by Bradon Nave
“I’m not at a place where I’m able to talk about it to you…not about what I’m feeling on days like today. But I will talk to my uncle about it next time I see him…I promise,” she said as tears continued to trail down her pretty face.
“Kacey, you have no idea how much I care about you. I know you’re angry, but that stuff hurts. You have no idea how bad that—”
“I can’t lose you, Jessie!” she blurted out. “Please forgive me. I promise it won’t happen again. Please.” She continued crying.
“Hey…you’re not going to lose me unless that’s something you want to happen. I’m in this for as long as you wanna keep me around. It’s cool; we all say silly things sometimes. Come here,” I said as she lay in my arms. Suddenly we fit again—and just in time. I heard my father walk through the front door. “Dry your eyes, pretty girl. Tonight’s going to be a good night, okay?” I whispered, kissing the top of her head.
“Okay.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
“I hope you’re not hoping for a long evening of television and conversation,” my dad said as he and Kacey buttered bread and prepared salad. I merely observed happy—grateful to let go of the fallout from an hour earlier.
“Are you kicking me out after supper?” Kacey asked sarcastically.
“Not at all…but one thing about Jessie is once he gets a plate of spaghetti or two down him, it’s only a matter of minutes before he’s zonked out. It’s been like that since his mother…since his mother used to make him spaghetti when he was just a kiddo.”
“Oh…like turkey? I pass out cold every Thanksgiving.”
The tension draped across my father’s shoulders lifted as soon as Kacey offered him an out. I thought for certain she would enquire further about my mother. “Did you have a good Thanksgiving this year?” he asked.
“Hmmm…no, not really. It was just my mom and uncle. The holidays sucked. I mean, I knew they were going to suck…but not really knowing what to expect when we went into them just made it that much worse. Next year will be better.”
“How so?” my father asked as he opened the refrigerator.
Placing a baby carrot in her mouth, Kacey turned to him, the palms of her hands resting on the granite countertops behind her. “It was the little things this year. He always prayed before we ate Thanksgiving…this year we’d decided I would carve the turkey, but we forgot to think about who would pray. I looked to his empty chair instinctively and cracked,” Kacey proclaimed calmly. “And then on Christmas Morning my dad would always pass out the gifts. I was totally fine with my mother passing them out, but when it was over and I didn’t have my father’s famous double hot chocolate in my hands…it was just too much. Next year will be better.”
The confusion must have been blatantly evident on my face as I listened to my girlfriend disclose such intimate details in such a passive manner. I couldn’t have pried those from her earlier, yet she spoke to my dad like it was nothing.
“I…I know that feeling. Or I think I know a feeling similar to that,” my dad said, his back to the both of us as he stood at the stove.
“Oh yeah?” Kacey asked, snapping into another carrot.
“Yeah,” he continued. His words were gruff, but they’d been spoken and so they were beautiful to my ears. My father was talking about my mom and Cory. I wanted to listen without being seen; I wanted to be as visible as glass.
“It’s like…it’s like you don’t get better. Time doesn’t make you better, it just makes you more numb, and then you feel guilty for being numb. And then one day out of the blue, you smell or see or hear something and you’re right back in that moment…that gut-ripping moment where nothing makes sense.”
“Yep…Chanel perfume and practice jerseys,” my dad muttered.
“Ha! The song “Alibies” by Tracy Lawrence and Axe chocolate body spray,” Kacey followed up.
“Copenhagen and Playboy magazines…Cory was never a sneaky kid. He just threw them under his mattress,” my dad said, smiling. “And I can’t get a whiff of cinnamon without picturing my goofy wife reading some silly romance novel while eating those cinnamon Jolly Ranchers and cinnamon bears. I don’t know how that woman kept such beautiful teeth.”
Sharing a smile, my father and my girlfriend connected—not that I wasn’t thankful, but I was wondering why she and I hadn’t been able to have this conversation.
“It’s the stupid things I miss too…the things I would have never imagined I would miss before he passed away,” Kacey said. “In the morning…every morning he would walk in the kitchen and yawn so dramatically loud, it would literally scare me. Then he’d talk my ear off before I even had the chance to drink a cup of coffee.” Kacey turned from my father and back to the salad preparation. “Our kitchen here is quiet…it’s too quiet in the morning.”
“Little things…” My dad’s words trailed as he looked to me. “Jessie, you okay, bud?”
“I’m good, Dad,” I replied, offering my father a smile. I was proud of him for talking about our family.
Setting the knife on the counter, Kacey walked to me and stood behind me. Her fingers worked their way into my tense shoulders as my head rested on her taut stomach. “You sleepy already?” she asked.
“Um, yeah. I really am. I don’t know why. I feel foggy. Maybe I just need to eat.”
“We can eat and I’ll let you get some sleep—”
“No, I wanna hang out with you,” I whined, my head positioning to rest on top of her hand.
“Okay,” she chuckled.
“These noodles will be ready in about five minutes,” my dad said. “I’m gonna go freshen up.”
“’K, Dad.”
As he left the room, I took either of her hands in mine as she stood behind me. “I’m proud of you…thank you.”
“For what?” she asked curiously.
“For talking about it…and for talking to my dad. My dad literally never talks about that. Thank you. I know that’s good for him.”
“Oh…well, you’re welcome,” she replied sweetly.
“I wish…I kinda wish you could talk to me like that,” I said softly.
Kacey began rubbing my shoulders again. “You mean how your father and I were just talking? Jessie, I could talk to you like that all day long.”
“But…”
“But…what, Jessie?” she asked softly.
“I just wish I could be there for you when you’re sad. I wish I could be that person you go to when you’re sad and—”
“Jessie, you are that person I go to when I’m sad, dork. I still come to you. I may not want to talk at that moment, I may just want you to be with me and for us to be quiet and together, but I come to you.”
“Oh…that makes sense,” I said.
“Yes, it does, Jessaroo or roon or what does Duke call you?”
“So dumb,” I replied, chuckling. “Jessaroonie.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
It wasn’t a tickle or even playful; something was prodding my rib cage on the right side. It hurt. “Jessie…boy, you have got to stop partying all night,” Ms. Davenjer said as I woke to the class staring at me.
“Oh, my bad,” I said as I looked to Duke—his fingers poised and ready to assault my side once more if needed. “That hurt, D.”
“You were all but snoring, Jess. What time did you go to be last night?” he whispered.
“I was in bed by nine. We watched Game of Thrones and I crashed out after Kacey left.”
“Boys, I don’t mind you talking, but for Pete’s sake stop whispering…it’s like nails on a chalkboard,” Ms. Davenjer snapped halfheartedly.
“He was just saying he needs to go take a massive dump,” Duke announced loudly, much to the delight of the entire class.
“I hate you,” I said, my eyelids fighting to stay pried apart.
“Jessie, you are free to visit the facilities anytime you wish; however, I don’t feel announcing your upcoming bodily functions i
n class is necessary,” she said playfully.
“You know me better than that, Ms. Davenjer.” My smile felt as sleepy as my eyes did.
“Indeed. Unlike Mr. Austin, you have manners…something we can all appreciate.”
“Hey, I have manners,” Duke protested, garnering laughs and sighs.
“No, you don’t,” Lily chimed in.
“Ms. Davenjer…I really do need some water. I need to walk around too. I can’t wake up today.” My arms reached for the ceiling behind me as I stretched.
“Do what you need, Jessie. Just don’t let Danes catch you roaming the halls. He’ll eat us both for supper.”
Walking into the hall, I was quick to make it to the water fountain. Looking around, I quenched my thirst and made my way to the bathroom. There wasn’t enough water in the world to splash on my face to wake me up. Slapping myself lightly while looking at my reflection, I shot myself a sleepy smile as a bathroom stall opened. Much to my dismay, a disgruntled Coach Danes walked to the sink next to me.
“I was under the impression that bathing was to be done at home…not in the bathroom sink at school,” he snapped while washing his hands.
I simply avoided eye contact as I turned the water off and reached for a paper towel. “I’m talking to you,” he continued.
“I did take a shower. I just needed to wake up. I was just leaving,” I replied, turning from him. His grip was cold and hard on my arm as he turned me to him.
“You can’t touch me, Coach! I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you can’t touch me!” I shouted as Coach Danes jumped back. “I’m not going to tell you again to leave me the hell alone! I don’t owe you anything, so leave me alone!”
I witnessed my own belligerence in the mirror from the corner of my eye. “Kasper,” his voice was gruff, yet soft, “what has gotten into you?”
The thought of my fist plummeting into his brilliantly white teeth dissipated as I drew a deep breath in through my nose.
“You can hate me all you want, son…but you have to understand that I’ve watched you grow up. And you can’t talk to me that way. That’s not you talking, Jessie Kasper.” His words were yet to be abrasive. His gaze didn’t leave me wanting to cower yet, either. I didn’t feel like I was being scolded.
My gaze fell upon the tiny black-and-white tiles beneath us. “I’m…I don’t hate you. I’m sorry, Coach,” I muttered.
“Walk with me, Kasper,” he said softly.
I inhaled deeply, my feet remained planted. “Okay, Coach…but I really don’t think I have the mental fortitude to get chewed out today.”
His hand on my shoulder wasn’t cold—it wasn’t hard. “Walk with me, Kasper.”
As we walked into the gym, he picked up a basketball from near the sideline and threw it to me. I instinctively removed my street shoes before stepping onto the court.
“Jessie, I keep in contact with literally every breathing boy and girl I’ve ever coached. I email, call, or have them on social media. Some of their children call me Uncle Coach,” he said, his eyes prompting me to shoot the basketball. I did, nailing the basket from the three-point line.
Coach Danes slowly walked to retrieve the ball. “I guess what I’m saying is, I don’t think I’m that bad of a guy, Jessie. I’m not perfect…I could definitely work on my communication skills, but I’m not a bad person.” The ball sailed back to me.
I instantly sent the basketball through the net again, impressing Coach Danes. “You still got it, Jessie Kas—”
“I know you’re not a bad guy, Coach. I say dumb stuff sometimes too. You pissed me off…I’m not gonna lie, when Cory was sick, you pissed me the hell off. But I don’t think you did anything intentionally.”
As he tossed the ball to me again, I felt myself waking up.
“No…I didn’t. If you feel like that’s something you can move forward from, it would mean a lot.”
“Done,” I said as I shot the ball again, sinking the shot. “And I’m sorry I went crazy earlier.”
“It happens.”
“I bet Davenjer thinks I fell in,” I said as I looked at the large clock.
“I’ll escort you back to class, Princess,” Coach Danes replied.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
“You feel better, bud?” my dad asked as I walked down the stairs.
“What time is it?”
“Almost seven.” I’d been asleep since Duke dropped me off after school.
“Have you seen my phone?” I asked.
“Check your back pocket,” he said sarcastically—I was wearing nothing but boxer shorts.
“I need to see if Kacey tried to call.”
“She did. She’ll be here around seven thirty. Her mom is—”
“You just answered my phone?” I interrupted, chuckling at the audacious gesture.
“She tried to call you like three times. She’s bringing a sleeping bag. Her mom is doing some sleep study tonight, so she’s going to stay on the couch.”
“Yeah…they think she has sleep apnea. You’re cool with her crashing here?”
“Yeah, Jess. I trust your judgment; you’re nineteen. Go throw some clothes on and help me fire up the grill.”
“What are you cooking me?” I asked happily, patting my stomach.
“Steak…why else would I fire up the grill?”
“Fist bump,” I replied from mid-staircase, extending my arm with my balled fist toward my father.
“Go throw some clothes on…and do something with that bedhead. You need a ball cap or some clippers, boy.”
It was apparent that Kacey would look stunning regardless of what she wore…hopefully she thought the same of me, as the first thing I reached for when I opened my dresser drawer was my favorite pair of sweatpants. I coupled that with my faithful Batman T-shirt and a zip-up hoodie and tamed my wild mess of hair with a black beanie. I topped my homely ensemble off with worn-looking white socks. I was comfortable—so comfortable, I felt my body aching to crawl back into bed and drift off to sleep.
The thought of Kacey and food was motivating enough to descend the stairs and into the backyard. I prayed my dad bought large steaks. The thought of a fat, juicy steak had my mouth watering.
“Oh, dear God,” my dad said, looking to me as I walked out the back door. I quickly looked behind me to see what he was looking at. I then realized he was talking about my attire.
“I’m sorry, sir. The soup kitchen is actually about twenty minutes south of here.”
“Shut up, Dad,” I said, smiling as I walked to him. “Back away from the coals and let them soak for a bit…we’ve had this conversation,” I said.
“Son…you look pathetic.”
“That bad?”
“Homeless…pathetic and homeless.”
“My eyes…they won’t stay open. The struggle is real,” I replied, resting my forehead on my dad’s shoulder.
“Do you feel okay?” he asked as I lifted my head. The backs of his fingers worked their way between my forehead and the beanie.
“Yep…I’m just really warm and sleepy,” I replied, giving my father a goofy smile.
“And hungry?” he asked, his large hand extending on top of my head—shaking it gently.
“Yes,” I replied dramatically. “I’m starving.”
“Good. I got some big pieces of meat.”
“And potatoes?”
“Yep.”
“And green beans?”
“Yep.”
“And ice cream?”
“Ice cream? I guess I can run to the store if—”
“I’m messing with you, Dad. I’ll be lucky to finish supper. I don’t think dessert will be an option.”
“I was gonna say…porker. How was school today?”
“Ha,” I replied, eyeing the coals as they basked in the lighter fluid. “Danes and I had a falling out. I kinda got dramatic and yelled at him.”
“Yelled at him?” My dad’s attention sharply set upon the conve
rsation change. I instantly regretted mentioning it.
“Um…yeah. He popped off in the bathroom and grabbed my arm, so I—”
“He grabbed your arm?” My father’s eyes narrowed as the scowl developing assured me that mentioning the now-resolved conflict between Danes and me was a poor decision.
“Look, Dad. I yelled at him and acted ridiculous. We both apologized…we were both in the wrong.”
“I get that. But what Mr. Danes needs to understand is that the quickest way to get knocked backward on your stupid ass is to lay your hands on my boy.” My dad’s words were sharp, yet he was smiling.
“Please don’t,” I said, my head lowered as I gave my father a cautious smile.
“Don’t what, son?”
“Knock him backward on his stupid ass. It’s not a good look for us, Dad.”
His sarcastic smile and the headlock I was soon put in were both interrupted as an angelic voice resounded from the backdoor.
“So you don’t answer your phone or your door? Very rude, Jessie,” Kacey said as she walked into the backyard.
“Oh my God, you look gorgeous,” I proclaimed, pushing my father away. Her leggings and tight-fitting Under Armor pullover only confirmed my original argument—she was perfect.
“And you look…oh well. At least I can still see your face,” she said sarcastically as she gave me a hug. “Hey, Joe. Thank you for the invite,” she followed up, hugging my dad too.
“No problem, sweetheart.”
“I’m going to have to start paying rent if I continue to eat over here all the time,” she said as she walked to the grill, prodding the coals with her finger.
“Please. I’m used to feeding Jessie and Duke. You’re like feeding a bird next to those two,” my dad said.
“That’s not nice,” I protested with a smile.
“I’m messing with you, son. Well-balanced diets make well-balanced individuals.”
“I can’t speak for Jessie, but I’m pretty sure Duke’s diet is not well-balanced,” Kacey added.