Chapter 20
Shelley
The old sycamore tree behind my parents’ house has been my favorite thinking spot for as long as I can remember.
The long, thick branches cradle me perfectly, once I finally wrestle my way up to them.
Tree climbing does not appear to be a skill that translates well from youth into adulthood.
But with only a few scraped knuckles and some leaves in my hair, I manage to settle into the crook of a low, sturdy branch.
I take a moment to catch my breath and savor the cool spring breeze.
I love the way it glides lightly over my skin when I’m up here.
“Thought I might find you out here.” The deep vibrations of Jordan’s words cause an unfamiliar kind of heat to pool low in my belly as my body remembers how it felt when he finally kissed me yesterday.
“You caught me. How did the dart game go?”
“Your dad thinks I let him win, but he crushed me, fair and square.” He hoists himself into the tree like it’s nothing. As he gracefully swings himself onto the branch next to mine, I cringe and hope he didn’t witness the embarrassing amount of awkward maneuvers required for me to do the same.
Sitting in the tree with me, his presence is overwhelming in a way that makes me nervous, but not intimidated.
He’s familiar and exciting all at once, like a brand-new season of my favorite TV show.
Sharing space with Jordan is easy and natural, and I don’t take that for granted.
It’s not something I experience with most people.
I stretch out my legs and lean back against the bark, letting the tree’s rough texture ground me as it presses its way through my clothes and into my skin.
I offer Jordan a smile, which he returns easily.
He sits on his branch like it’s any other chair, with his legs dangling over the edge and one hand lazily resting on a higher branch.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“Apparently, my thoughts aren’t worth much to you,” I tease.
“Okay. Then a mint condition Ted Williams rookie card for your thoughts?”
“Is that worth a lot?”
“Let’s just say, if I had one, I wouldn’t still be living with a roommate.”
I shrug. “You can keep the imaginary card this time. I wasn’t really thinking about anything in particular. It’s kind of a jumbled mess of stuff up here.” I point at my head. “But I do love this tree, and it will be sad to see it go.”
His understanding comes in the form of a low hum, but I want him to keep talking.
I like the way his voice cuts through the chaos in my brain.
I wish he’d tell me I’m not the mess I think I am.
More than anything, I want to know he isn’t looking at Mike’s little sister right now.
I want his reassurance that last night was real and our kiss meant something to him.
I want to know for sure he sees me, which is odd because usually I go out of my way to avoid being seen and keep my mask on for the world.
But with Jordan it’s different, and I’m frustrated when he remains still and quiet, looking up into the higher branches and watching the clouds float by above the leaves.
“Is it good to be home?” He surprises me with his question.
“Sure. It’s nice.” My answer is genuine.
I love my family. But maybe he can tell it’s bittersweet for me to return.
Before I left for college, the last few years I spent in this house were the hardest my family ever had to endure, and a lot of unpleasant memories rise to the surface when I come home.
“But?”
I want to be honest with him. “Everything was so chaotic here all the time when I was younger, and I always felt like I was trying to play by rules I didn’t understand.
When he was using, my parents were preoccupied with Mike because they had to be.
They were always fighting about how to handle him.
And the rest of us were left to fend for ourselves.
” Which meant I was fending for all of us.
“I get that it was necessary, but I wished things were different. I wanted things to make sense. I wanted rules. And I wanted adults and a big brother who followed those rules. Maybe it’s na?ve and idealistic, but that’s where my head was when I decided to start studying family law. ”
“I think the world could use a little more idealism,” he offers. “It’s admirable that you wanted to take the trauma and create something good from it.”
“Maybe. But there I go again, making it all about me.” Sharing with him feels more natural than breathing.
Without even trying, Jordan manages to collect the secrets I normally guard so carefully.
“Enough about me. Tell me something about you no one else knows,” I say, shifting the conversation back to him.
Jordan’s quiet for a long moment, thinking before he says, “I watch horror movies when I need to cheer up.”
“Oh? Please say more.”
“I don’t think I’ve told anyone this, but when I’m upset or sad, I usually sit by myself and watch a scary movie. The gorier the better. They make me happy. Which I realize sounds incredibly messed up.”
“I’m reserving judgment until you tell me why. Don’t worry. At the moment, it’s only giving light red flag vibes,” I tease. “Please explain.”
“It started when I was young. My mom had this DVD collection she was so proud of. She bought like a hundred movies for twenty bucks back when video stores were going out of business.” He repositions his body on the branch.
“She wouldn’t allow me to watch them, but I was alone in our apartment so much that no one was around to stop me or see what I was doing.
So, one day I thought I was being rebellious, and I watched The Exorcist.”
“How old were you?”
“Too young. Maybe seven or eight? But the thing is, it didn’t scare me.
There was so much real-world stuff to be afraid of every day, like parents getting arrested, or eviction notices on the door, or running out of food.
The idea of levitating or having my head spin seemed silly in comparison.
I thought it was funny grown-ups could actually be scared of something like that.
I guess it made me feel brave to watch it and not be affected. ”
My chest squeezes at the idea of little Jordan being forced to navigate big, adult-sized challenges while he learned how to channel his courage all alone in his living room.
“So, I kept watching them,” he continues.
“And I learned most of the things the world said were scary were totally unrealistic. Strangers with chainsaws were way less believable than the stuff that actually scared me. Now I guess I associate those movies with feeling safe, which sounds weird, I know.”
“No, it doesn’t. I’m glad you found something that worked for you,” I try to reassure him. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Does this mean I get another one of your secrets?” he asks, a hint of hope lacing his question, giving me the impression that maybe, just maybe, he values these conversations as much as I do.
I hesitate because I only have one secret left, and it involves his best friend.
But I nod and let out a shallow breath, knowing it’s probably not much of a secret anyway.
“Sometimes I still resent my brother for what he put our family through. I know it’s not fair because he’s done so much to change. But I can’t help how I feel.”
Jordan nods, slowly. “Mike’s told me a little bit about how bad things got for a while, but I’ve never met that guy. I haven’t seen that side of him.”
“I know. And I love how he’s been able to rebuild his life in North Bay.
” I do. I love my brother, and I’m so proud of him and everything he’s been able to accomplish.
He did the work and made amends. He has apologized so sincerely, so many times.
“I forgave him a long time ago, but it doesn’t mean it’s easy to forget.
It’s hard to watch someone you love self-destruct right in front of you and know you can’t do anything to help.
Watching them become a different person changes a kid. Fundamentally.”
“I get it.” Jordan’s somber tone tells me he really does understand. From what I know about his parents, I believe him.
“I love Mikey. He’s my brother, first and always. But...” I clear my throat to try to rid myself of the lump that is forming in my airway. “He was the reason I had to grow up early, you know? Somebody had to make sure everything else wasn’t falling apart.”
“I do know. I can definitely relate to feeling like you had to grow up before you were ready.”
I sniffle and nod, turning away to hide the tear rolling down my cheek. “I know you can. Thanks for listening. I haven’t really been able to talk about it with anyone before.”
“Of course. I’ve…I’ve never really done this either. It’s nice to have someone to talk to about this stuff.”
It really is.
“Tell me something else,” he whispers.
“I’m neurodivergent,” I say quietly. “But you’ve probably already figured that out.”
He nods again, just once. “I like the way your brain works.”
“Thanks, but I need medicine for it to function effectively, and that’s not the case for everyone.
Hence, the necessity of the label. I definitely have ADHD.
I’m not sure if I’m on the spectrum. I think I might be, but it’s hard for adult women to get diagnosed.
I guess it might not change much for me, but sometimes I think it might be nice to have confirmation. ”
“Yeah, I’m learning labels can be helpful sometimes. I’m still working on finding the right words to describe myself, too. Am I allowed to ask about the meds? You don’t have to tell me.” He shifts to lean back against the tree trunk.