6. Then Fifteen Years Ago
Chapter 6
Then: Fifteen Years Ago
“J ase, slow down!”
“We’re almost there, Kay. Keep your eyes closed.” Jase guides me along.
My right foot hits the stump between our side yards, and I almost fall. He catches me and helps me back up to walk a few more feet on steady ground.
“Are you okay?”
“Mhm, thanks.”
Jase removes my hands from my eyes. “Okay, we’re here.”
I blink them open. “The treehouse?”
“Well, the real surprise is up there, but I didn’t think you should climb it without being able to see.” He kicks the ground, a small blush rising to his cheeks.
Reaching for the ladder, I place one foot in front of the other and climb up with him right behind me.
There’s a child-size table with two chairs pulled out right in the middle of the house. A tiny plate sits on top of the table with a Funfetti cupcake and a smattering of icing next to a glass jar full of dandelions and a hand-drawn card of us chasing fireflies.
“What’s all this?” I turn to Jase.
His forest green eyes are full of something I can’t quite put my finger on, but when he smiles, my whole world stops. “Happy Birthday, Kay.”
“This is … this is—”
“Kate! Come in and wash up, you can help me make supper!” Mama shouts from the kitchen window.
“I have to go home, but this is …”
His lips curve into a frown. “It’s okay.”
“Jase—”
He sticks his hands into the pockets of his basketball shorts. “I’ll be right next door if you need me.”
“Kate, come on in, sweetie!” Mama calls again.
I climb down the treehouse steps and run through the kitchen door. “Hey, Mama.”
“Hey, birthday girl! How’s Jason doing?”
“He’s good. He made me a cupcake and a card.”
“A cupcake and a card, huh?” She washes her hands but gives me a wink over her shoulder. “He must like you.”
“Yeah.” I giggle. “Are Nana and Pop coming for dinner?”
“Pop got stuck at work. They’re going to come by for cake and coffee in a bit.” She takes the biscuits out of the fridge while I wash my hands. “Here, can you help me roll these guys out on the tray?”
I pull the tin toward me. Helping with the biscuits is the best part—you get to make sure they have the right amount of fluff and buttery goodness.
Mama cuts an onion. “Want to measure out the milk?”
I grab the gallon of whole milk and pour four cups into a large measuring cup when Daddy stumbles in the kitchen, nearly collapsing in the chair.
“What’re you girls making?” he slurs.
“Biscuits and gravy,” Mama answers.
“Mmm, my favorite meal, and my favorite girls.” He tries to stand but can’t find his balance and falls back down. His face is beet red, and his mahogany eyes are bloodshot; he blinks to try and stay awake.
The snores start while the gravy starts to sizzle in the pan. I peek over at Daddy. His head is leaning back against the stripped wallpaper, hair like it hasn’t been brushed in months, ripped jean shorts falling off his waist, his tank top torn, and his mouth wide open.
Mama rolls her eyes and stirs the gravy. She whispers, asking me to put the milk back in the fridge and set the table.
“How can he live like this, Mama? How can we? He didn’t even remember it’s my birthday.”
She shivers, and I can’t tell if she’s cold or crying.
I put my right hand on her shoulder.
She mumbles, “I’m sorry, baby.”
Daddy snores himself awake and asks what’s going on.
“Supper is about ready,” she says.
I set three water glasses on the table while Mama takes the biscuits out of the oven.
Daddy pushes his water glass away and stammers, “Beer.” His angry eyes look like they’re looking through me to Mama. “Beer,” he repeats, louder.
Heat rises to my cheeks. Trying to keep the tears in check, I open the fridge and take out a can of beer, bringing it to Daddy.
Mama portions out each of our plates and places them on the table, avoiding eye contact with me.
The rain starts to fall as Mama and I sit down. It trickles at first, followed by more steady drops. Soon, it is all-out pouring. Rain splatters echo on the roof, drowning out Daddy’s attempts at fighting with Mama. He doesn’t have a reason to fight with her. He never does, but it doesn’t stop him from trying. She’s ignoring him and focusing on me instead.
“How’s your summer reading coming along, sweetie?” She takes a bite of the biscuits and gravy.
I gulp. “I’m about halfway through.”
“What did you start with?”
“The Magic Treehouse one.” I reach for my water.
Daddy extends his arm and whacks the cup out of my hand. It falls to the floor and the glass shatters everywhere right as thunder booms and a flash of lightning briefly lights up the room.
“Enough!” he shouts. “Enough of this bullshit.”
“Kate, go to your room,” Mama directs, voice even keel.
Don’t cry, Kate. Stay strong. “Mama …”
“Now, Kate.” She points to the banister.
I back away and run up the stairs.
Between the thunder and the shouting, I want to run to the Coles’ house, but it’ll be worse if I don’t stay in my room. I hide behind the other side of my bed, gripping my knees in my hands, close my eyes, and rock myself back and forth. I don’t know when the tears start, but they’re everywhere, wetting my face, ricocheting onto my hands and running down my legs.
Clink.
What was that?
Clink.
What the—?
Clink.
I unroll myself and cautiously approach the window: Jase. I open the window a smidge and a burst of wind and rain hits the left side of my face. Jase stands in his all-black hoodie and Adidas sweatpants, feet sinking in the wet grass as he leans his arm back, ready to throw another pebble.
“What’re you doing?!” I shout down.
“I thought you could use a friend.”
“I—I can’t leave my room right now.”
“Okay.” He takes a deep breath, “I’ll come up there.” He climbs the Magnolia tree between our yards.
“What are you doing, Jase? You’re going to hurt yourself,” I cry.
“I am not.” He reaches from the tree to the terrace on the side of my house and shifts over to climb the last bit to my roof. “Open the window.”
I lift it open, and he climbs in, tripping over the leg of my desk chair. “And he sticks the landing,” he jokes.
“What are you doing here? I can’t believe you climbed up here in the middle of a storm.”
Jase reaches his hands out, and I put mine in his. He pulls me into a hug, and he holds me tight. “I promised I would be here, and I meant it.” Jase takes the creased card and plastic-wrapped cupcake from his hoodie. “I know this isn’t how you want to spend your birthday but pretend the candle’s lit and make a wish.”
I sniffle and close my eyes. I wish Daddy would stop drinking. With an exhale, I let the silent wish escape into the ether before clinging onto Jase like the lifeline he is. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Kay.” He holds me tightly and lets me fall apart.
And then he puts me back together.