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“How was that?” he asks softly.
“Fucking horrible,” I admit. “They still have Benji’s parking spot and locker.”
“And you’re pissed about this?” I don’t know if he’s asking me a question. “How pissed would you be if you got there and his stuff was cleaned out?” Now I know he’s asking me the question, and the minute I think about it, my throat almost closes up. When I don’t say anything for a full minute, he continues, “That’s what I thought. What about Koda? Have you spoken to her?”
The minute he mentions her name, my hands grip the steering wheel so hard I feel like if I wasn’t driving, I would be able to break it off. The last time I spoke to her, she cried in my fucking arms, her tears soaked into two layers of clothing to penetrate my skin, telling me how bad it really fucking was. If Benji was alive, there is no doubt in my mind I would have beat the shit out of him. I would have hit him over and over until my knuckles broke. That is how furious I was at him. I carried her up to her bed, tucked her in, and walked out of her house, where my family carried me home. “Nope,” I say, my tone angry.
“Did you call her?” he asks, making the irritation now come out.
“Every day,” I reply. “She hasn’t answered one of my phone calls.”
“Have you tried to text her?” His voice is soft. “Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone when you don’t have to talk.” He sighs. “If that makes sense.”
“I have not tried to text her. I figured if she needed me, she would have called. Considering I left her twenty-five voicemails.” Did I call her every single day since he died? Yes. Did I leave a message every single time? No, I stopped after the first twenty-five. I was sure she blocked me on her phone anyway since it went straight to voicemail.
“Have you thought about what I said?”
I try to chuckle. “I don’t know, Dad. You’ve said a lot of things.”
“About you talking to someone.” His voice goes really low as I pull into my driveway, hitting the button to open the garage door and driving in.
“There is no need,” I huff. “I’m fine.”
“Well, I don’t think you’re fine,” he snaps. “In fact, I know you’re not fine. So you have two choices.” Suddenly, I feel like I’m back in high school, and I’m about to get punished for something. “You can either call your uncle Viktor.” He mentions my uncle who is a recovering addict. He’s been sober and clean for over thirty years and makes no secret about it. “Or I call him, and he pays you a visit.”
“Pays me a visit?” I try to joke about it. “You’ve been hanging around too much with Uncle Matthew if you are starting to talk to me like you know people who can pay me a visit.” Even that joke makes him laugh.
“I actually do know people.” His laughter is loud now. “And one of those is your uncle. So you decide, Christopher, what is it going to be?”
“Fine.” I sigh. “I’ll call him.”
“Good. I’ll let you go so you can get on with it.” I’m about to hang up on him. “Oh, and if you think you said that just so I would get off your back, you’re wrong. I’m also going to call him.” I don’t have a chance to hang up on him because he hangs up on me.
“Fuck,” I grumble, getting out of my truck with my phone in my hand and jogging up the five stairs in the garage that lead to the mudroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I walk into the kitchen and head straight to my living room. The room with the ninety-eight-inch television mounted on the bare white wall where I spend most of my time.
I know I have to call my uncle, but before I call him, I pull up Koda’s text thread.
Me: Hey, just checking to make sure everything is okay with the girls and to see if you guys need anything.
I hit send as I fall into the couch before I pull up my uncle’s name and then press the phone button. “Please don’t answer,” I mumble, as I move my leg up and down with nerves. “Please don’t answer.”
“Well, look who it is,” my uncle Viktor says instead of saying hello. “Was wondering when I was going to hear from you.”
“My father thinks I should talk to you.” I don’t beat around the bush because in a family like ours, he’s probably already spoken to my father.
“So you don’t think you should talk to me, but your father does.” His voice is rich and warm. “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” I cut out right away.
“I don’t know how you can be fine.” His words shock me. “You lost one of your best friends unexpectedly.” My stomach sinks. “I don’t know about you, but I would not be fine.” He doesn’t give me a chance to say anything. “Fuck, I would be beside myself with grief.”
“What difference does it make?” I put my head back on the couch and slouch down, looking at the white ceiling. “What fucking difference does it matter if I am beside myself with grief? Who the fuck cares? I’m not the one people need to be worrying about. People should be worrying about his wife and his two girls.” My voice goes higher and higher. “That’s who people should be worried about.”
“People should most definitely be worried about them. But people should also be worried about those who loved him.” I close my eyes. “Just because you think people should be worrying about Koda and the girls doesn’t mean we shouldn’t worry about you, Christopher.” He says my name softly, and a tear escapes from the corner of my eye, rolling down to my hair. “You have every right not to be fine. You have a right to be sad or even angry.”
“Oh, I’m fucking pissed,” I admit. “As much as I love him, Uncle Viktor, I fucking hate him.” The minute I say the words, guilt washes over me.
