Chapter 19 Heath
HEATH
I close the door behind me and check time.
It’s past eleven pm.
Did I intentionally come late? Yes.
I wasn’t going to attend a fucking family dinner when we are anything but family. Plus, I knew there’d be less talking and more fighting. I wasn’t in the mood to exchange fucking insults with my parents. Besides, Mom would get emotional and I’m not in the mood for that either.
I walk down the quiet hallway noticing that my parents aren’t lurking in the living room like they usually do nowadays.
They wait up for me which is the strangest thing ever.
Seriously, why do they sacrifice their sleep for me?
Also, why the fuck now? They didn’t care before when they were living their perfect, happy lives in Canada, pretending they didn’t have two children living alone in a small town like they’re orphans.
As I think more, those thoughts turn my mood bitter.
I decide to turn back around and spend the night somewhere else, when I hear quiet whisperings coming out of the kitchen.
Curiosity piques my interest, and I make my way towards it.
“You barely ate dinner, Mia Cara. You should eat something,” Dad says.
“I’m not feeling hungry.”
“Then why are you making blueberry muffins?”
“Maybe Heath likes them. You do.”
He sighs. “I only like them because you make them.”
“You are always so sweet. I’m glad I married you.”
“Me too. I love you with all my heart.”
A second later their kissing noises filter out of the room and I close my eyes and wince.
My parents are nauseatingly in love with each other.
Love.
The word makes my heart race.
I quickly push it back, refusing to think about it.
“Heath isn’t home yet. I’m going to head out to find him,” Dad says, his tone laced with worry that he rarely shows when it comes to me. “He better not be in any trouble. One record was enough to give me a fucking heart attack.”
“He’ll be fine,” Mom assures him.
“He better be. I don’t want to lose him.”
A knot ties my stomach in a vice grip.
I had no idea that he cared about me. All he’s showed me is indifference. I was sure that I don’t matter to him.
I lean hard against the wall as I listen to their conversation.
“You should talk to him. I think we both should.”
“I would if he’d stop hating me for one second.”
“He doesn’t hate you.”
“He does and he has all the reason to do so. I’m the worst father ever.”
“Xavier, that’s not true. He doesn’t—”
I turn the corner—not able to control myself—and watch them stiffen. Mom gasps and Dad slips on a cold mask that doesn’t let me read him, but his eyes say everything. They soften in relief and his shoulders loosen up.
“Heath, you’re home,” Mom rushes forward and hugs me. “Thank God.”
I’m slowly learning that Mom loves hugging me—it’s unavoidable.
The way she sees me and then barrels right at me as if she can’t control herself.
And then she hugs me and the emptiness inside me starts filling with warmth.
I never thought it’d fill up with anything, much less getting a hug from my mother.
On instinct, I lie my palm on her back.
“You’re safe,” she murmurs.
Before I can interrupt someone else speaks up.
“You could’ve showed up three hours ago. Your mother worked hard to prepare dinner,” Dad’s tone is accusing, but it contradicts with the way he watches me as if I matter to him.
Why didn’t I notice this before?
I say nothing as I separate myself from my mother and look at the island. It’s filled with equipment and ingredients needed to make cupcakes.
“What’s happening here?” I arch an eyebrow, fully acting like I know nothing.
Mom jumps with the reply. “I’m making blueberry muffins.”
I nod.
“I’ve just started, maybe you could help me make them?” she asks, eyes full of hope. “Your father has work to do so you can keep me company while he attends meetings and phone calls.”
Dad slants his head and stares at her. They share a quiet look that speaks a thousand words.
Then, he turns to me and says, “Keep her company and don’t be a menace.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not a fucking menace.”
He narrows his eyes. “Avoid cursing in front of your mother.”
I glare. “How about you—”
“Xavier, leave. We’ll be fine.” Mom says in a strong voice.
Dad sighs and looks at Mom with a defeated look. “After this, you’re sleeping. Tomorrow is an important day.”
I frown. “What’s tomorrow?”
Mom smiles. “Nothing.”
Before I can ask Dad, he leaves in a hurry.
I stare hard at Mom. “What is tomorrow?”
She looks down at the bowl. “Just a couple of tests.”
I straighten up and near her. “What kind of tests?”
“It’s nothing—”
“Tell me! Are you dying? Do you have can—” my voice cracks before I can utter that word. Cancer. It isn’t hard to say that word in my head, but saying it out loud is a different story—that makes it real and I don’t want real.
Mom pales and she erases the distance between us and holds my hand. “No! I’m fine. I don’t have cancer. I’m not dying. I promise, I’m alright, Heath.”
“You promise?” I croak out, watching her eyes closely.
She nods. “Yes. I’m okay.”
“Then what kind of tests do you have tomorrow?”
She hesitates for a moment. “A blood test to see if I have anemia.”
“Is that serious?”
She nods. “It is, but I can treat it with medicine and diet.”
“Are you sure, that is all?”
“Yes.”
I don’t feel relieved. Worry slithers into my heart and makes a fucking home alongside Emery’s.
I hate that I’m worried for my mother. But I don’t want to lose her.
I make a mental note to look into it on Google.
My eyes narrow on her as I ask, “If I find out that you’re lying to me, I’ll stop speaking to you.”
She squeezes my hand that I haven’t pulled away. “I’m not lying.”
I nod and slowly pull my hand away.
“Are you hungry? There are leftovers that I can heat up.” She suggests, not paying attention to her blueberry muffins.
“I’ve already eaten.” Marie ordered pizza and overfed me. Sometimes, I forget how persuasive she can be.
“Right,” she murmurs. “I made Grilled salmon with rice and steamed broccoli.”
“I hate broccoli,” I reply.
She beams at me. “You do? Me too. But your dad likes so I just put it in there.”
“I also hate spinach.”
“But I saw you putting it into your milkshake the other day.”
I move toward the cupboard and take out a glass and fill it with water. After taking a sip, I answer, “Doesn’t mean I don’t fucking hate it. I have to take it because it’s important for muscles and overall health.”
Mom watches me in wonder. “I had no idea.”
“In the past year or so, I’ve started taking care of myself.”
She catches on to what I’m trying to say. After Emery’s death.
I throw back the rest of the water down my throat and place it down on the island.
The air grows thick with silence and awkwardness, making it hard for me to stay rooted and not leave. The grief we share is still too fresh and new to talk about and it nearly suffocates the space
Mom doesn’t move from her place. She looks like she’s lost in deep thought.
I clear my throat and catch her attention. “Do you want to make those cupcakes or not?”
“Uh, yes, the muffins. They’re a bit different than cupcakes.” She fidgets with her necklace. “Maybe I can make them tomorrow.”
I shake my head, noticing the way her lower lip wobbles. If she goes to her room right now she’s going to cry a river and Dad will be on my ass.
I’m not a fucking menace.
“Tomorrow is too late,” I grumble and sit down at one of the bar stools.
Mom starts measuring ingredients and makes two bowls. One contains wet ingredients and the other dry—as she tells me when I ask.
“How was school?” she asks out of nowhere.
“It was fine.”
At once she looks up at me with a smirk. “I met one of your friends today.”
“What friend? How do you even know they’re my friend?”
“She said you’re friends.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re my friend.”
She pauses. “She sounded like she knows you.”
I frown. Do I have a fucking stalker?
“And you believed her?” I ask, confused.
She nods. “She was the sweetest girl and so pretty.”
“What did she say?”
“Not much,” she says with a smile. “But she said you talk to her sometimes.”
For fuck’s sake, who is this girl? The only girl I talk to is Hope.
“Did she tell you her name?”
Mom grins so hard it fills her whole face with happiness. “Hope.”
Fuck me.
The muscles in my body tighten and air escapes my lungs.
“You met Hope? The one with brown hair and brown eyes.”
“Yes! That’s the one.” Mom agrees. “She was also holding a book in her hands. I think she likes books.”
Tell me about it.
Fuck! My mother met Hope out of all the people in the town. It had to be her and no one else.
What bothers me the most is, she said nothing of the sort to me when I drove back home.
Why didn’t she tell me?
“We were at the cafe waiting for our orders when I started talking to her. She told me you guys are friends.” She turns on the whisking machine. “Why haven’t I seen her around?”
“She has stuff to do,” I reply.
“Ah! She told me she has quizzes this week otherwise she’d come to the dinner.”
“What? You invited her for dinner. Here?”
Mom looks unfazed as she stops the whisking machine and tastes the batter. “I loved talking to her, and she is your friend.”
Frustration bubbles under my skin. “She’s not my friend, she’s my—” I stop.
She gives me her full attention. “Your what?”
I stare at her weighing my options. If I tell her she’ll get invested in my relationship and ask me questions.
And if I don’t tell her, then I’m being a shitty boyfriend who’s hiding his relationship from his parents and not showing off his girlfriend.
I’m doing it to protect Hope, but she doesn’t deserve to be hidden.
Nothing. I want to utter that word, but I can’t get it out of my mouth.
I can’t tell anyone that Hope is my nothing. It’s fucking ridiculous. I just can’t do it.
Fuck it.
I’ll just tell her. They’re going to find it out anyway.