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Shane was in his room, sent to bed without dinner, and I snuck him a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich after I made one for me. He told me Dad didn’t even hit him for getting in trouble. Dad always walloped him when he was out of line, either across the butt with the belt or as he got older, across the back of the head with an open-handed slap.
He didn’t get punished for getting suspended for cussing out a teacher after getting a bad grade. Just got picked up from school and told to go to his room. And then Dad started drinking.
Maybe that was the day he found out about Mom.
I don’t know.
I need answers. I deserve answers.
But I won’t get them, will I?
Did he bury her? Does my mom have a grave? Does Dad visit it and put flowers on it on her birthday?
When was her birthday? I can’t remember. March 12? Maybe?
All we had besides Dad was my Aunt Jade, Dad’s much older sister. Mom was estranged from her family; we’d never met them. I wish Aunt Jade were here so I could ask her more questions. Did she know about what happened to my mom? I need to talk to my cousin, Darlene.
Darlene’s dad was Dad’s brother, and he died of leukemia when she was little. Dar spent time with Aunt Jade, too.
I go to the bathroom and take a shower. After I’m dressed, I’m back in my father’s room, looking through the closet at my mother’s clothes with memories assaulting me with almost every article of fabric I touch. Memories of her that I’d forgotten. Most of them are sad memories. Memories where she was there but I felt like I wasn’t because she was in her own world and it was like I wasn’t there.
I find a photo album.
I sit on the floor with it and open it.
My parents’ wedding pictures. I’ve never seen these.
On the front is the two of them, smiling, looking at each other, all dressed up.
They look happy. They barely even look like Mom and Dad.
“Hey.”
I look over my shoulder. Austin’s leaned against the doorway.
I haven’t even been able to give any headspace to him being here, to how he held me when I fell apart.
Why is he here?
Feelings overwhelm me right now and I don’t seem to have the capacity to sift through them all.
No, I can’t look at this album right now. I’m not ready.
“I heard you in the shower, so I made you some food. Come down and eat.”
I slowly rise, leaving the album on the floor. Austin then takes me into his arms and holds me close.
And this is strange. That he’s here, like this.
I look up at him and he smooths my wet hair behind my ear with his fingertips.
“Let me know how I can help. Whatever I can do.”
I don’t know what to say, how to even talk over the feelings that crush my chest, so I don’t say a thing. He takes my hand and leads me downstairs.
I pause at the bottom of the stairs, seeing to my right Dad’s empty chair. I can’t go in there right now. I can’t face it. Austin’s set up soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for us on the kitchen table. He’s poured me some orange juice, too.
We sit.
I stare at the food. The file folder from Dad’s room is on top of my closed laptop. Austin must have brought it down.
“Try, sweetheart. Please?”
I blink. Tears are coming again.
I choke on a sob.
His chair squeaks as he pushes back from the opposite end of the table and then I’m standing up, engulfed in his embrace.
“It’s okay,” he says into the top of my hair as he presses soft kisses on my skin.
“It’s not.”
“I know, baby. I know it’s not. I mean it’s okay to cry.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Okay. Can you try to eat a little?”
I sit back down and stare into the bowl of tomato soup.
I love tomato soup. And it looks like he made it with milk instead of water. That’s how I make it. I look at him.
“You make this with milk?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought we were out.”
“I ran to the corner store quick and got some.”
I blink hard.
I pick up the bowl with both hands and take a sip. And then another.
Nobody has made me soup for a really, really long time.
He’s got a sad little smile.
“Sorry about my table manners,” I mumble.
I always liked my tomato soup in a mug. A mug that belonged to my mom. With lots of black pepper on top.
I set the bowl down, go to the cupboard and reach in to the very back. I lift up a big mug with the Coca Cola polar bear on it. He’s wearing sunglasses and holding a Coke. It’s dusty.
I hand-wash it and then dry it before I take it to the table and pour the rest of my soup in and shake some pepper over it.
