Remember

by Patricia Shanae Smith

  “Dad?” There was no way my dad would be up, especially after how hammered he had been last night. I went to his room. He was knocked out.

  It was Ethan.

  Cooking.

  In my kitchen.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He said it so nonchalantly.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? My dad is upstairs.”

  “I was hoping I could meet him…and the best way to impress a girl’s father is with food.”

  “That’s a lot of food. You cooked enough for my whole family, but they’re dead,” I said sternly.

  “Well, we don’t have to eat it all. Is your dad still sleeping?”

  Why did he want to meet my dad so badly?

  “Yeah, he got pretty messed up last night. Look, um…I know you probably just got here, but I need you to go. I don’t want my dad to get the wrong idea.”

  “Portia. I spent the night.” He dropped his spatula or whatever utensil he was using and turned off the burners. I looked at the French toast, the eggs, the pancakes, the coffee. He’d spent the night? And then he made my family breakfast? Where the hell was Piper? She would be having a field day.

  Then I remembered again. I put my hand over my eyes and my heart constricted.

  “Portia…Portia…I’m sorry. I overstepped. We didn’t do anything last night. We fell asleep. I got thirsty this morning, and when I went to get water, I saw you guys didn’t have any food in the house. I thought…I’m stupid. I shouldn’t have stayed.”

  I tried to get myself together while he talked.

  “Thank you. My dad and I will eat all of this, but you really need to go.”

  He nodded. I walked him to the door and watched him walk across the street. In the middle, he looked back at me.

  I walked away and looked at all the food. Who the hell was going to do all these dishes? I grabbed as much food as I could and put it on a tray. I made two coffees and grabbed one beer—just in case.

  “Daddy?” I gently kicked his door open.

  “Mmm…” I put the tray at the edge of Mom’s side of the bed and crawled over to him.

  “Dad…wake up, wake up.”

  “Who died? Good morning.” He pinched my cheek like he used to when I was five.

  “I made you breakfast.” I got out of the way so he could see. He looked at it, and then looked at me. I was trying so hard not to laugh, because if it wasn’t so early, he would have never believed that I cooked.

  “There’s even more downstairs.”

  “Who made this?”

  Darn.

  “Um, Ingrid brought it over.” Ingrid was our neighbor. When it all first happened, Ingrid made everything for us. Then she stopped. It might have been because of me.

  “Well, that was nice of her. I thought she hated you.”

  “She probably does, but she always loved you.”

  He started scarfing down the food. I took my coffee and walked downstairs.

  “I haven’t been up this early in so long,” I yelled up at him.

  “Go back to sleep. I am,” he yelled back.

  By the time I finished cleaning the kitchen and the house, it was time for class. I never had so much trouble focusing as I did today. I kept thinking about why Ethan had stayed and if I snored. I kept thinking about what if my dad came to check on me while I was sleeping—he used to do that. I needed to set boundaries with Ethan. I should never have let him in my room.

  My dad came downstairs.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Fine.”

  “Are you seeing your friend today?” he asked.

  “No, I saw him yesterday. I have a lot of work to do today. I’m going to take a nap before Lethal Weapon.”

  “I’ll make sure I wake you up in time, unlike Sunday when you let me sleep through the first five minutes of Preacher.” He giggled.

  “I couldn’t wake you up to save Mom’s life.”

  We both laughed.

  Chapter 5

  Six Years Ago

  “Willows.” I looked up. It was drama class. I hadn’t known what elective to take. My mom thought this was the perfect class for me. I didn’t fight her on it because I didn’t know that drama meant acting. I thought it was like film, dramatic arts. I’d had no idea what I was getting myself into.

  It was the first day of my junior year. The teacher called on everyone, asked them to tell a joke and then tell the class something about themselves.

  I panicked.

  “Can I pass?” I mumbled.

  “No. This isn’t homework, Portia. It’s just for fun.”

  “I know…but can I pass?”

  Everyone was staring at me. My hands got sweaty and I felt dehydrated. Uncomfortable would be an understatement. I started shifting in my seat.

  “Okay, no joke, then. Tell me something about yourself.”

  “I don’t like talking in front of people.”

  Everyone started whispering.

  Tears started to form in my eyes. I hated high school. I knew I was almost done, but I really felt like I was ready to give up. I wanted to go home and never come back. My mom was just going to have to disown me. My father would bring me cheese while I lived underneath the freeway.

  “This is drama class—all you will be doing in here is talking, acting, and being vulnerable in front of people. Not just people—your peers, your classmates. We’re a family in this class.”

  I coughed and started getting my stuff together.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m in the wrong class.”

  “Your name is on my roster.”

  “Definitely a mistake.”

  I walked out while all the kids were talking. I walked off campus to a nearby park, then lay in the grass and texted Piper. I lay there until the bell rang.

  Family dinner that night was awkward. Piper wouldn’t shut up about how amazing her day was and how excited she was about it since the school was also a block away from the mall.

  Mom was all smiles.

  Dad wanted to hear something else, anything else.

  “Portia…anything worth mentioning about your day today?”

  I took a sip of my water and a deep breath. Mom was smiling at me. She never really smiled, so I remember every time she did.

  “I dropped out of a class because the teacher wanted me to tell a joke.”

  Her smile disappeared. The intense stare I was so scared of surfaced.

  I just looked over at Piper.

  “What?” she asked.

  “First, it’s drama class. Why would you sign me up for drama class?”

  “I thought it would be good for you. And you don’t just drop out of classes. This is high school, Portia.”

  “I get to pick my electives,” I argued.

  “You were okay with drama.”

  “Dramatic arts,” I defended myself.

  “What the hell is the difference?” She was screaming now.

  “Why are you getting so mad at her? What’s the big deal if she doesn’t like a stupid class?” Piper yelled.

  “Both of you, relax. It’s just a class. I got humiliated and I left.”

  “How’d they humiliate you? Was it bad? You want to report it?” Dad was truly concerned.

  “Are you kidding, Rich? Report what? Our daughter walked out of a class.” Mom turned her anger on him.

  “I left and went to the park, not to go do drugs in the bathroom.”

  “People are doing drugs in the bathroom?” Piper asked, intrigued.

  “Can you just put me in a different class, Mom?” I pleaded. I wanted this to be over.

  “No. You need to make friends. You need to be more social. Frankly, I think you should audition for the play with your sister.”

  Piper laughed.

  “Fuck. You.” I picked up my plate and threw it on the ground.

  Mom let ou
t a weird cat scream.

  Piper’s mouth dropped.

  Dad went to clean up the mess.

  I just ran upstairs and locked my room door. I blasted Asking Alexandria and did all my homework in one hour.

  “Sweetie, it’s me. Daddy…”

  I turned down the music.

  “Happy?” I yelled.

  “No. Why would I be happy?” he asked through the door.

  “I turned it down. What else do you want?”

  “To come in.”

  “Fine.”

  He climbed onto the bed next to me. I was not in the mood. I just wanted to go to bed and start this shitty life all over again.

  “Portia…Portia…Portia…what am I going to do with you?”

  “I have an idea.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Chop my body into pieces, grab the trash bags from downstairs, and you might as well get your gloves from the garage. Put my body parts into the trash bags and then put it in Mom’s car.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Make sure you’re not messy because you know Mom would be more upset that you got blood on her seats than the fact that her daughter is chopped into pieces.”

  “See, this is why she wanted you to take drama class, because you’re dramatic as hell.” He kissed me on the cheek. “Just one more year, Portia, just one.”

  Three Years Ago

  Dear Piper,

  I was thinking about high school and how much you loved it and how much you loved life. You didn’t just love me, Mom, and Dad, but you loved the carpet in our living room just the same. You loved being around people. You brought everything to life. Remember when Ingrid’s husband died when we were little, and you brought her flowers from her own yard and ruined her garden? Mom was so mortified. Ingrid started crying but then laughed. Apparently, her husband hated the garden. You just got away with everything. You get that from Dad. His charm and his manipulation skills. It sounds bad, but God, was I envious of it.

  I lit a cigarette while I was reading. I was so over being sad. I had been so fucking sad then. I was glad I didn’t feel that way anymore. I missed them every day but at least wasn’t crying over them every day anymore.

  There was a knock at the front door.

  It could only have been three people: Ingrid, Susan, or Grandma. Or Ethan. I had already forgotten about Ethan. It had been two weeks since I’d seen him.

  He had called and texted every day, though.

  “Hey.” It was Ethan.

  I instantly smiled. I had almost forgotten what he looked like. He had shaved.

  I liked it.

  He looked more innocent.

  “I got you guys some beer. Can I join you for a smoke?”

  I grabbed the case and brought it to the kitchen. He stayed outside.

  “You can come in.” I smiled.

  “You smoke in the house?” He took out a cigarette.

  “I do whatever I want in the house.” I tossed him a lighter from the dining room table. We had an ashtray in the middle. There used to be flowers and a tablecloth. Now it was just wood and ashtray.

  “How have you been?” He sat down.

  “Same. You?” I lit my cigarette.

  “Thinking about you.”

  I threw him a beer. He seemed different, like there was something on his mind.

  “What’s wrong with you? Usually, I’m the anxious one,” I said.

  “I’m just wondering if you’re mad at me.”

  “Why would I be mad?”

  “You barely spoken to me in two weeks. I was worried about you.”

  I smiled and shook my head. “I just didn’t feel like it.”

  “Right,” he said, looking around. Did he want a tour? It wasn’t a mess. I would have never let him in if it were. “Are you good now?” he wondered.

  We weren’t acting how we usually were with each other. We were uncomfortable.

  “Sure. Yup.”

  “Good,” he said. I was trying to read him but his soul seemed blocked.

  “How’s school? Did you get your grade up in chem?”

  “No. My dad wants to hire a tutor.”

  “That’s smart. I would love a tutor. A lot of students have tutors.”

  He smoked his cigarette slowly. “But you’re so smart,” he said.

  “With online classes, it’s tough. It’s nice to have another person there. I just…you know.”

  “I want to meet your dad,” he said randomly.

  “Is that why you keep looking around? Are you looking for him?”

  “No. We just never hung out inside your house like this. I would feel more comfortable if I met him, ya know?”

  “Good point.”

  “But I get it. I spent the night. Does he think we had sex?”

  “No, he knows me better than that. He’s happy I have a friend,” I told him. I really didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t feel like introducing him just yet.

  “Is that what we are?” he asked. “Friends?”

  I didn’t know how to answer that question, so I just shrugged.

  “You know, you kissed me.”

  “And you kissed me back.”

  “You should come over for dinner. I’ll show you my place. You can meet my dad.” He smirked. I giggled as I put out my cigarette.

  “I’m not going to spend the night and cook you breakfast for twenty the next morning.”

  “No, I just…I don’t…is this me overstepping again?”

  “Do you have books?” I wondered.

  “Books?”

  “One thing I do miss about Cypress is the library. I would read during snack and lunch.”

  “Come over tonight and you’ll see. I have lots of books. It’ll be fun,” he said, trying to convince me.

  “Whenever Piper said ‘it’ll be fun,’ it was a disaster. You know what fun is?”

  “What?”

  “Watching The Bad Girls Club with a cinnamon raisin bagel with two pounds of cream cheese on it and a bag of hot Cheetos. You eat both at the same time so you have enough cream cheese for both.”

  “Cream cheese for both…sides of the bagel?”

  “And the hot Cheetos.”

  “You’re ridiculous.” He smiled.

  He was beautiful. I wanted to kiss him again, but I had learned from my mistakes.

  “Do they do that in Bad Girls Club?” He was still laughing.

  “No, idiot,” We both started laughing.

  The more time went by, the more nervous I got about going over to Ethan’s. I wanted to bring my dad so badly. I asked Ethan and he said it was okay, but Dad was not down.

  “Just make sure you bring leftovers. I’m so tired of chicken noodles, canned tuna, canned chili, tortilla chips—let alone fucking rice neither of us can fucking make right.”

  Tell me how you really feel, Dad. Or maybe do it yourself sometimes.

  “I really don’t want to do this.” I wanted to be home but I knew Piper would want me to take advantage of this opportunity.

  “It’s worth it for the food.” Dad tried to convince me.

  “Dad. If you want real food so damn bad, I’ll go over to Ingrid’s tomorrow or call Susan.”

  “No and no. I don’t need their help to take care of my daughter.”

  But he’d take Ethan’s help, apparently. “Right.” I just wanted to drop it.

  “You’re right across the street. What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll be able to hear you scream. Remember the Fourth of July when you were three and we’d just gotten Pipes to sleep when a firecracker went off but she still slept until you screamed like you were getting murdered by Barney?”

  “I hated Barney.”

  “Exactly.”

  I decided to make an effort with my hair and makeup. I didn’t look like the grieving child anymore.

  I knocked on the door and it was opened by his dad. I recognized hi
m. I’d seen him like a hundred times before but I didn’t think I’d ever said a word to him.

  “Portia Willows,” he said, and I smiled. “Come on in.”

  “Mr. Torke, I remember you.”

  “Call me James.”

  “Idon’t know that I can, Mr. Torke. My mom would talk about you sometimes.”

  “Hopefully good things,” he said. We walked through the house. It was a lot different than mine. I didn’t know why I thought it would look the same. The first thing you saw when you opened the door was the spacious living room. They had a red rug that matched the red pillows on the off-white sectional. The sectional took up a lot of space. There was no television, just shelves filled with books. It was almost like a library. Now I understood why Ethan had smiled when I asked if he had books. There were pictures of him and another girl. His sister? He didn’t talk about her much. I could tell there was no way he had grown up in this house. He grew up in Florida, and now he was interested in the traumatized loner girl. But there was something strange about Mr. Torke. It wasn’t my anxiety—from the moment I walked in it was as if they were hiding something. I didn’t know why, I just felt the energy in the house.

  “Mom wanted me to come see you,” I admitted.

  “She would ask me how to help you. I couldn’t tell her anything since you weren’t my patient.” I didn’t say anything. “I just gave her whatever advice I could…you know, she was a lot more worried than she had to be….”

  What the hell? My mom worried about me? Yeah right. She was worried about her reputation, not me. I’d known she’d asked the guidance counselor what to do with me—but hearing it from him was just disgusting, especially since she was dead now. I didn’t know what to do or say.

  I was here for Ethan, not a lecture.

  There were abstract paintings on the wall. I stared at them, trying to figure out what they represented while Ethan and his dad mumbled in the kitchen. There was one that I particularly liked. It had a square in the middle, shapes and chaos lines were all around the square and going through it. I related to that square. I had been the square my entire life. I didn’t talk.