by Kasie West
“I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I didn’t mean to.”
“What. Happened.”
The speech I had rehearsed for five hours left me faster than I could blink. It was a good speech, if I remembered. One that explained how sorry I was and how much I just wanted to feel equally loved. Something that would make me sound apologetic and her feel guilty. That had seemed like the right balance. But my brother’s voice on the tape was repeating over and over in my head. If you can’t laugh, what’s life worth?
And that’s when I saw the humor in the last few days. Eric would’ve found it all funny, I was sure of it. Me stealing his stupid truck. Heath Hall mask on the dash. Jackson squirting me. Slurpees and muddy feet and kissing. And last of all, me unable to put it all back together, sleeping in the truck bed, prying off the bumper. It was all very funny. I’d had an adventure with my brother, in a way, and I wasn’t sorry for it. I was happy about it. It wasn’t a good time to laugh and I was sure half the reason for this reaction was sheer exhaustion but I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
Thirty-Eight
Mom was so good at the disappointed face. Like she had practiced it in front of the mirror hundreds of times to make it just perfect. I had just gotten my laughter under control when she pulled out the face and that thought sent me laughing again.
“Are you on something? Have you been drinking?” she asked.
I was never going to stop laughing if she kept saying stuff like that. I tried to think of something sobering. Death. My brother’s death. But again, that only made me smile as I thought about dancing on his grave. He was morbid.
I had come up with a five-minute speech that I was going to have to cut to five seconds because of my hysterics. “I took his truck. I was mad at you for missing my award ceremony and I couldn’t tell you that.”
“So you took your anger toward me out on your brother’s truck?”
Her anger was the perfect medicine for my laughter. It stopped immediately. It stopped because she didn’t have the right to be angry. I did. I got to be mad about this not her. “Yes, actually.”
That surprised her. I could tell because she stuttered at first, unsure of what to say. “Well, that’s . . . you . . . there will be consequences for this.”
I thought about my shoulders, pretty sure there already were consequences for this. That thought made me even angrier. Was my swimming career over? Had I damaged them permanently this time? I stood and went to my bedroom.
“Don’t walk away from me!” she yelled after me.
I retrieved the award from beneath my bed, went back, and dropped the envelope at her feet. “That’s the last one of those I’ll probably get. I’m glad you wanted to see me win it.”
Her anger seemed to fade as she stared at the envelope. Finally, she bent down and picked it up. “What is this?” she asked after she took it out.
The small square showing the distinction was missing so I took the envelope from her, dug it out, then handed it to her.
She scanned the words.
I sat back on the couch, my anger fading as well. “I really didn’t mean to break the truck. I was just going to drive it. Face my fear of him, of you always choosing him. And then I was going to put it back. But it all went wrong.”
She sat down in the chair by the couch as though she couldn’t stand anymore. “What do you mean me always choosing him?”
I had finally controlled my emotions. “Mom, you know what I mean. You have to.”
“But it’s not him I’m choosing. This is what I do. This is my job now. People count on me. I go to all your swim meets. I went to all your grade school sporting events.” She stopped, her gaze going back to the award still in her hands. She took a deep breath. “I chose him over you.” A single tear fell down her cheek and she swiped it away. Then she put the award on the end table next to her and looked at me for several long minutes. But she wasn’t looking at me; she was looking through me, lost in her thoughts. “My grief has become a living thing.”
“I know,” I said. Because I really did know. I knew what this was. I knew she hadn’t gotten over my brother’s death.
“I’ve fed that grief year after year. I let it grow. I have let it take over my life.” She put her face in her hands. “I have let it take over our lives. Hadley, my sweet girl, I’m sorry.”
I opened, then closed my mouth again. Of all the reactions I was expecting, it wasn’t this. I didn’t expect her to recognize it so quickly.
She wiped at her tears again and met my eyes. “When I came home and saw the platform bent, saw the truck in the drive, I thought . . . I thought someone had tried to steal it. I thought someone had come into our house. Had hurt you. I was so scared.”
Maybe the disaster outside with the truck had helped her come to these realizations more quickly than she might have otherwise. “You weren’t worried about the truck?”
“I was worried about you. I love you. You know that, right?”
I nodded. I did know that. Things just needed to be different.
“I never saw anyone after I lost him. A professional, I mean. Someone to help me through my grief. We had you and you brought so much joy into our lives and I pushed that grief of losing him deep down. I thought I’d moved forward. I hadn’t.”
I stood. “Can I show you something?”
She let me get the keys and lead her out to the truck. She climbed inside with me and reverently touched the dash like she hadn’t been inside since he was alive. I turned on the engine and played the recording of Eric.
Sobs shook her shoulders as she listened.
Yes, it was decided. I was definitely a sympathetic crier.
When it got to the part about laughing, my mom smiled through her tears. “I don’t believe this has been in here this whole time.”
“He sounds fun.”
“He was fun.”
The sound of the tape turning in the deck made me reach forward and turn it off.
“And moody and angry and belligerent sometimes,” she said.
I looked at my mom in surprise.
“It’s easier to remember the good times.” She tapped the lid of the cardboard box that sat between us filled with the memories of Eric.
“What would you put in a box like that for me?” I asked, and wished I hadn’t because that seemed morbid, that seemed unfair, and I had put her on the spot.
But she didn’t seem to mind. She smiled. “Lots of swim stuff for sure, caps and goggles and swimsuits.”
That was the easy answer but I was glad she’d been able to think of something so fast.
“And music,” she went on. “You’ve always loved music. From the time you were little. It seems to take you to another place.”
“I like music.”
“I know. And we can’t forget your lime Slurpees. Those would go in there. Plus, your phone. And probably a best friend charm to represent what a wonderful friendship you have with Amelia. You truly are an amazing friend. Loyal and giving.”
I wasn’t sure if she was going on and on because she felt so guilty or if she just couldn’t stop herself but I didn’t care either way. I was happy.
“I’d have to bottle some sand from the lake because you’re always there in the summer. And maybe one of your many ribbons to show how competitive you are.”
“Okay, Mom,” I said, thinking that maybe she’d go on all night if I let her.
“I’m sorry for ever making you feel like I didn’t know all that.” So she did realize why I needed to hear it. “Sometimes, Hadley, I think that you don’t need me. You’re so independent. So hardworking and motivated and dedicated. And I feel like you have your life all figured out and that you don’t need me for a thing. I should’ve never let that feeling be my excuse.”
The words Jackson said earlier about how I shut people out came flying back into my mind. “I need you,” I told my mom. “I’ll always need you.”
“Good.” She kissed my forehead and gave me a hug. “Because I’ll always need
you too.”
When she let me go, I pulled the squirt gun out of the cardboard box and pointed it at her. “What do you say? You want to go dance on a grave?” I squirted her.
She held up her hands with a squeal. “Yes. Let’s.”
I started to get out.
She touched my shoulder, stopping me. “Let’s take this truck.”
This truck. Had she ever referred to it as “this” anything in her life? It had always been Eric’s truck. I wasn’t sure I wanted it to be mine. I kind of wanted something that didn’t make me a little bit sad every time I looked at it. But it was nice that it was possibly an option now.
I nodded and took a deep breath. Just as we were about to back out of the driveway, my dad pulled up.
“Is he going to kill me?” I asked, nearly forgetting I had another parent to talk through this.
She threw the door open, slid the box to the floor, and shifted to the seat next to me. “Daniel, we’re going for a dance.”
My dad approached the truck, wary. He took in the collapsed platform and the bumper I’d thrown into the back. His normal smile was far from present. “What’s going on?” he asked in a heavy voice. One which showed that when he offered to sell this truck, he might not have been quite emotionally ready.
Mom patted the seat next to her. “Hop in. I’ll explain on the way.”
She would explain on the way. I didn’t have to. This brought me a lot of relief. He sat down next to her, still in his work suit, his tie loosened. She started with, “Your daughter won a swim award a couple weeks ago that usually only seniors win.”
My dad chuckled a bit as he shut the door. “I’m not surprised.” He reached behind my mom and squeezed my shoulder. I winced but gritted through the pain.
“Congratulations,” he said.
“Thanks.”
Then my mom told him everything we’d talked about and finished by playing him the tape. He smiled through tears. Then we went and played Eric’s music loudly while we visited his grave in the dark.
As we walked back to the truck, my dad ahead of us, I looked at my mom and said, “You know I don’t expect you to just stop doing all your charity work, right? I know that makes you happy.”
“I know. But I need to find a balance. A healthy balance. I’ll work on it. I promise.”
“Me too.” Because I needed a healthy balance as well. Robert had been right. I had been too focused on one thing. But he didn’t know why. Jackson had figured that out. I was competing. Competing with my dead brother. Now I needed to learn to swim for me. I touched my shoulder. If that was still a possibility.
My dad slowed until he was walking beside me and draped his arm around my neck. “Should we go get some Froyo?”
“Yes,” both my mom and I said together.
Thirty-Nine
Amelia had checked on me approximately fifty times since Saturday. Every message some variation of the words You good?
It’s like she thought my parents had stolen my phone and were answering texts while I rotted in the basement as punishment for what I’d done. I didn’t blame her. I thought I’d be in bigger trouble too. I did get a stern lecture about taking the truck without asking and my dad told me I had to visit several junkyards to help him find a replacement bumper. We had talked as a family and were still trying to decide what to do with the truck. My mom was all for me driving it. My dad thought we should sell it and I kept flipping back and forth between the two. I wanted to take my time. I didn’t want to sell it and regret it later. For now, I decided to continue riding to school with Amelia and use it only when I really needed to go somewhere . . . like to get an apple pie.
Without Jackson, apparently. I hadn’t heard from him since our fight. I’d thought about reaching out to him, but along with being sad about what had happened between us, I found myself angry. Angry at how he had acted. At how he’d made everything about him on the hardest day of my life.
My shoulders were still bothering me and that terrified me. I couldn’t lose swimming over this too. For that I decided to take a long break. My mom was going to take me to the doctor the following week. But there was no harm in a break. At least that’s what I told myself over and over.
Amelia pulled up to my house Monday morning and took in the now-empty spot where the truck used to be. My dad had hauled away the platform Sunday. The grass beneath it was dead. I climbed in her car.
“You good?” she asked.
I smiled. “For the fifty-first time, yes, I’m good.”
“Why are you not grounded for twenty years?”
“Guilt.”
She laughed. “Ah. You get the guilt-parenting? How have you worked this to your advantage?”
“I didn’t get grounded.” I hoped I’d find a new normal soon with my parents because as much as I didn’t want to be in trouble, I didn’t want them to feel guilty forever and it seemed like that was going to be the case for a while. They were walking on eggshells around me and it wasn’t good.
“Oh, Hadley, come on. Years of neglect. You need to collect the guilt-parenting perks while they last. They’ll be gone soon.”
I shoved her arm.
“How are you and Jackson?”
My heart clenched. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“He hasn’t called begging for forgiveness?”
“No.” He’d erased every trace of me from his life. He’d walked away. He was done.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” But I wasn’t sure it was.
Amelia and I walked our separate ways to first period. I needed to drop by my locker and pick up a book. My locker was outside the B building, fourth row down. Today the row was fairly empty. A blond girl at the end was piling books from her backpack into her locker. She gave me a smile as she exited. I turned the dial on my lock and opened the door. A clear plastic cup sat inside, its bright green contents immediately making my mouth water.
“You’re still on sugar, yes?” a voice from above me said, and I yelped, nearly dropping the Slurpee. I backed up, until I bumped into the row of lockers behind me, and looked up. Sitting on top of the lockers was Heath Hall.
“You were right.” He tugged at the neck of the mask with his right hand. “This thing is hot.” In his left hand he held a Slurpee. He took a sip through the small hole that made up the mouth on the mask. “It’s a good thing I have a favorite drink that is nice and cold.”
My fear dissolved but was replaced with the anger that had been competing for space the last couple days. I’d had a really hard weekend and he hadn’t even checked on me. Instead, he’d walked away and now was making a joke out of what I assumed was his apology.
“Someone once told me that all good apologies are accompanied by a bribe.” He gestured toward the Slurpee I held. I stepped forward, retrieved my math book out of the locker, and shut the door. “How did you get this in my locker?”
“I have a few people on staff that like me as well.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Ms. Lin?”
“I hear she’s your mentor. Knows all about your inner artist. And gets to keep locker combinations in case her poor students forget them.”
“And apparently she gives them out to anyone who asks.”
“Don’t be mad at her. Who can resist this charm?” He took another drink. “This is still really gross.” He set it next to him. “Is everything good with your parents?” he asked.
“We’re going to chat about my parents with you on top of the lockers?”
“Yes.”
The late bell rang and I turned to leave. He jumped down, cutting me off before I could walk away. He grabbed my hand.
I pulled it free. “Is this really how we’re going to do this? You’re going to show up here misusing the mask and assume I’m going to get over it just because you’re trying to be funny?”
“I’m not misusing the mask. This is my fear.”
“No, this is you being ridiculous. You faced your fear out at t
he lake.”
“I thought I did. But then something occurred to me this weekend. I thought my fear was just about me not knowing what I want. And that’s definitely part of it. But my main problem is that I don’t commit fully. To anything. To a future. To my schoolwork. To a girl.”
I met his eyes. They were all I could see of him. “Will you take that ridiculous thing off? I can’t take you seriously with it on.”
“Are you saying you can take me seriously with it off?”
“Good point.”
He glanced around, probably making sure the row was still empty, and took off the mask. His expression wasn’t one of humor like I’d expected. He actually looked serious and sad, like he really had been agonizing over this all weekend. His hair was even messier than usual and I kept myself from running my fingers through it. He stared at the mask for a long moment.
“I couldn’t even put this thing on at the lake to face my fear. It’s like I couldn’t even commit to that fear. And even when I do know what I want . . .” He looked at me then. “I’m scared to grab hold of it. I’m scared to say it’s what I want just in case I end up being wrong. So on Saturday, with you, I left at the first sign that you might’ve been calling us off. I acted like it was you throwing walls up when really it was me. As soon as I got home, I knew I’d made a mistake, that I shouldn’t have been a jerk. That your request for space wasn’t about me.” He held up the mask. “This is me saying I’m done being scared. This is me committing to my fears, to my life, to you. I’m holding on to you if you’ll have me.”
I stared at the mask in his hand, at the drink in mine, then looked up at him again. “If this is how you realized you felt this weekend, why didn’t you call me? Text me? Come over?”
“Because one, you asked for space and I was trying to respect that. And two, I got my phone taken away for leaving Saturday morning when I was supposed to be grounded. The only time I could’ve snuck over to your house was after my parents were asleep and I figured you were in big trouble so I didn’t want to make it worse. I’ve been worried about you all weekend.”
It all made sense. But something still didn’t sit right. The thing that had made me think he was walking away for good. “Why did you erase all our chats?”