“Uh-huh,”he grumbled, turning back to his game.
“It’sfine, Grey; I don’t need help or anything,” I muttered begrudgingly, bendingover to scoop clothes into my arms. I dumped them into the laundry basket atthe door.
“I’min the middle of a tournament, Aunt Tabs,” he groused, thrusting a hand towardthe computer screen and I raised my hands in surrender.
“Ididn’t say anything,” I defended, grabbing another few shirts and dirty socksin my arms before spotting a discarded sheet of paper under his bed. “Is thishomework?”
“Huh,what?” Greyson asked, turning to look at the paper in question just in time forme to grab it. “Wait, give that to—”
Beforehe could snatch it away from me, I was already reading. “Adoption form for …little orphan Greyson?” I thrust the paper toward him. “What the hell? Who gaveyou this?”
“Relax,”he grumbled, tearing it from my hand and throwing it into the wastepaperbasket. “It’s just a joke.”
Tearspoked and prodded at the back of my eyes as I shook my head. “Oh, really? It’sa joke? You find it funny?”
Flashesof light and the sounds of swords clanging came from his computer, but the gamewas now forgotten as he swiveled around in his chair. Crossing his arms overhis chest and scowling pitifully, he replied, “Will you justrelax? Myfriends did it—”
“Oh,okay, yourfriends,” I snickered. “So, you think it’s okay for yourfriendsto tease you about your mother dying? Is that it? Because if you do, please,just let me know and I’ll make sure to crack those jokes all the time—”
“No!”he shouted, thrusting his fists against the arms of the chair. “No. Okay?!”
Pursingmy lips, I cocked my head. “No,what?”
“Idon’t think it’s fucking funny, okay?” The tears brimmed his eyes, his handsunclenched and pushed into his hair.
Ihad pushed him again and I wasn’t proud of it. Stepping toward him, I askedgently, “Grey, do they do this a lot? They bully you?” Sniffling and wiping ahand under his nose, he nodded. “Why don’t you tell me about this stuff, kid? Ican’t help you if you don’t tell me.”
“Andwhat the fuck am I going to tellyou?” he snapped, screwing his facewith anger and upset. “What areyougoing to do to fix this shit? Huh?”
Iwiped a hand over my forehead. “I could talk to your teachers, or the parents’of these kids, or I—”
“Youcan’t do a fucking thing,” he gritted through clenched teeth as he thrusthimself to his feet. “You don’t know what this is like for me. You don’t knowwhat it’s—”
Shakingmy head incredulously, I dropped my arms to my sides. “Oh, I don’t?”
“No!Youdon’t!” His fists pumped—clenching, unclenching—as his face reddenedand his pulse quickened.
Witha bitter snicker, I reached my breaking point. “Greyson. I lostbothofmy parentsandmy sister in less than a year. And on top of that, myfiancé dumped me, I’ve been trying to sell a fucking house for the pastsevenmonths, and my nephew won’t eventryto help me make this shit work. So,okay, maybe I have no idea what it’s like to go to school and have myshit-headed littlefriendsmake fun of me for losing my mom and growingup without a dad, butI’m an orphan too, Greyson!”
Arush of tears zigzagged over my cheeks, to drip from my chin and plop onto thecarpet. With a frustrated groan, I turned on my heel and hurried from his room,forgetting entirely about the laundry basket by the door. My room was down thehall from his and I got there quickly, throwing the door open and slamming itbehind me. Before I knew what I was doing, I balled my fists and screamed.
Thenoise was unintelligible and sounded foreign to my ears. I hated myselfimmediately for losing my cool so thoroughly and completely, but oh myGod,I didn’t know what else to do. He was being bullied in the cruelest of ways andhe wasn’t talking to me. His way of communicating was by fighting. And what thehell was I supposed to do about that?
Ipulled in a deep, controlled breath and forced myself to calm down to a morerational realm of thinking. Greyson was just a kid, and I was supposed to bethe adult here. I was in control, I called the shots, and with another breath,I tried to think of what Sam might’ve done.
Mysister never won any Mom of the Year awards. Her methods were often immatureand irrational, but she did love her son and almost everything she did, she didfor him.
Apile of boxes from her place were still stacked in the corner of my room,waiting to be gone through. I hadn’t been given the chance, since having toquickly move her things from the apartment she and Greyson had lived in. It hadall been stuffed into boxes, without a thought about organization, and in thecorner of my room they had remained. I don’t know why I thought the answer tomy problem might’ve been in there, but it was the closest thing to having mysister with me and guiding me. So, I went for it.
Thefirst box was stuffed with clothes. The marriage of her cheap perfume andcigarettes clung to the fabrics of shirts, jeans, and waitress uniforms, andtears met my smile. God, for years, I had begged her to quit smoking. I neverthought I’d one day miss the smell so much, and I brought one shirt to my noseand sucked in the scent. I wished I could permanently implant it into mymemory, knowing all too well that it would never stay.
Carefullyplacing the box onto the floor, I opened the second. Immediately I remembered hercloset full of storage. Some Christmas decorations, a safety lockbox, and asmall stack of envelopes rubber-banded together were all that was left of thepile of junk she had kept in there. I already knew the lockbox contained acouple of emergency credit cards and a few important documents, but theenvelopes snagged my curiosity.
Therubber band snapped; age had made it brittle. Three envelopes laid in my hand,all with the return address of someone named Morrison only a few hours away inNew York.
Openingthe first, I was surprised to find a handwritten letter. Barely legible, insloppy cursive.
Itook a deep breath and moved to my bed to read.
