“Beef Borgonon and un devil’s food.” He spoke like a French pastry chef, and I couldn’t help laughing.
“You need help. And not with the cooking. It’s called an intervention.”
I was touched that he was making a meal for us, but I was shaken up by the graffiti, and the neighbor’s words festered in my head like cancer.
Murderer.
I felt my jean’s pocket for the letter, still there. Heat rose to my cheeks.
“Only if you want to.” Dad scooped sauce up with his finger and tasted it. He offered me some; I shook my head.
“Dr. Jergenson called. She said you missed an appointment.”
“Oh right, forgot to call her. I had to help Charlie with one of our finals.”
The lie came quick. If it was easy for me, then why not for him? Although mine was a white lie, not murder.
“She’ll fix it for this time, but the settlement won’t pay for missed visits. She was pretty upset. Said you risked a set-back. ”
“Got it. Let me feed Alabaster. I’ll be back.” I needed fresh air.
Out on the porch, Alabaster and Clawsome had reached an unlikely truce. Clawsome sat on his beat-up cat scratch post watching the yard. Alabaster sat at the front of his cage, also watching with piercing eyes. I wondered what they found so intriguing.
Then I saw the squirrel that bounded down the neighbor’s fence and ran across the cracked asphalt. He or she scurried away when it saw me. Alabaster fluffed his wings, and Clawsome washed a paw.
“Sorry, guys.” I stepped closer to the cage. “I think you’re getting better,” I said to Alabaster. She’d grown since I’d found her, which made me realize she was a young bird. When I changed her water, she didn’t bite me.
Back inside, I helped Dad finish. I cleaned the table of unwanted items—it turned out he was looking for salt—and chopped the carrots.
“Mom would have been forty-eight this year, right?” I asked.
Dad stopped stirring the sauce as if the question surprised him. “Yes, that’s right.”
We were silent for several seconds.
“You’re starting to remember?” he asked.
“I guess I am,” I said.
Dad nodded and turned down the heat.
“And Ama would be forty-two,” I continued.
“I miss them, too, kiddo. But Mom and Ama would want us to soldier on.”
“Yeah. But…” I sighed.
“Let’s put on some music.” Dad walked out of the kitchen. A couple of minutes later, the Stone Temple Pilots blasted from the living room.
“Can you turn it down?” I shouted.
He lowered the volume slightly and came back in, bobbing his head to the music.
“Every time I talk about Mom or Ama, you act all weird. You know that, right?”
“Who’s acting weird? You know tunes help me finish clean up.”
“Yeah, I mean you…never mind.”
On the way to my room, I stopped in the hallway. Two large boxes sat outside Alyx’s door. I opened one, which held a bunch of Alyx’s old clothes. They would have fit me perfectly two or three years back, but I never felt right wearing them, so they were left in her closet.
“Why is Alyx’s stuff in the hallway?” I called back to my dad.
“Oh, May moved it there,” he replied.
“What was she doing in Alyx’s room?” My throat was dry, tight and I couldn’t breathe.
“Just organizing. We can’t leave a whole room in the house unused, darling.”
“That’s Alyx’s room. Since when do you care about organizing?”
“I’m not that bad.”
I stormed back into the kitchen and yanked open a lower kitchen cabinet. Cans, empty garbage bag cartons, and a thousand plastic shopping bags fought to escape. I slammed the cupboard shut.
“Trying my best, sweetie. Can we have a nice dinner?”
He grabbed plates and set the table in the dining room. I grabbed two glasses and followed him. He set down three plates, along with knives and forks.
“You said you were making dinner for us.”
“I am. But May is coming, too.”
“You’re joking.”
He didn’t meet my eyes.
Dad went back into the kitchen.
“Since when is May us?” I asked.
“Aww, c’mon, don’t start. Let’s have a nice dinner.”
I stood with my arms folded. Dad turned off the burner and tried to grab my hands, but I pulled away.
“Don’t,” I snapped.
“Listen…”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“No, c’mon, we need to talk.”
I walked away.
“Alysa! Hold it. I may not be the best in the damn world, but I’m still your father. Now get back here.”
Grudgingly, and because I was surprised to hear him speak like that, I ventured back.
“May and I are getting serious, hon. She’s gonna set-up her Etsy business here, and your friend FloAnn might sleep over more often when she’s not with her dad.”
My mouth dropped open; I was stunned. “Without asking me? And FloAnn isn’t my friend and never will be.”
“I… should have mentioned something sooner. But things happened fast.”
“You asshole.”
“It’s my house,” he said, jaw jutted out.
“Then I’m moving out.”
“Not until you’re eighteen you’re not.”
“I’m almost eighteen. What difference does it make?”
“Okay, go ahead and move out. But don’t expect me to pay the bills.”
Out on the porch, Alabaster squawked and squealed as if she could sense that emotions flooded my body, none of them good. I pictured Alabaster attacking Dad, pecking his eyes out, eating May’s liver. I went deeper into the yard and sat down on a concrete block behind our shed.
With no one around to hear me, I cried. Soon enough, Clawsome came, purring and rubbing up against my shin. If anyone cried, Clawsome found them. Two weeks ago, when Dad and May had a fight, and she locked herself in the bathroom, he meowed until May let him in. Traitor.
Crying would not get me anywhere. My life sucked. But what was I going to do about it? I texted Ivan.
i’m free tomorrow
<<<<>>>>
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The Atlantis Twins Page 7