Chapter 4 #2
It doesn’t take him long to recover from his mishap.
Soon enough, he’s back to his usual chatty self, filling me in on the latest in his first week of seventh grade, from his favorite class (Social Studies) to how his first soccer practice of the year went (his coach says he’s got potential so long as he stays focused—a perpetual challenge for him).
When we’re done, he convinces me after a suitable amount of groveling to take a break for some Super Smash Bros.
on our beat-up GameCube. We’d gotten it secondhand at a flea market along with a few games, and though it’s horribly outdated, it was also a hell of a lot cheaper than a new game console would’ve been.
Having only a handful of games to choose from also means that both me and Patrick are experts by now, as well as fairly evenly matched. I lose myself in our impromptu competition more than I should, and all too soon, the door from the garage slams shut.
Shit, Tommy’s home. What time is it?
I ignore Patrick’s cries of victory as he KOs me off the edge of the screen and check my phone, wincing when I see it’s almost nine. I’d meant to have dinner ready an hour ago.
I scramble off the couch and head for the kitchen, but I’m too late. By the time I get there, Tommy’s already scowling beside the stove. He’s four years my senior, and though we share the same sandy hair, hazel eyes, and delicate cheekbones, his bulging muscles put my scrawny frame to shame.
“Hey, Tommy,” I say, my stomach churning. “I was just about to get started on—”
“What the hell happened in here?” His eyes flick over the counter and stove. My heart sinks when I spy a few spots Patrick and I had missed. Of course, even if we hadn’t missed anything the pile of dishes in the sink would be a dead giveaway.
“Just a minor cooking mishap,” I say.
He shrugs off his dirt-stained coat onto the back of a chair. “I thought queers were supposed to be good in the kitchen.”
I bite back my annoyance at the bits of gravel that fall onto the recently cleaned tile, trying not to let his words bother me.
“It wasn’t me. Patrick got it into his head to cook dinner tonight.”
I realize it was the wrong thing to say the instant I see Tommy’s face darken. “And you let him? For fuck’s sake, Dylan, he’s twelve!”
“I didn’t let him do anything! He did it on his own while I was at work.”
My own temper rises despite my best efforts to hold it back. Yelling at Tommy never helps—all getting angry will do is escalate the situation.
Sure enough, my older brother looks ready to punch someone. “Work—right. You mean that place you go so you can play at being a vet?”
“I’m not playing at anything! My internship is a great opportunity to learn from Dr. Jenkins.”
Tommy snorts derisively. “More like a great opportunity to waste your time. If you’re going to abandon Patrick, you could at least do something that’ll help this family instead of being selfish.
But hey, your own shit’s more important, right?
Who cares what happens to the rest of us so long as perfect little Dylan gets to live his perfect gay life. God, no wonder Dad left us.”
Shaking his head, Tommy shoves past me and slams the door to the bathroom behind him. A few seconds later, I hear the shower kick on. Still, I don’t move from the middle of the kitchen, my chest tightening as a sense of numbness creeps over me.
His words shouldn’t cut as deep as they do. It’s nothing I haven’t heard from him before. But that doesn’t stop the heavy shame they leave in their wake.
Because as much as he’s an asshole, Tommy’s right about one thing—it’s my fault Dad left. I’m the reason our family’s so broken—why Tommy had to drop out of school and why Mom has to work herself to the bone to support us. Which is also why it’s on me to do what little I can to make it better.
I force myself to go through the motions of preparing dinner. I don’t follow through on my promise to teach Patrick—maybe another night. Game sounds echo from the living room, so either he got distracted anyway or he’s doing his best to drown out the world right now just like I am.
Tommy finishes his shower, and I tense when he comes back into the kitchen.
There’re only two modes of interaction we have left at this point—fighting or avoidance.
Thankfully, he seems to have opted for the latter.
He grabs a beer from the fridge, completely ignoring me where I stand by the stove.
I start to relax, focusing on prepping the remaining chicken to go into the oven.
I should’ve known better than to let down my guard.
Tommy pauses in the doorway, glancing back at me. “You’re as bad as he is. You realize that, right? You’ve already got one foot out the door of this place. Hope it’s worth leaving the rest of us behind.”
I stare after him, my gut churning with something close to hate. I am nothing like our deadbeat dad who’d peaced out to strike it big as a musician and now couldn’t even afford to keep up with his monthly child support.
Yet, as I get the breaded chicken into the oven and start a pot of water boiling for the pasta, Tommy’s words burrow into my brain like a parasite.
Am I making the same choice Dad did?
I’ve dreamed of being a vet for as long as I can remember.
But how can I justify spending all that money to go away to college when Mom needs it so much more?
I’ve seen the overdue bill statements she tries to hide, the lines of worry around her eyes.
Even with Tommy’s job and my own meager contributions, we’re barely making enough to keep the house as it is.
How can I take the money in my college fund and peace out, leaving them high and dry for however many years it takes me to graduate?
I’m good and lost in my head while I put the finishing touches on dinner when I hear the front door click open.
Mom bustles into the kitchen a few moments later, collapsing into a chair with an exhausted groan.
“God, it feels good to get off my feet. Hey, baby. Come give your momma a kiss. She sure as hell needs it after tonight.”
Grinning weakly, I kiss her on the cheek before returning to juggling plates and dish components. “What happened?”
She waves her hand. “Oh, the usual. It’s hard to believe how many people turn into raging assholes at the slightest inconvenience.
You know, one guy actually threatened to call my manager when I told him we were out of iced tea.
Like that’s somehow my fault!” She shakes her head.
“I swear, I just don’t understand how people can be so selfish and hardheaded.
Would it kill them to have some basic empathy? ”
I know she’s not talking about me, but her words come uncomfortably close to echoing Tommy’s earlier accusations. I mumble a reply.
Mom fixes me with a concerned look. “Everything all right, honey?”
“It’s fine,” I lie. “Just a long day.”
She lets out another groan as she slides off her shoes, rubbing her feet. “Now that I can definitely empathize with.”
“Mom!” Patrick appears in the doorway from the living room and throws himself into her arms. “I tried to cook dinner!”
“Did you now?” Mom raises an eyebrow at me, and I offer a sheepish shrug.
“Yep!” Patrick replies cheerfully.
“And how’d that go?” Mom asks.
Patrick hesitates. Tommy chooses that instant to appear, still nursing his beer. “About as well as you’d expect. Hey, ma.” He bends down to kiss her cheek. He might be a perpetual dick to me, but I’ve never seen him say an unkind word to Patrick or Mom.
That’s because the problem’s not him—it’s you.
As if to punctuate the fleeting thought, Tommy glances at me, his eyes narrowing before he pointedly looks away.
Despite his best efforts to pretend I don’t exist, some of the tension between us evaporates as we settle around the table for a late dinner.
Mom’s presence usually has that effect. It’s about the only way these days we manage to coexist.
For a good ten or fifteen minutes, I can almost pretend we’re a real family again. It’s easy to imagine Dad sitting in the next room, about to pop in and join us with his barking laugh.
The illusion doesn’t last.
After dinner, Mom helps Patrick with his homework while Tommy retreats to his room without a word. Mom said she’d deal with the dishes once she finishes up with Patrick, but I know she has a morning shift at the diner, so I settle in at the sink to do them myself.
By the time I make it to my own room, it’s past eleven PM, and I’m utterly drained.
I do my best to rally and make it through my homework, but I can already tell I’ve got another lunch period’s worth of catch-up ahead of me.
There’s simply not enough time in the day for everything I need to do, especially with Dr. Jenkins wanting to bring me on for more hours.
It doesn’t help that my thoughts keep circling around what Tommy had said. He’s right that working at the vet isn’t bringing in much extra money to support us. I’d easily make two or three times what he’s paying me if I picked up a shift or two at the diner instead once you factored in tips.
I think of all the ways Mom could use the money in my college fund, from paying off overdue bills to making some much-needed home repairs.
Maybe Tommy’s right. College will always be there waiting for me.
I could put it off like he did and find a full-time job after I graduate.
Then, once Patrick’s older and we’ve got some money set aside, I could consider going back to school.
The thought leaves a hollow pang in my gut, but I shove it down. I have to think about what’s best for my family, not just for me. And if that means delaying my dream, well…that might be a sacrifice I need to make.