Learning to Live

by Jerrica Knight-Catania

Mom cocks her head to the side, her eyes turning a little watery. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  If she cries, I’ll cry, so I turn away and bite my lip. “That’s what it feels like,” I say, fighting the lump in my throat.

  “Oh, Jess.” She puts her arms around me and draws me in for a hug. This is the first contact I’ve had with either of my parents since they picked me up. I’m fighting the tears. I don’t want to cry on her shoulder. I don’t want to be comforted. “I would never, ever force you into another relationship, sweetheart.”

  Tears are streaking down my cheeks and landing on her cashmere sweater. But I’m holding back as much as I can. My body is shaking from trying to keep the sobs from taking over my body. When I feel ready, I push away from my mom.

  “Okay,” I say, swiping the tears from my cheeks. “Thanks.” Because I don’t know what else to say. “I’ll be in my room.”

  I don’t look at my mom. I can’t. Instead, I run up the stairs to my room where I can cry in private.

  FIVE

  I really shouldn’t be here. I feel weird. Like…I shouldn’t be here. Brandon is moving quickly around the kitchen. He knows where everything is. Kyle always knew where everything was too.

  Thinking of Kyle is like having a warm blanket with me. I’m like Linus and Kyle’s memory is my blanket. If I catch myself not thinking about him, I feel guilt. Heavy, debilitating guilt.

  I feel it now, too, even though he’s on my mind. I know this isn’t a date. It’s just friends having coffee in a brightly-lit kitchen in their sweats. Nothing romantic to it. So why do I feel guilty? Men and women can be friends without thinking of one another sexually, can’t they?

  Heat rises to my cheeks, and I turn my face to the window so Brandon won’t see if he decides to look over here. Thankfully, he’s caught up in preparing our coffees.

  “I’m glad you came,” he says as he walks toward the table, coffees in hand, a moment later. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

  I shrug. “I wasn’t sure if I would either, but…”

  Brandon sips his coffee. “But?”

  “I’m really sorry for asking about your parents yesterday.” And I really am. I’m not sure how I’d feel if someone asked how Kyle and I were doing, now that he’s gone. I imagine I’d collapse to a puddle on the floor.

  He half smiles and looks down at his coffee for a second before meeting my eyes. His are such an unusual mix of green and brown flecks, I can’t help staring. “It’s not like you knew,” he says. “And like I said, it’s been a long time now. We’ve mostly gotten past it.”

  Do you really ever get past it? “How?” The word is out of my mouth before I can stop it.

  “How?” Brandon laughs. “I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “You just keep putting one foot in front of the other.”

  Whatever that means. I want to change the subject now. “So, what have you been doing with yourself?”

  “Ah! You must be wondering why I’m home all day.”

  A snort of laughter escapes me. “Yeah, maybe a little,” I admit.

  “Well, when Mom and Dad died, I took over Dad’s business. I don’t know if you remember, but he started a small software company when we were in high school.”

  I shake my head. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, I had started working for him before the accident. Nothing much. Just doing odd jobs around the office—a glorified coffee boy, if you will.” He holds up his cup and then takes a sip.

  “So, that’s why this coffee is so good. You had lots of practice.”

  He laughs. I haven’t made someone laugh in a long time.

  “Turns out Dad left the company to me, so I became president over night.”

  “Nice. It must be great to have something land in your lap like that.”

  “You would think so, but unfortunately, the company was struggling.” He drums his fingers on either side of his coffee mug, staring down into it, as if it holds all his memories. “I met with Dad’s lawyers and financial advisors…we hashed and rehashed all our options. But the thing was that our software was outdated. Nobody needed or wanted something that had been developed in the early 90s.”

  I lean forward. I’m intrigued. “So, what happened?”

  He looks up and gives me a sly grin. “Are you sure you want to hear this? I was kind of ruthless.”

  Now I’m really intrigued. “Like Conan the Barbarian ruthless?”

  He laughs again. I like that I can make someone laugh.

  “Well, not quite. But I started separating the wheat from the chaff. I had to fire a few people who I considered deadweight, and had to stick it to a few others who were on the fence. I restructured the entire company, which pissed a lot of people off since I was barely twenty at the time. But most importantly, I hired a new head of development. Thankfully, that guy turned out to be a genius who tripled our profits in the first year.”

  I have to admit. I’m really impressed. Who knew dorky old Brandon Todd had it in him? “So, what do you do now?” He’s home all day, so I have to wonder.

  He sucks in a long breath through his nose. “I work from home mostly. I might pop into the office once in a while, but I’m not really needed. I’m needed here. Caroline definitely needs me.”

  I raise my brows in question. “You say it as if there’s something wrong with her.”

  “Not her, per se. But her behavior, for sure.” He takes another sip of coffee. “She hasn’t had a very easy time since the accident.”

  I can’t imagine losing both parents so young. “So, what’s her deal?” I ask.

  “Oh, you know. Wrong crowd. Surly disposition. Teenagers are difficult in the first place, but she’s a million times worse.”

  I have an overwhelming urge to meet her now. Or re-meet her, as an adult. It crosses my mind that maybe I can help her—not that I’m in any position to offer someone advice. I’m the one who really needs the help. At least it feels that way. But I suppose it’s possible that there’s someone worse off than I am emotionally. Doesn’t seem likely, but still…

  “What time does she get home today?” I ask.

  “Actually…” he turns to look at the clock on the microwave. “I’ve gotta get going.”

  “Oh.” I’m feeling a little awkward. He’s up and putting his coffee cup in the sink. I chug the last of my own coffee. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you had somewhere to be.”

  “I probably should have told you sooner. Didn’t mean to rush you through your coffee. It’s just I got a call from school a little while ago.” He takes a deep breath. “Social Studies teacher this time.”

  I twist my mouth up in an apologetic way. “Sorry.”

  He shrugs. “Par for the course.” He levels me, his eyes serious all of a sudden. “I could have let her go to foster care. Might have been easier. But I’d like to think that one day…” He drops his head and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Brandon,” I say, and he meets my eyes. “You’re doing the right thing.”

  His shoulders relax and he gives me a half smile. “Thanks. I know that…it’s just nice to hear it from someone else every now and then.”

  My stomach turns as another wave of guilt and sadness washes over me. There’s no reason it should have in this moment. I actually feel good that I was able to reassure Brandon in some small way. I just…

  No, I won’t even let myself think it. Not for a second.

  I jump up from my seat like I’m a crazy bouncy ball. The chair slides loudly on the tile floor. I bump the table and almost drop my coffee cup at the same time. “Well, I better let you go,” I say, rushing my cup to him at the sink. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll see you around.”

  Before he has a chance to say anything else, I bolt toward the front door. I vaguely hear him calling for me to wait, and when I step outside, I realize he’s probably trying to give me my coat, which I left hanging on the back of my chair. Shit. I can’t walk home wi
thout it.

  I turn back to see him walking toward me. He’s got a lopsided grin on his face, like he knows what I’m thinking.

  But he doesn’t. He has no idea.

  “Your mom would have my head if I let you walk home with no coat,” he says.

  I reach out to take it, but he pulls it just out of my reach. When I grace him with a murderous look, he lifts a finger and swirls it in the air, like he wants me to turn around. I oblige, begrudgingly. And then I bristle when he puts the coat over my shoulders and pats the sides of my arms. It’s too intimate. He’s not Kyle.

  I shove my arms into the sleeves without turning around, and then I take off down the few stairs to the sidewalk without another word.

  Over the next few days, I return to my regularly scheduled programming of sleeping and barely eating. Mom’s not happy. I know she thinks I had a breakthrough the other day, and maybe I did, but my time with Brandon was so damn confusing, I feel like I’ve slipped backward.

  It’s Saturday morning, and I smell bacon again. She’s trying to lure me out. I haven’t been out in a couple days. She keeps leaving food outside my door. Sometimes I’ll open it and slide the tray in. Sometimes I leave it outside for her to collect once it’s obvious I’m not going to eat it. And even though the only things I’ll eat are the baked goods, she still tries to leave me veggies and hot meals, like spaghetti and meatballs or chicken soup.

  I pad into the bathroom, trying to decide if I want to take a shower. I don’t. I should. I take a good, long look at myself in the mirror, as much as it pains me. I’m thin. Too thin. My skin is gray still. And my eyes…

  I look away. They’re so haunting, disturbed. I can’t look at them without remembering.

  I swipe the tears away as I step back into my room. Deep breath. I’ve got to leave sometime, and the bacon does smell good.

  Mom and Dad are excited to see me when I arrive downstairs a minute later. They don’t say anything, but I can see their secret smiles as they go about their business.

  “Hungry?” Mom asks in a sing-song voice.

  I shrug. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Okey, dokey.”

  I almost laugh at Mom’s inability to be nonchalant. She puts a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me a moment later, and just as I’m about to dig my fork in, the doorbell rings.

  “Who could that be?” Dad asks, looking up from his newspaper.

  “Do you mind getting it, honey,” Mom asks him. “I don’t want your eggs to burn.”

  Dad leaves his paper on the table as he goes to open the door. Almost immediately, I recognize Brandon’s voice. Damn it. What is he doing here? I look like shit. I probably smell like it too.

  Not that it matters, I have to remind myself. And I hate that I have to remind myself.

  A moment later, Dad and Brandon walk into the kitchen. Brandon is in a navy tracksuit and tennis shoes, with a gray beanie on his head. His cheeks are rosy. Clearly he was out for a run and decided to swing by. I wonder if he does that often?

  “Brandon!” Mom says, her smile beaming. “You’re just in time for breakfast. Why don’t you call you sister and have her come over too. There’s plenty for everyone.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Brooks, but I don’t think Caroline is fit to be around people right now.”

  Mom looks up, frying pan in one hand and the other poised with the spatula to scoop the eggs onto a plate. “Is she all right?”

  Brandon pulls his beanie off and shakes out his wavy brown hair. It’s a light brown. Not like Kyle’s. Kyle’s was dark, almost black. And he had a nice olive complexion to go with it. God, he was hot. I miss looking at him.

  “She will be. I hope.” He plops into a chair at the table. “She’s failing another class.” He looks at me. “Social studies.”

  I nod, remembering that’s what his meeting was about the other day.

  “She’ll never graduate at this rate,” he continues. “But I don’t know what else to do. She’s nasty to every tutor until they finally give up and quit. And God forbid she listen to me.” He shakes his head again. “I’m at a loss.”

  “Maybe I can talk to her.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I don’t really feel like helping anyone—let alone a surly teenager—and I’m not even qualified, but I hate to see Brandon so distraught. I don’t know why I should care, but I do. And I want to help, I guess.

  Clearly, everyone else is just as shocked by this as I am. They’re all three gaping at me as if I’ve grown an extra head…or five.

  “Really?” Brandon finally asks, his voice full of both hope and skepticism.

  I shrug. “Sure. I mean…I can kind of understand where she’s coming from. I’m not a tutor,” I rush to inform him. No way can I help her with schoolwork. “But maybe she just needs someone to talk to.”

  “I’ve sent her to about a million counselors and psychologists over the last couple years.”

  “Not shrinks,” I clarify. “A friend.”

  “If you think you can get through to her…”

  “I’m not making any promises. Hell, I can barely get out of bed myself.” This is the first time I’ve admitted that out loud. It feels weird, and my parents exchange a look. Did everyone think I didn’t know that I’ve been in bed all this time? But now that I’ve said it out loud, I feel…different.

  “It’s worth a try,” Brandon says, and then his hazel eyes lock on mine. “Thank you.”

  My cheeks turn hot and I look away. “Ahem…yeah, no problem. Just…whenever.”

  I don’t say another word the rest of the meal, but when Brandon gets up to leave, he turns to me. “You gonna walk me to the door again?”

  I don’t want to. I don’t want this to turn into a thing—these private moments alone at my front door. Like he’s dropping me off after a date. It feels weird. In my heart, I’m still engaged to Kyle.

  But I still follow Brandon to the door. He turns to face me in the foyer.

  “Listen, I know this is weird, but I have this work party thing next weekend, and I really don’t want to go alone. Any chance you’d like to go with me?”

  My eyes widen of their own accord. “Like, on a date?”

  He squints at me. “You’re really hung up on this date idea, aren’t you? All right, if you want it to be a date.”

  “No!” I shout, and I realize I’ve changed the mood from light-hearted joking to serious panic.

  Brandon holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay,” he says, gently, like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “I was just messing around. Not a date.”

  “Not a date,” I repeat, my blood pressure returning to normal.

  “Are you having a bit of de ja vu? Because I am.”

  I laugh at this, but my heart is racing and I’m feeling unsure and unsteady all of a sudden. “Have a good day,” I finally say, opening the door for him.

  He smiles and takes the hint. “You too.”

  SIX

  I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I shouldn’t be. I mean, how hard can it be to talk to a teenage girl? I was one not so long ago. And from what I gather, she’s not one I should care too much about impressing. So it doesn’t make sense that I’m sitting here in Brandon’s kitchen, shaking like a leaf while I wait for Caroline to get home from school.

  “Just act natural,” Brandon says from across the table. He has a sly smile on his lips, like he knows what’s going on in my head.

  “Do I look unnatural?” I want to kick myself for the shakiness in my voice.

  He shrugs. “You seem a little nervous, I’m not gonna lie.”

  “Well, I—”

  The creaking of the front door cuts me off. I lock eyes with Brandon. This is it. She’s here. God, what is wrong with me? She’s just a teenage girl, for God’s sake!

  “Caroline?” Brandon calls out when she doesn’t immediately come to the kitchen.

  Caroline lets out a sigh that sounds like it’s coming from the staircase. She must’ve been trying
to escape before her brother caught her.

  “What?” she grunts and I hold back my giggle. Typical teenager. Although, it occurs to me I probably don’t sound that different these days.

  “Can you come in here, please?”

  It’s obvious she’s wearing boots by the shuffle-stomp sounds as she walks toward the kitchen. She stops in the doorway and we lock eyes for a moment, before she looks me up and down.

  This is not the Caroline I knew growing up. Gone is the sunny-faced girl with the blonde pigtails and Laura Ashley rompers. In her place is some Goth chick with a bad dye-job, black nails to match the bad hair, and probably the maximum amount of chains and leather that her high school will allow.

  “Who are you?” she asks with a smirk. “My new mom?”

  “Caroline,” Brandon warns, but I cut him off.

  “It’s okay,” I reassure him, and then I turn to Caroline. “No. Definitely not. I’m just your old neighbor.”

  “Old is right.”

  “Watch it, Caroline.” Brandon’s voice is menacing, and I understand. He’s probably worried I’m going to be offended or something. But I’m not. She’s just being defensive. I get that.

  “I’m Jessica. Jessica Brooks. Brandon and I went to high school together.”

  She lifts an eyebrow. “He’s still a nerd, you know?”

  I look at Brandon, trying to hide the smile that wants to break out on my lips. He rolls his eyes, but I can tell he’s fighting a smile too.

  “Well, either way, I’m not really here to see him,” I say, even though part of me definitely wanted to see him today. “I’m here to talk to you.”

  Caroline nods and folds her arms across her chest before she leans against the doorjamb. “Here we go.”

  “I’m sorry?” I say, playing dumb. I know she thinks this is some sort of intervention, but it’s not. Not the kind she’s expecting, at least.

  She crosses to the table and slumps down into a chair. A lock of her black hair falls over her eye and she blows it upward with her mouth. “Go head,” she says. “Let’s get this over with.”

  I look to Brandon. His jaw is clenched and he keeps opening and closing his fist, like he might leap across the table and strangle his insubordinate sister at any moment.