by Alex Light
The wind was picking up, blowing through the tree branches, and I smelled fried food. Like doughnuts. Why did the lake smell like doughnuts? Then I turned to Jenny and realized it was her. Then I realized my mom’s bakery was just down the road, also the way Jenny came from . . .
“You were at my mom’s bakery,” I said.
“Those jelly things are addicting.”
Brett
MY DAD WANTED TO GO to counseling. He thought a few hour-long sessions for our whole family would help us move past this, like his affair was nothing more than a bump in the road, a detour. That a few hours spent sitting on a couch talking to a stranger would magically fix this, then it would be back to his regularly scheduled family life.
My mind was made up and the answer was no. But my mom? My mom was all in.
The three of us were sitting on a couch in Dr. Kim’s office. She kept taking down notes whenever my parents spoke. My dad was on his fifth “I’m sorry” and “It was a mistake” and my mom had already gone through two boxes off tissues. I hadn’t said a word the entire session. The hour was almost up.
Dr. Kim turned to me. “You’ve been quiet, Brett,” she said. “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t seem very happy to be here,” she noted.
I looked at my mom, who’d finally stopped crying. The only reason I came was for her. I would have been fine changing all the locks on our house and not allowing my father back inside. But no, she wanted to try. And if that’s what it took to make her happy, I’d do it.
“I’m not. I don’t want to be here,” I said, looking away from my mom. I picked up a stress ball off the table and squeezed it between my fingers.
“Why not?”
I let go, watched the ball return to normal size. “We’re here to fix our family, right?”
She frowned. “Do you think your family is broken?”
“Yes,” I said.
If Dr. Kim was annoyed with my short answers, she didn’t show it. “And to use your word, do you want your family to be ‘fixed’?” she asked.
I sank back into the couch, squeezing the ball harder until my knuckles started to turn white. “Yes.”
Dr. Kim smiled, scribbling again in that notebook. “That’s a good start. What do you think is the first step in making that happen?”
That was easy. “He has to leave.”
My dad covered his head in his hands. My mom began to say my name before Dr. Kim cut her off. “That’s okay, Willa. Let him finish. You think your dad leaving will fix your family, Brett?” she asked, turning back toward me.
“I think it would be a start,” I said.
Satisfied, she wrote that down before turning to my father. “What do you think about that, Thomas?”
I had gotten into the habit of blocking out my dad’s voice whenever he spoke. I focused on the stress ball and watched it expand and collapse. Then I looked around the room, at the dozens of plaques covering the walls. There were plants everywhere too, like someone had read a book on how to make a room feel welcoming. Too bad it wasn’t working. All I wanted was to run out of there at full speed.
Finally, Dr. Kim closed her notebook. “Well, our time is up for today. But we can pick up from here next week.” My parents shook her hand, said they’d schedule another appointment with the receptionist, and we left.
The hour-long drive home was silent. I didn’t know if there were no family counselors in Crestmont or if my dad had just chosen one that was a few towns over. That way, it limited the chance someone would see us going. God forbid another Wells family secret was exposed.
No one said a single word the entire drive. The only sound was my mom sniffling and the low hum of the radio. The tension in the car was thick enough to make it hard to breathe. I opened a window and leaned my head outside, wishing this was a dream. It still didn’t feel real. Any of this. I glanced at my dad’s silhouette and then my mom’s, then the space in the middle where their hands usually rested, intertwined, while driving. Now there was so much space between all three of us.
I could see my mom’s face in the side-view mirror. Her head was resting against the window and her eyes were closed. She hadn’t been sleeping lately. She spent all her time in her bedroom with the door half open, but she never slept. I started setting an alarm on my phone so I’d wake up in the middle of the night to check on her. Sometimes her bed was empty and I’d walk downstairs to find her sitting on the couch, staring at the TV screen. Most nights she was lying in bed crying. Those times, I’d lie beside her. She wouldn’t say a word. She’d just hide the tissue box and hold my hand until the sun rose.
At this point I couldn’t tell the difference between coping and surviving. There was no way our family could go back to normal. I was starting to forget what normal even felt like.
My dad dropped us off at home. I got out of the car and sat on the steps leading to the door. I watched him and my mom sit there for a few minutes, talking. They kept glancing at me. I was scared he’d get out and try to come inside, that he wouldn’t want to go back to the hotel. But when the door opened, only my mom stepped out.
The house was so quiet. Eerie. I followed my mom into the kitchen and watched as she poured herself a mug of coffee. She looked skinnier. When was the last time she ate? I went to the fridge and started to make her a sandwich. That was my job now, to take care of her. She didn’t say a word, just sat at the table and stared into the mug, not even drinking. When I placed the plate in front of her, she looked up at me. “What is this?”
“You need to eat, Mom.”
She picked up half the sandwich and handed it to me, a silent offer. She’d only eat if I did too. Caving, I sat down and took a bite. Then she did.
We ate in silence.
“Your dad wants to come back home,” my mom said.
I took a deep breath, swallowed down the anger. “Do you want that?” I asked.
She reached across the table, grabbed my hand. “I want what’s best for you, Brett. That’s all I ever wanted.”
I read between the lines. “You could have told me, Mom, about the affair. You didn’t have to go through that alone.”
My mom patted my hand. Her face broke into this sad smile. “You love your father so much, Brett. I didn’t want to take that away from you. And I’m your mother; it’s my job to protect you.”
“Do you still love him?”
“I do.”
“Even after what he’s done?” I asked.
“You can’t shut off eighteen years of loving someone because of one mistake, Brett. Love is more complicated than that.” My mom stood up, walked around the table, and hugged me from behind. She kissed my forehead, then walked away.
“Mom?” I called.
She paused at the doorway. “Yes?”
“Can I change the locks on the doors?”
“If you want.”
I don’t think it was that easy, though. Even if I physically removed my father from my life, he’d still be there. That was the worst part.
It was starting to feel like an earthquake had rocked through my life and split it into two. There was the mess waiting for me at home and then school, where I had to hide all the cracks. And now with Becca out of the picture, I wasn’t sure which was worse.
It was my fault. I asked for space. And I wanted space, I really did. But I didn’t realize that asking her to stop being my girlfriend also meant we couldn’t be friends. In hindsight, I may have fucked that up. Because even though I was still trying to sift through my feelings, Becca was the only person I wanted to talk to. She was the only one who really understood. But from the looks of it, she wanted nothing to do with me. What I said that day on the rooftop had driven a wedge between us, because now she wouldn’t even look at me. Not during class. Not during lunch. She even stopped eating at our table outside.
I tried to find her the first few days. I searched the library and the halls but she must have been hiding in some crevi
ce only she knew about. The only time I got to see her was during English. On Thursday, our eyes met when Miss Copper asked me to stay back after class. And even then, Becca only held my gaze for a second before clutching her textbooks to her chest and rushing into the hall.
“Brett,” Miss C said when the class had emptied. I stood before her desk, waiting. “I’m sure you are aware members of the football team need to maintain a B-grade in every class to continue playing.”
I nodded. “I am.”
She placed my recent essay on Romeo and Juliet on her desk. A big red F covered the top right corner. This week was turning into one bad moment after another. I wanted to explain why my paper was so bad. How I’d been so busy caring for my mom that I didn’t have time to write it. That I was spending my weekend in some useless counseling session. How I was getting barely three hours of sleep a night because I wanted to stay awake in case the door opened and my dad tried to come home.
I just stood there, trying not to fall apart.
“This essay was worth thirty percent,” she continued. “And with this low of a mark, your grade for this class has dropped to a C, Brett. I informed your coach and you’ll have to start sitting out of football games until this changes.”
“I’ll bring my grade back up,” I said. And this time it wasn’t so I could play football for my dad. It was because I had an entire team relying on me.
“I trust that you will. And Brett?” Then she had that look on her face. The same pitiful one every other teacher was throwing me. Becca was right—the entire school knowing about my parents did suck. “If you need an extension in the future—”
“I won’t. Thank you, Miss Copper,” I said quickly before running out of class. I hated how everyone treated me like I was broken, like they had to speak softer to make sure I wouldn’t completely lose it. The only person treating me the same was Jeff, who was waiting in the hallway, eyes bugging out of his head.
“What happened?” he asked, following me to calculus.
“I failed that essay,” I said, gripping the straps of my backpack. “My grade dropped to a C.”
Jeff stopped walking. I kept walking until he tugged me backward. “You’re off the team?”
“Would you keep your voice down?” I shoved him into the corner of the hall. “I’m not off the team. Just suspended until I bring my grade back up.”
“So get a tutor. We need you on the team.”
“There’s a lot going on right now. I don’t have time for a tutor.”
He swore under his breath. “Right. I forgot. How’s your mom doing?”
I shook my head. “She’s a mess” was all I said. I didn’t like talking about my family at school. “I have to get to class.”
I made to turn around when his arm grabbed my shoulder. “Brett . . . are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lied.
“You can tell me. We’ve been friends since we were kids.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “I won’t tell the team. It’ll stay between us.”
There were too many people in the halls, too many eyes on us. I didn’t want to talk about this with him. Not now. Preferably not ever. The only person I wanted to confide in was Becca, and I’d lost that too.
“I’m fine,” I repeated, pushing past Jeff and running down the stairs.
Maybe if I said it enough I could trick myself into believing it.
Becca
THE REVIVAL OF MY FRIENDSHIP with Jenny put a new spring in my step. It made me realize that ignoring Brett at school wasn’t the way to deal with my problems. It was only going to widen the space that had opened up between us. I decided that it was time for me to take back the reins on my life and speak to Brett. He said he needed time to think, and a week was plenty of time, right? He had to have reached some conclusion on his feelings toward me. And whether good or bad, I was ready to find out. No more moping around for me. I had to take action.
So, on Monday morning, I walked into school with my head held high and one goal in mind.
Only Brett’s seat in English class was empty.
All my determination and positive thinking was for nothing. Great.
I tried to pay attention to Miss Copper’s lesson, but my eyes kept drifting to his desk, waiting for him to materialize out of thin air. My notes were suffering too. An hour had passed by and I had written one sentence. One!
During lunch, I ate at my usual table outside. Which, pathetically, felt a little lonelier without Brett there. I even had to throw half my fries out because he wasn’t there to eat the rest. I was watching the doors, waiting for him to show up late. When the bell rang, I realized he wasn’t just ghosting me. He was ghosting his entire education. And the thought made this knot grow in the pit of my stomach, because Brett wasn’t the type to skip school. He’d only do that if he was desperate. Like if things had gotten worse at home.
I should have called him to check in. We were kind of allies in the broken-family department. And allies don’t abandon each other.
After school, I plopped myself down on the grass beneath the oak tree and waited for football practice to start. The doors to the locker room opened and the players trickled out. I watched, waiting to see Brett and that head of golden hair. Jeff was out first, then a bunch of other players whose names I didn’t know and who I had never spoken to. The door shut, the coach blew his whistle, and they all huddled in the center of the field.
I took out my book and read a page, waiting. Maybe Brett was running late.
I read a chapter. Still waiting. He had to show up. He specifically said he wasn’t going to quit the team.
I read until one hour had passed. Their shirts were off now, and they were all lying on their backs in the grass, splashing water on their faces. Brett was nowhere to be found.
I picked up my book and my bag and walked down the hill, across the field, and toward the metal bench that Jeff was sitting on. “Hey, Jeff,” I said. His eyes squinted in the sun when they met mine. “Have you seen Brett?”
He set his phone aside. “You don’t know?”
Oh god. The knot in my stomach doubled. “Know what?”
“He’s off the team.” My mouth literally dropped open like a puppet. “Not permanently,” he added quickly. “Just till he brings his grade up. This happened a few days ago. . . . He hasn’t told you?”
Clearly Brett hadn’t filled his best friend in on our breakup.
“We haven’t spoken in a while” was all I said.
“Last I heard he was looking for someone to tutor him in English.”
“He’s failing English?” My heart dropped. That was my best subject and he didn’t ask for my help? Of course he didn’t, a voice in my head said. You’ve been hiding from him for a week. Shut up shut up shut up.
“How has he been?” I asked then, lowering my voice. “With his family.”
Jeff kicked stubbornly at the grass. “I don’t know. He won’t talk to me about it.”
But I knew he’d talk to me.
“You think he’s home right now?” I checked my phone for the time. “I can walk there in twenty minutes if I take the side roads,” I said, thinking out loud.
“I can give you a ride,” Jeff said, nodding toward the field. “We’re almost done here. Mind waiting fifteen?”
I told him that no, I didn’t, then made a beeline inside. With half the contents of my locker piled into my backpack and my arms, I sat on the front steps and waited. Twenty minutes had passed when Jeff showed up. “This way,” he said, leading me to an old red pickup truck that was equal parts car and rust. It looked like it was going to crumble apart at any moment. Suddenly, walking to Brett’s house felt like a better option.
“The car’s fine,” Jeff said, reading my mind. “I got the brakes fixed last week.” How reassuring. I sat down anyway. Desperate times and all that.
“You’ve met Brett’s parents?” I asked when we were driving through town.
“Loads of times.”
�
�What do you think of them?”
“Before all of this happened? I thought they were cool, like any normal parents. Always holding hands, coming to the football games together, that kind of stuff. I never would have guessed that his dad . . . I don’t think anyone saw that coming. Especially Brett. The guy practically worshipped his dad.”
“He hasn’t said anything to you about his family?” I asked again.
“Brett’s private, I guess. I tell him he can talk to me about this stuff but he won’t. At this point I just figured if he wants to talk, he will. I won’t push him. We’re here.”
I nearly flew out of the car before we were even parked. “Thanks for the ride,” I said, then ran up the driveway. I knocked once. Took a deep breath in. Blew it out. Knocked again. I was beginning to think no one was home when the door pulled open and Brett was there, standing in front of me, staring into my eyes in that way that made my fingers shake. My first thought was, Wow, he looks different. Stubble lined his jaw, and he looked like he had just rolled out of bed. His eyes went from my face to the hoard of textbooks in my hands.
“Becca.” He said my name slowly. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re failing English,” I said.
His eyebrows scrunched together. “How do you know that?” Then he spotted Jeff’s pickup in the driveway and put the pieces together. “Of course he told you.”
I had to remind myself he was going through a lot right now. Yelling out of frustration would not make this any better. “You should have told me,” I said, trying to sound as calm as possible. “I know you said you needed space, Brett, but this seems like the kind of emergency that takes priority over that.”
“It was one essay. I’m working on rewriting it.”
“Do you want some help?” I asked. I was shifting on my feet, waiting for him to say no, shut the door, and go back to his separate little world.
He opened the door farther. “Sure.”