6. Liam
6
LIAM
W hen I wake up, it’s pouring. I hate the rain. Part of why I was eager to leave London and live with my dad when I was younger was to get away from the terrible weather. Not that New York is so much better, but I prefer the seasons to the constant rain and fog. The only problem is that even now, in the dead of August, I feel cold inside. Have for the past six months.
Ever since I watched them lower Luke’s body into the ground.
After dragging myself to the shower, I go to the kitchen and see a note sitting on the counter next to the bouquet I got for Whitney.
Thanks for the flowers.
That’s it?
This is from the girl whose grocery list on the fridge has exclamation points after every single item. That’s the loudest period I’ve ever seen.
So, she’s definitely not over it. Why do I even care? I fucked up, I apologized, and now it’s done. If she can’t forgive me, that’s on her. Staring at the note, I crumble it in my hands and throw it away. Why does the thought of her being upset piss me off so much? She said thank you. It’s done.
Later, I’m in my room finishing the last of my unpacking when I hear a knock at my door. Turning down the music blasting from my speaker, I answer. “Yeah?”
“Can I come in?” Whitney’s voice asks from behind the door.
“That’s generally what ‘yeah’ means.”
The door opens, her bored expression meeting mine. “‘Yeah’ doesn’t always mean enter. You should be more precise,” she says in a matter-of-fact voice.
I suppress an eye roll, knowing that if I react to her attitude I’m only going to make things worse. “You’re right. Sorry about that. I’ll be more transparent in future,” I reply.
She narrows her eyes as if she doesn’t believe me, then huffs, crossing her arms. “How do you want to handle rent and utilities? Venmo, or…?”
A moment stretches between us. I can’t stop looking at her eyelashes. Why are they so long?
“Is there another option coming, love?”
“Don’t call me that.” She shifts her weight. “Olivia always Venmo’d me.”
I smirk. “Venmo works.”
“Cool,” she replies.
“Was there something else?” I prompt, trying to keep my voice as light as possible.
“Yes.” She stands rod-straight, her chin lifted. “I was wondering if you’d like to do a chore wheel.”
I blink at her. “What’s a chore wheel?”
“It’s a wheel you spin to decide what chore you do.”
Is she serious? I try my hardest not to smirk. “There’s only two of us. Why would we need a wheel? I’ll clean up after myself.”
“In case we wanted to mix it up and have different chores,” she clarifies.
“Then we can just switch. Bloody hell, you’re a handful.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
“Excuse me?”
“Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” I admit. “Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it, yeah? I don’t need a wheel.”
“Fine. Forget it,” she grits out, turns on her heels, and struts out of my room, slamming the door behind her.
Well, I fucked that one.
Seriously? What the hell is it about this girl that has my heckles raising? It’s like no matter what comes out of that perfect mouth of hers, I turn into the worst version of myself. Maybe if I stopped counting her eyelashes or staring at her lips, she wouldn’t bother me so much.
I realize with a grimace I forgot to ask her about my dad staying with us in November. Whatever. I still have a few months, so I’ll get around to it. Hopefully by then we’ll be on better terms, or at the very least, our conversations won’t end with a door slam.
A guy can hope.
My phone rings with an incoming call from my mum. I stare at it for a few seconds, thinking. I really don’t want to get into the whole me-dropping-out-of-school thing right now — or ever for that matter — but I can’t avoid her forever. All I can hope is that Simon isn’t on the call. He loves to slide in on our conversations and ask me questions about my life and call me buddy.
“Hello?”
“Liam, darling! You’re alive! I’d never know it given how little I hear from you.”
There’s that passive aggressive charm I know and love.
“Hi, Mum. Sorry it’s been a while. Things have just been…” I trail off, unsure of what I was going to say. Horrible? Depressing? Filled with dread? “Before you say anything, I’ll come over there for Christmas, if you’d like.”
I haven’t been home in a while, so I’m not surprised when she squeals in glee on the other line. The sound of it sent a wave of guilt through me, my stomach knotting.
“Simon! Simon, come here!”
I suppress an eye roll as I hear Simon’s voice on the other line.
“You’re on speakerphone, honey,” my mum says.
“Hi, Simon,” I say, trying to keep any irritation from seeping into my tone.
“Alright, Liam?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Grand, yeah.”
This is the extent of my relationship with my stepfather.
“Liam’s going to come for the holidays. For Christmas!”
My mum is thrilled, and I can’t help a small smile that I’ve pleased her with this. I suppose I’ll tell her about dropping out when I visit them.
“Will you stay for the new year?”
I shake my head. “Probably not. Rather be back in the city.”
“Can’t wait to see you, mate. We’ve been thinking about you over here. Really just hoping you’re alright.” Simon’s tone is friendly but laced with pity.
I hate that fucking pity.
“Simon,” my mum whispers in warning.
“All good over here. Listen, I’ve gotta run, but I’ll send you flight details whenever I figure them out. Text you about dates and all.”
“I’ll get your room set up. Did I tell you it’s our gym now?”
Always comforting to hear that your mum and stepdad have turned your childhood bedroom into their own personal fitness haven. “Thanks, Mum.”
“Alright, love. Be safe over there. Don’t be a stranger,” she says. “Oh! I’m gonna send you a care package.”
“You really don’t have to,” I protest.
“Oh, stop. You know you love my candles and soaps.”
I sigh dramatically. “I’ve moved, so I’ll send you my new address.”
“I thought you were in Columbia housing?”
This is it. The moment I should tell her. Just say it.
Mum, I dropped out.
“Just felt weird without Luke there. I’m in Brooklyn now,” I say, chickening out yet again.
“I’m so sorry, Liam,” my mum replies. “Isn’t that a bit of a journey for you?”
It would be if I were still going to class.
“Don’t mind it. Just get some studying in,” I lie. It feels foreign on my tongue, and another pang of guilt hits me in the gut.
“Alright. Send me your new address. Talk soon, darling.”
“Bye, Liam,” Simon adds.
I say goodbye and hang up the phone, shaking my head. What a disaster. I had my chance to tell the truth and I didn’t take it. Suppressing a sigh, I vow to tell them the truth when I visit in December. I just have to figure out how the hell to tell my mum that her dreams of her son being a scientist are crushed.
Falling back against my pillow, I feel a sense of restlessness down to the tips of my fingers. Taking a deep breath, I roll over and open my messages, typing out a text to Grayson, Luke’s dad.
Liam: Hey. Can I come over?
When I get to Long Island, he’s waiting for me at the station, standing next to his truck.
“Liam!” he calls, waving me over. He brings me in for a back-slapping hug, wrapping his arms around me. When he pulls back, he’s grinning from ear-to-ear. “Wow, you look like crap, son.”
I laugh despite myself. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”
“Seriously, when’s the last time you slept? Burning the midnight oil in study hall?”
Ever since Luke died, we’ve kept in touch, mostly through phone calls and the occasional visit. I try not to bother him, but when things get a bit much, or I feel like being around my parents without being around my parents, I take the LIRR out to Jamaica.
He climbs into the truck, and I follow him. This is the part I was dreading. It’s bad enough that I haven’t told my own dad that I quit school. I can handle his disappointment. In fact, I’m probably used to it by now. But Grayson? I don’t know if I can handle letting him down.
“Yeah… I kind of dropped out, actually.”
Almost as soon as we’ve started driving, he slams on the brakes. “What? Liam?—”
“Jesus! I know, I know.” I cling onto the door as a car honks behind us. “Just… can we not talk about it? That’s not why I’m here.”
He sighs and shakes his head, setting off again. “Alright. No problem.”
When we get to the house, he insists on making coffee and puts some cookies on a plate for me. Whenever I’d come stay with Luke, they’d send us both home with enough food to feed an army. I’m sure today will be no different.
“Listen, Mr. Monroe, the reason I asked to come over today is because I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“C’mon, man. How many times I gotta tell you? Call me Grayson.”
I run my hand through my hair. “Alright, Grayson. The truth is… I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I want to do something to honor Luke. To carry on his legacy. I’m thinking if I can somehow raise money to set up a scholarship in Luke’s name, then?—”
“Son…” Grayson interrupts me, tears gathering in his eyes. “That’s incredible, but you don’t have to do that. You should be focusing on your own future.”
“I want to. I feel like I owe it to him. To all of you.”
The truth is that this idea has been eating me up for months. I don’t just feel like I owe it to him, I know I do.
He shakes his head. “You don’t owe us anything.”
“Please,” I insist. “Let me do this.”
“Alright.” He rubs the back of his neck. “But there’s something you should see.” He gestures for me to follow him, and he leads me to Luke’s room.
I linger in the doorway, stuck by an invisible barrier of sentimentality and grief. I’ve only been here a couple of times before when Luke brought me home for Thanksgiving, but both times were enough to leave an impression on me. As all childhood bedrooms are, it’s his all over, exactly the same as the last time I was here.
Grayson reaches under the bed and pulls out a cardboard box. He puts it on the bed and turns to me. “I’ll give you a minute alone.”
He leaves, and I sit against Luke’s bed, already feeling a pressure building in my chest. I don’t know what’s in this box, but I’m sure whatever it is won’t be easy for me to see. Talking about Luke is hard enough. If it’s photos…
Taking a deep breath, I lift the lid off the box and peer inside. Inside is a handwritten plan for a foundation focused on tutoring students and helping them find scholarships to universities of their choice. It supports low income and first-generation high-schoolers interested in pursuing higher education, but who may not have the means.
Reading further, I find detailed notes, pages and pages of Luke’s inspiration laid out in full.
Mission Statement: making large, structural changes to effect individual change and ensure the success of every participant.
Wow.
I knew that Luke had big ideas, but I had no clue that he’d already started an entire business plan for a his very own foundation. Forget my scholarship idea — I have to do this. I have to finish the work that Luke started. It’s what he would want.
The only question is… how the hell am I going to pay for it?