Page 82 of Trick Play
Crossing my arms, I stare at her while she moves around the kitchen, cleaning up the last of the dinner dishes. “Did he get this same talk?”
She nods, drying her hands on a dish towel and meeting my eyes. “He did. This afternoon.” She holds up her hands. “I don’t know what exactly you two said to each other, and I know that the two of you have to work things out yourselves. Gray’s chosen to stay away for the break to give you your space. But it’s Christmas, and we will be doing our usual Christmas activities, and you two will be polite to each other at the very least. Got it?”
Dropping my arms, I sigh. “Got it.”
With a nod, she pours herself a glass of wine and picks up her tablet. Coming around the counter, she kisses me on the cheek. “I’m going to go relax and read. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Mom.” It’s a normal thing for her to say, something she’s been saying to me since I was a kid. But somehow right now it feels more significant than a rote offer.
She pauses and studies my face, just for a moment, then she gives me a small smile and goes into the living room, where she and Dad exchange words in low voices, and he chuckles about something. Normal domestic sounds, the sounds I grew up listening to every night.
But I feel more disconnected from them than ever, even if they aren’t actively rooting for me to fail like I felt like for so long. They care about me. They want what’s best for me.
I want that too.
Which is why I need to not dwell on the fact that Cal has already given up on trying to talk to me. I never could bring myself to block him. And now he’s not even reaching out.
I should be grateful. If he were still calling or texting, I’d think he was an obsessive creeper or something.
But instead I’m just sad. Because it was two weeks ago today that I got his last message.
Cal: I get that you don’t want to talk to me. I don’t blame you, so I’ll stop. I just want you to know that if you ever change your mind, I’d love to talk to you again.
And as stupid as it sounds, the inclusion of that emoji is what makes a simple text hit so much harder.
Sighing at my own stupidity, I head up to my room and throw myself on the bed, calling Ellie because I need something to get me out of my head. I don’t think she’d tell me to stay strong and ignore her brother if I pushed her on it, so we carefully don’t talk about Cal. But somehownottalking about him at all makes his presence even more tangible.
* * *
I’m in my room when Gray comes home on Christmas Eve, wrapping the last couple of presents. I got something for Ellie—a new set of her favorite brand of brush pens and a new notebook since she’ll use them eventually even if she doesn’t need them right away—but I’ll have to wait until she’s back in town to give it to her.
I stall in my room until Mom calls me down for dinner. Normally I would’ve gone down immediately and given him a hug to welcome him home. That’s what I’ve done the last few years since he went away to college.
But this year … everything’s different.
I’m different, at least, and so our relationship is different, even if he’s actually the same guy he’s always been.
I guess he’s always been looking out for me like this, I just didn’t notice before. Or didn’t find it so stifling and patronizing.
Maybe that’s what it is. When you’re thirteen or sixteen, you expect your parents and older siblings to protect you and look out for you and you plan on being told what to do all the time. But I turned twenty two months ago. And while I’m aware that I’m not exactly a greatly experienced adult or anything, I’m not a little kid anymore either. How am I supposed to learn from my mistakes if I’m never allowed to make them?
Shaking myself out of my irritated musings, I stare at myself in the mirror above my dresser, pulling my lips into a smile, or at least as close to it as I can manage. It’s not great. It’s definitely not genuine. But it’s the best I’ve got right now.
I head downstairs before Mom has to call me a second time. That always annoys her, and I promised that I’d at least be polite to Gray. That means coming down for dinner and exchanging pleasantries.
He stares at me when I enter the room like he’s not sure how to act. Like he wants to say something, but isn’t sure if I’m willing to talk to him.
I give him the same fakey-fake smile I practiced in the mirror.
His answering smile is pained as he lifts a hand in a limp wave. “Hey, Pipes. How you been?”
“Fine.” I wave back, painfully aware that he didn’t call me Monkey or Monkey Butt like he normally does. “You?” We don’t address each other by name. Not when we’re our usual selves, anyway. But that went out the window when he decided to throw Brent in my face and made me responsible for his choices. Like I begged Gray to transfer.
I won’t lie, I was grateful to have him around as a buffer with Mom and Dad at first. But when he became as bad as them? Nah. I don’t need that. So we’re reduced to this.
“Good. Fine.”
I look at Mom, who’s looking between Gray and me, a hopeful expression on her face. But when we don’t say anything more to each other than that, her mouth turns down at the corners. Clearly she was hoping that putting us in the same room would magically make everything okay.
