21. Samuel
SAMUEL
WHAT IF I COULD TELL YOU THE TRUTH?
I must’ve sat there for five minutes, staring into the void the letter harboured, before Dad put his hand on my shoulder.
“Aren’t you happy?” he asked.
My head darted to his hand, then his face, then to Mom, whose eyebrows knitted together into a single line.
“I... am happy,” I said, putting on a smile, but it faded straight away.
“It’s...” I couldn’t possibly tell them about Benji.
They’d voiced their opinions of him loud enough already, and just mentioning him would make it sound like I was considering throwing away the scholarship for his sake.
I knew perfectly well it would be stupid to do that.
I wasn’t leaving the planet; I was only going to college.
But still, I was allowed to be sad about the fact that the unbothered phase of Benji and me had come to a premature end that I didn’t see coming.
“It’s what?” Mom asked.
“...the job at the farm,” I lied, as I couldn't think of a better excuse. “I like it and came to peace with the idea of working there. That’s all.”
“Stuff like that happens.” Dad put on a smile, tapping my shoulder. “I promise, once you’re on campus, you’ll have forgotten about it in no time.”
Something in his words wedged itself into my stomach the wrong way. Even if the emptiness in my chest had actually been about the job, there was no reason to forget about it.
“I hope I don’t? I’ve met quite a few nice people there.”
“Colleagues come and go,” Mom said, reaching for my hand.
“That’s one of the weird things about life.
You can spend every day with someone you see more often than your family, but once that thing that connects you to them is gone, you’ll never think about them again.
I don't even recall most of the people I met at the kindergarten or the library. That’s life. So come on, let’s put on a happy face.”
“You’ve worked so hard for this,” Dad chimed in. “This is a huge accomplishment.”
“Why don’t we celebrate?” Mom said. “How about we get a table at that Mexican restaurant you liked, what was it called again?” She looked at Dad. “Chello something.”
“I know which one you mean. I think it was Cielo... uh...”
“Cielo Azul,” I said, remembering the place well.
It smelled like cilantro, and the live mariachi band was so loud you couldn’t hear what the person sitting next to you said.
The food was decent, but we’ve only been there once, and I can’t remember saying I liked it, which made it even weirder that they now treated it like my favorite restaurant in the world.
As much as I appreciated the gesture, I felt more like I needed an evening to process everything rather than celebrate. “But maybe we can go another day?”
Their eyes met briefly, as if they both thought the same thing.
“Why?” Dad asked. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Really. The day was just exhausting, and I’m sweaty from work. I think I'd enjoy it more on another night.”
Mom sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Leave it, Michael.” She withdrew her hand from mine and got up, walking toward the balcony, looking through the glass door as she crossed her arms. “He probably has someone else he’d rather spend the evening with.”
“What are you talking about?” I sat up straight, clutching the letter tightly.
“Nothing,” she replied, her voice sharper now. “It’s fine. If you’re too tired, we’ll go whenever.”
“Brenda,” Dad said, reaching a hand out to her.
“No.” Her left arm shot out, her hand forming into a shield. “I’m fine.”
Dad stopped, his gaze drifting toward me, begging me to think about it again.
“I’m sorry,” I said, standing up right away. “We can go. If you give me a few minutes to freshen up, I’m sure?—”
“If you’re tired, you’re tired,” she cut in. She stared outside, taking such a deep breath that a cold shudder ran down my neck. “I don’t want to celebrate with someone who doesn’t want to be there anyway.”
Her words left me speechless. I looked at her, seeing the woman who’d taken care of me for so long, but somehow in that moment, it felt like she was an entirely different person.
She glanced over her shoulder, staring at me, her ear nudging closer as if she were waiting for a reply.
“Mom?” I asked. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.” As if this question alone hurt her, she let out a scoff of disbelief. “I’m happy you got accepted into college.”
“Why are you like this?” I asked. “I just said we can go right now if it’s that important to you.”
“It should be important to you , Samuel. We’ve done so much to support you, yet you prefer to spend the evening?—”
“Brenda,” Dad interrupted her. “It’s okay if he’s tired.”
“Could someone please tell me what’s going on?” I pressed, because clearly this wasn’t just about me not wanting to celebrate right now.
“This is not how I raised you is all I’m going to say,” she said, grabbing her purse, which she had hung over the backrest of the chair, and stomping past me. “Trying to make us look stupid. As if that job at the farm made you reconsider going to college.”
“I never said I wasn’t going to accept?—”
She stopped at the door, spinning around, her voice hitching. “Then why aren’t you happy, Samuel? Why?”
“I am happy.”
“Well, your face tells another story.”
“Honey—” Dad chimed in, but he had no chance.
“It’s okay, Michael. I haven’t forgotten, and I’m going to leave now.
Are you happy about that?” Her voice broke like the voice of someone about to cry.
She rushed out of the apartment, the door slamming behind her, leaving Dad and me standing in silence, staring at the spot where she just used to be.
He turned to me, eyes wide behind his glasses.
“Dad, I don’t understand,” I said, my brain running a thousand miles a minute to figure out why this made her so upset.
Dad drew a long breath, as if weighing whether to let me in on her reasoning or not. He finally sighed, pointed to the chair behind me, walked to the one Mom had abandoned, and slumped into it, his hands laced tight as he leaned over the table.
“Samuel, we love you and we are on your side,” he said, as if I had forgotten that. “We want you to become an honorable adult who’s making the right decisions for his life.”
“And you think I’m not doing that?”
“We think you’re on the right track. That you believed in yourself and kept going despite all the hardships you faced is one of the things that earned you that scholarship, and that we admire about you greatly.
This achievement is entirely yours. Your mom’s just upset that you can’t celebrate this right now with her. ”
“I’m sorry if I wasn’t enthusiastic immediately. I am excited and grateful for this opportunity and everything you did. And I want to celebrate this with you two, really. Who else would I be celebrating it with?”
“Samuel,” Dad pulled his lips into a line, tilting his head. “You know exactly who your mother meant when that sentence slipped her mind. And I’m pretty sure you see the problem in that relationship yourself. Why else would you have kept it a secret from us?”
“What relationship?” I asked, playing dumb.
They knew about Benji; that much was clear. But how? Did they see us kissing in the car? That couldn’t be it. Even if they had been standing on the balcony, it was too steep to look through the car’s window from up here.
“Your relationship with that Putnam boy—or, I should say, man. He's no longer a kid, even if he still manages to cause plenty of trouble.” He kept his voice calm and low, but the sincerity in it made my chest clench like it was about to turn to stone. “We’ve known ever since you went over to his place for dinner, and I guess you know perfectly well what went down that night, how he beat up his cousin, how his own family called the cops on him. It was honestly quite a shock to hear from his cousin that you were there as well. I pulled all my strings to prevent you from getting involved further after the incident. So you can’t blame us for being worried that you continued to meet up with him afterward. ”
“Benji wasn’t at fault for what happened.”
“I understand how it must be for you to find someone who is like you. But believe me, there are better options out there. Maybe not in Red Creek, but once you go to college, I’m sure?—”
“How can you say that?” I interrupted him, as I’ve had enough. “You don’t know the first thing about Benji. All you see is what other people tell you.”
“That’s objectively speaking not true?—”
“I doubt that.” I raised my voice. “I know him better than anyone. Sure, he’s not flawless, but he’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met.”
Dad took a deep breath, like this conversation was going to be a lot harder for him than he thought it would be. “I find that difficult to believe, but I won’t question your judgment.”
“Yeah, you shouldn’t. I don’t even have the words to tell you how wrong you are about him. And, for the record, I haven’t told you about it only because I knew you’d freak out.”
“No one is freaking out?—“
“So I hallucinated that Mom stomped away five minutes ago?”
“All we’re saying is that we’re a little worried.”
“About what? That I’ll throw my future away?”
“Honestly, yes.”
“Well, you can stop worrying then, because I won’t do that.” I jumped out of my chair, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible. I didn’t have anywhere to go or anything else to say, yet I stood there as if this were only the beginning of my first fight with my parents.
Dad looked at me, taking me in, his face unmoving.
“If that’s the case, I guess this is settled then.
” He got up, his gaze on the floor, walking past me without looking up.
He made it to the door, then paused. “One more word of advice. You should terminate the lease agreement right away if you don’t want to stay in this apartment.
Otherwise, get ready to pay for the whole year. ”