.
I don’t answer her. Instead, I avoid her eyes as she pulls me into a hug. Just as she starts to let me go, I pick my arms up from where they were dangling at my sides and wrap them tightly around her, making her stay a little longer.
“I can cancel today if you want?” she asks.
“No. No. You should go,” I tell her, knowing I can’t have her here today for several reasons.
I still have a lot of packing to do, and if she stays, it’ll be that much harder for me to leave.
I’m starting to fully understand why I made the decisions I made the first time around, the reason I put distance between the two of us.
It wasn’t just because of the way she reacted to my coming out, it was to make things easier on myself, too.
“Okay, well, text me if you need anything. I’ll see you tonight,” she says, giving my hand one last squeeze.
And then just like that, she’s walking out the front door as if this is any other day of the week. As if I’m not moving across the country tonight. As if this isn’t the last time we might see each other.
After she’s gone, I reach into my back pocket and give my letter one final read before leaving it on the kitchen counter for them to find when they get home tonight. One way or another this letter is going to change everything.