Gabe
Isit at the tiny kitchen table in Doug’s trailer, surrounded by faded lime-green paint that’s starting to peel. Jason’s mom tried to spruce this place up long ago, and what remains is a macabre, dilapidated memory of a family’s failed attempt at warmth.
Mom and Doug sit on either side of me, and Doug looks like he’s about to have a migraine. The walls are kind of nauseating, and the plastic chairs hurt everyone’s ass, but I know it’s not the kitchen that’s got him looking like that.
Mom takes a sip of coffee, then clears her throat. “This is a good thing,” she states with forced cheer.
Doug scrubs his hands over his face. “You keep saying that.”
She huffs, then says in a scolding tone, “He’s your son.” She reaches across the table to grip my arm. “And we’re a family now. I want him to be a part of this.”
Doug’s eyes grow wide, his mouth ajar. “Don’t you remember what he was like?”
I know my mom remembers. There’s a flash of discomfort on her face, no doubt recalling all of the insane things Jason did while he still lived in the park, before waving her hand dismissively and saying, “So he was wild when he was a kid. Weren’t we all?”
It would take me hours to go through the litany of things Jason did to cause trouble in the park: setting off fireworks in Frank Halbern's shed, getting drunk and pissing in Mrs. Thompson’s kiddie pool, changing the fairy lights strung about the park with bulbs in the shape of dicks…
The last one was impressive. It took him all night.
Jason acted out because he was in pain. His home life was horrendous, and nobody should know that more than Doug. Jason’s a lot more sensitive than he lets on—he just needed someone to tell him he was okay.
I wanted to be that person for Jason. All I ever wanted was to protect him.
My gut coils, remembering how things ended. He was so angry and cruel.
He left and never said a word to me after that. A lifetime of friendship went up in smoke because I made a mistake. He didn’t even call when Dad died.
I can’t believe he might be coming back. I don’t even know how I’ll react when he shows up. Not to mention, we’ll both be in that tiny trailer. We might as well be living together in a walk-in closet.
My heart sinks just thinking about it all. We were best friends. Then more than friends.
Until we became enemies.
“How do you feel about this, Gabe? You’re going to have to live with him alone in that trailer, and I know things didn’t end well.”
I look up at Doug. His eyes are pleading with me to protest—to say something, anything about this.
And for a moment, I almost do. The words creep to the back of my throat, hurting my chest. All I need to do is push them out, and I’m ready to because that's how much I don’t want Jason here.
I didn’t deserve the things he said to me.
I just wanted to protect him.
His life was already hard enough; he didn’t need to know about Mom and Doug.
The words are there, crowding in the back of my throat, ready to spill out, but then I look at Mom.
“Maybe you two will patch things up,” she says.
I seriously doubt that, but…
She’s here.
Mom’s finally home.
And she wants this.
She sacrificed everything for me. The least I can do is tolerate Jason.
I look into her eyes, take a deep breath, and whisper, “Maybe we will.”
Her breath hitches, and her eyes turn glassy. Anytime I say something, she looks like she might weep with joy. Mom doesn’t ask many questions about my silence. It’s hard to talk about anything involving that night.
She blinks away the emotion in her eyes, clears the lump from her throat, and whispers, “This will be good.”
The thought of Jason’s twisted face screaming at me clouds my mind, and that lovely feeling vanishes.
Living with him is going to hurt, but I’ll do it.
For her.