Milo
I IMAGINED UNBUCKLING my seatbelt and opening the passenger door.
I’d seen it a dozen times in films—people tucking and rolling onto the road in action sequences.
I’d convinced myself that I could handle a few broken bones and a case of road rash.
Surely it couldn’t be that bad. I’d survived worse things than jumping out of a car.
But I was glued to the spot. Jasper had one hand on the steering wheel, the other in my lap, our fingers intertwined. I brushed my thumb nervously over the back of his hand, trying to remind myself that if he could do this, I could do it too.
I had to believe that even if Mom didn’t approve, he’d never let me go. With a brain like mine, that was fucking hard.
We pulled into the driveway, and I instantly felt sick.
My heart rate slowed to a crawl, and I was sure I was about to vomit.
I released myself from the confines of my seatbelt and shoved the door open, getting out of the car too fast for Jasper to give me another pep talk.
I gripped the side of the car with my freshly gauze-wrapped hand, while the other searched my pockets for cigarettes.
Everyone knew the best way to stop raging nausea was to light one up.
My thumb trembled over the lighter. I struck it several times, only getting sparks.
A bad omen.
This was a horrible idea.
I heard the driver’s side door shut and saw Jasper rounding the front of the SUV, his hands stuffed in his pockets, the epitome of calm.
He stopped right in front of me, leaning down and producing his own lighter.
My panic dissipated as I focused on him, lighting my cigarette and plucking it from between my fingers.
He stole a drag and then pressed it back between my lips.
“You’re doing so well.” His lips brushed my ear as he got even closer.
Heat pooled low in my stomach, and I nearly choked on smoke.
“You didn’t throw up in my car,” he added, giving my shoulder a condescending pat. “Off to a great start already.”
I thought about murder.
“You’re so helpful,” I gritted out.
“You know what, I am.” He placed a hand over his heart, grinning smugly.
Talking shit to each other had a way of keeping me grounded.
I smoked the rest of my cigarette hastily and then crushed the filter under my shoe on the pavement. Jasper moved to rest a hand on the small of my back and urged me toward the front porch, every step harder than the last.
You almost couldn’t tell that Mom smoked indoors. The smell of a home-cooked meal wafted through the house, accompanied by the sound of movement in the kitchen just past the living room.
The two of us shuffled around in the entryway, taking off our coats and hanging them on the rack. When I bent over to take off my shoes, I noticed a familiar pair tucked neatly on the shoe rack.
I shot back up.
“Are you kidding me?” I whisper-yelled.
Jasper locked the door behind him. “Take your shoes off.”
I could handle one thing at a time.
Dinner with Mom? I could survive it. Dinner with Mom and Blane?
“I can’t.” I grabbed his arm, looking past him to the door.
“Take your shoes off, please.” His voice was soft.
We stood there for a beat, staring at each other intensely. I kept my eyes on him, furious, as I knelt on the floor and began untying the laces on my new Converse slowly.
“What up, fam?” Blane’s familiar, upbeat voice called out from behind.
Fam. Family.
The word punched a hole in my confidence that this whole thing would go anywhere but south. I wanted to curl up into a ball. Instead, I persevered, setting my shoes next to Jasper’s and standing. I turned, giving the best smile I could muster.
“Hey,” I rasped.
Blane wasted no time invading our space, pulling us into a group hug and engulfing the two of us in his thick arms. He squeezed hard, swaying us back and forth and peppering us with obnoxious kisses that I wanted to be annoyed with, but couldn’t.
“Are you excited?” He pulled back with a grin. “We haven’t had dinner as a family in forever.”
“Thrilled.” I gave Jasper a dirty look, and he ignored it entirely.
We gravitated toward the kitchen, and I did my best to engage in conversation.
Thankfully, Blane carried it with ease, filling us in on everything he’d been up to lately, from his recent trip to Japan to achievements he’d made in his karate classes, his tattooed arms flailing animatedly as he spoke.
Mom turned away from the stove with a wooden spoon in hand. Her deep brown eyes sparkled with the joy of an empty nester who, despite the lines of exhaustion in her face, finally had her home full again.
“Do you need help with anything, Mom?” Jasper asked straight away, moving to her side and rubbing her arm affectionately.
When it came to the people he loved, he was so instinctively considerate, a stark contrast to how he interacted with everyone else. Even though it was his mother, I still felt a pang of jealousy, knowing that he had room to dote on anyone other than me.
Greedy. I scolded myself gently.
“How’ve you been?” Blane asked from beside me, his tone gentler, more cautious.
It irritated me more than it should have. I corrected my posture, my first instinct to get defensive whenever someone took a tone that reeked of pity.
He was just worried. I knew that.
“Good.” I breathed through the urge to shut down completely. “Jasper’s been, uh, helping. I’ve been good.”
“Good,” Blane echoed. “Let him take care of you. Don’t be stubborn.”
The corner of my mouth twitched.
If only he knew what taking care of me had shaped up to be.
“I’ll try,” I said dryly.
“We love you.”
“I know,” I said, exasperated. “I love you guys, too.”
The strain in my chest slowly eased as things fell into their natural rhythm. Jasper helped Mom in the kitchen while Blane and I worked to set the table in the dining room, and the conversation grew lighter and more tolerable as the evening wore on.
I rolled my eyes as Blane brought in an oversized bowl of mashed potatoes from the kitchen, setting it on the dining table and looking insanely pleased with himself.
“Made enough?” I teased.
“I hope so,” he sighed.
If there were a love in his life, I was sure it was potatoes.
Jasper entered the room with coasters in hand, sliding them onto the table I was hovering next to, never quite comfortable enough to sit without being prompted.
I sucked in a breath as our arms brushed, my nerves crackling violently beneath my skin.
I tried to play it casual, looking past him to Mom as she drifted into the room, holding a pan with a worn dish towel underneath to dampen the heat.
In the center of the pan sat roasted chicken, skin golden and blistered, surrounded by vegetables.
It was simple. It always was. We were never wealthy in the way that provided extravagant meals and the latest tech, only in the way that we always had each other.
Something I’d forgotten, too consumed with my selfish desire to end it all.
I regretted trying to abandon everyone before they had a chance to abandon me.
“Watch it,” she muttered, more out of habit than necessity, as she carried the pan over to the table.
Jasper elbowed me gently, eyebrows raised as he glanced between me and the chair I’d been standing next to. I sat down quickly, and he touched my shoulder before taking the empty seat beside me.
“It looks great,” I forced out.
“Thanks, Mom.” Jasper’s foot nudged mine beneath the table.
It wasn’t enough to steady me.
I struggled to focus as the conversation went on around me, watching in a daze as everyone’s mouths moved, every word turning to white noise by the time it reached my ears.
Mom and Blane laughed at something Jasper said while he moved with ease, filling my plate with food before starting on his own.
Did the way he did it for me reveal too much?
Or did I simply look like a child?
I stabbed my fork into the mashed potatoes on my plate, the paranoid voice in my head much louder than everything else. I was spiralling too fast, too hard. I stuffed a bite into my mouth, trying to remember how to chew.
Until something Jasper said made me choke.
“I think we’re gonna renew the lease at the apartment and stay there.”